Page 15 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
I’m insane. Obviously.
He’s been stalking you, I tell myself, but that doesn’t ease the ache of desire. It’s a maddening itch that I’m crazy to scratch, even as I know it’ll make the desire worse, not better.
“Did I tell you to stop?” he growls, pushing his thigh more firmly between my legs and pressing his mouth back onto mine.
He doesn’t want me to stop?
My brain is still trying to process that shock as my body responds with no such hesitation. My hips move. I rub myself against him wantonly, heedless of how forbidden this is. Or maybe that makes it hotter, that he’s much older than me, and dangerous, and has kidnapped me.
“Dirty, pretty girl. You like that, don’t you? Go on. Take it. Have your filthy orgasm with the beast who captured you.”
Pleasure sparkles down my spine from his words in that delicious, rough tone.
The kingpin clearly wants me. The evidence is poking into my soft belly, intimidatingly large. I’ve never been with a man, but he’s so, so hard. Like heated iron, almost painful where he’s uncompromisingly solid.
Anyone rational would not be doing this. But I have two years of social media posts proving not just that I have no sense, but that I am fully depraved. And something has snapped in me.
I swear, it was him that did it. After I saw him rescue that puppy, that was when I began to want to move my fantasies into reality. It’s as though my body knew, from the first, and where I’ve been shy and reserved in real life, suddenly I wanted more. I needed.
I grind harder into him, and he shifts to cup my jaw as he kisses me, his tongue spearing in. He swallows my moan of pleasure that’s caused by the way the now-soaked cotton is rubbing my clit and the firm plane of his thigh and how dominant his possession of my mouth is.
It doesn’t sound like it. Just a kiss and his leg between mine. No naked skin contact. But it’s incredibly intimate. He controls our kiss, fingers light but insistent on my cheek.
I’m so wound up by our game of chase, and by him. I’m sparking off Voronov like I’m a firework and was just waiting for him to touch his match to me.
A lifetime of being sure book boyfriends did it better, and suddenly when I met him, I became curious, awakened. That was when I started considering dating.
And now, with his heat and scent surrounding me, I let my eyes close and lose myself in sensation. He smells of sandalwood and patchouli. I breathe him in like an addict, in great heaving breaths as though I could keep all the air that reminds me of himinside. Covet it. I’m limp in his grasp, him holding me up by my pinned wrists.
“That’s it, reach higher,” he murmurs, adding something in Russian that I don’t understand but that sounds dirty in a way that flares heat right into my clit.
I move faster, chasing the pleasure exactly as he told me. He trails kisses over my cheek, trapping my face between his hand and his mouth.
“Beautiful zayka,” he growls, and nips the tender skin of my neck. “I could devour you. My good slutty girl.”
A cry tears from my throat, as though a primal part of me is returning his call. I’m sopping between the legs, slippery and getting wetter as he speaks. Then there’s a stream of hoarse words in Russian. I don’t understand them, but they sound gravelly and strong. Like praise, and affectionate chastisement.
… And love.
“Come for me.”
Just as my libido in the real world was triggered by his presence, my orgasm spins over the edge at his command. I shatter, pulsing as he holds me firm. I can lose myself completely as he keeps me safe and contained.
This climax reaches every muscle, right down to my toes. I thrash and burn. It’s like my body is giving everything up to this big, alpha, older, powerful man, since he has demanded it.
I have no idea how long it is until I stop spasming. The pleasure is still tingling in my veins as I become aware that my hands are limp at my sides.
Voronov strokes my hair and continues to whisper words I don’t understand into my ear, his breath a glide of warmth.
I just had the best orgasm of my life on my stalker’s thigh.
Turning my head, I tentatively look up at him. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but his eyes are fathomless black pupils contrasted with a ring of burning ice. His expression is savageand proud and intense in a way that makes me quake all over again.
It seems to be a painful effort of will as he eases his big body away from mine, like it’s tearing us apart. Pelvis, then his arms slowly lower, his fingertip stroking down my neck.
“How was your first kiss?” he rumbles, stepping back and sliding his hands into his pockets as though to prevent them from going to me again.
“Good.”
