1
Mary
Ilean in.
Reach for the danger.For him.
I know he’s right.
He’s mafia, a stranger, my captor, holding me in his penthouse like a bird in a cage, his world of blood and secrets so far from mine.
Yet he’s saved me again and again, from Evan’s hands, from danger I didn’t see coming. My mind screams to run, to fight this, because he’s not safe, not good, not mine. But my body’s not listening. Not when he’s standing between my legs, all hard muscle and inked skin, looking so hot it’s unfair, his eyes burning into me like I’m the only thing that matters.
My pussy clenches.
I’mnotbroken.
“I know,” I whisper, breathless, my hands still under his shirt, nails scraping his skin. “But I do.”
His eyes turn wild and feral, like a predator that’s already decided I’m his next meal. There’s no hiding from it, no chance of slipping away.
“Too late to back out now,printsessa,” he hisses as he tugs my jeans down, rough but careful, fingers hooking into the waistband and peeling them off my hips. I lift up without thinking, helping him, the denim dragging slowly against my thighs, exposing me inch by inch. The cool marble chills my bare skin as the jeans slide past my knees, and he yanks them off completely, tossing them aside with a soft thud.
My panties are next. His fingers slip under the edges, pulling them down in one swift motion, the fabric sticking slightly where I’m already slick and ready in a way I’ve never been.
The air hits me. I shiver, exposed, vulnerable, but his eyes rake over me, fire in his gaze, and I feel it—wanted, needed, like I’m his entire world.
“You’re so wet,printsessa.” His voice is pure control, a king claiming his throne, and shame floods me. I’m too desperate, my arousal coating the counter like I’m some wanton thing.
My thighs snap shut instinctively, trying to hide the mess I’m making.
“Umm…” I mutter, voice small, barely a whisper, because how can I be this turned on for a man like him—mafia, captor, killer?
“Spread your legs,” he orders, hands gripping my thighs, forcing them apart.
“Anton…” I make a choking sound. His body crowds me, muscle pinning me open.
“Printsessa, you’re perfect,” he says, staring at me, fingers digging into my skin. “So fucking hot, so wet for me.” His words burn through my shame, making my pussy pulse.
My legs open wider for him, trembling hard, my arousal soaking the counter under my ass. He steps closer, his body a wall of heat between my legs, and his hand slides up my thigh, fingers tracing the inside, slow, teasing. My breath catches, and I grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white, because every touch is electric, waking parts of me I thought were dead.
“Your pussy’s perfect,” he growls, his eyes dark, the words half-muttered as his thumb brushes my clit first, light, testing, and I jolt, a gasp ripping from my throat. Then he circles it, firmer, knowing exactly the pressure, the rhythm, like he’s mapped me out already. Heat builds fast, a coil tightening low, and I’m panting, my hips rocking against his hand without shame.
“Anton—” His name’s a moan, and he answers by slipping a finger inside me, curling it just right, finding that spot that makes me lose all reason.
“God…” I arch, my head falling back against the mirror, and he adds another finger, thrusting slow at first, then faster, his thumb still working my clit in perfect sync. It’s overwhelming, the way he knows—every stroke, every press, like he’s tuned to me.
“Good girl. Your pussy’s so tight,” he murmurs. His thick fingers plunge deeper, coated in my slickness, the obscene squelch of my arousal filling the air—a filthy, rhythmic sound that makes my cheeks burn and my core tighten. It’s loud, unapologetic, each thrust of his fingers pulling a lewd, sucking noise from my soaked folds, like my body’s begging for him.
“Come for me now,printsessa,” he rasps, his eyes locked on mine, fierce and unyielding. “You’re mine to break.”
My thighs tremble, clenching hard around his waist where he’s wedged himself between my legs, his body forcing them wide, keeping me open for him, and I’m gone, my tits bouncing in my bra, heavy, full, my pussy dripping.
Fuck, am I this chick? Desperate, greedy, alive under his hands?
My head’s a mess, but my body’s all in, chasing the edge. The knot tightens, relentless, until I come undone, my pussy squeezing his fingers, pleasure hitting like a fist, my voice cracking into a raw “Fuuuuck!”
God. It’s my first real one—ever—and tears prick my eyes because I’m not broken.
