Page 17 of Marked By the Mob

“Fuck, Emma.” Then he’s kissing me again, his hand sliding between my thighs. When his fingers find how wet I am, he groans.

He strokes me slowly, driving me crazy. Everywhere he touches, my skin heats up. When he slides a finger inside me, I moan, my hips moving against his hand.

“More,” I breathe, and he adds another finger, stretching me, filling me.

The pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each stroke. But I want more than his hand. I want all of him.

I reach for his jeans, fumbling with the button. He helps me, kicking them off along with his boxers. Then he’s naked above me and the sight of him steals my breath. He’s all hard muscle and masculine beauty, his cock thick and hard against his stomach.

He settles between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Our gazes meet and he smiles. It’s not a sweet smile; it’s almost like a predator’s look when it captures its prey. But before I can react to that, he pushes inside slowly.

When he’s fully seated inside me, he pauses, letting me adjust. Then he starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust sending pleasure cascading through me. I meet him stroke for stroke, my nails digging into his shoulders. The rhythm builds, faster and harder, until we’re both gasping, chasing release.

His hand slides between us, finding my clit, and the added stimulation pushes me over the edge. I come with a cry, my body clenching around him. He follows moments later, his hips jerking as he finds his own release.

The reality of what we just did settles over me, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when I still feel the aftershocks of pleasure. Not when my muscles feel like wet noodles, all relaxed. This was just what I needed to ease all the tension that’s been building inside me. Well, at least since Rurik had helped me with that issue.

Oh god. Two men! I’ve not only slept with two men, but two men who claim to own me. What the fuck is wrong with me?

His hand traces lazy patterns on my hip. “Talk to me,” he says quietly. “Tell me why you did this. Why you risked everything.”

His words bring me out of my panicked thoughts and I decide to answer him, just to escape my own mind.

“My best friend, Krystal Donnovan, disappeared a year ago, and I’m pretty sure she was sold at the bride auction.”

7

ARTUR

Rurik and I are playing pool and he’s winning. This time. But I’m saved from having my ass handed to me when Eduard brings Emma into the room.

“Our girl has finally revealed the real reason she snuck into the bridal auction,” Eduard says, then nods at Emma.

She grimaces and takes a step away from Eduard, but at least she talks. “My best friend, Krystal Donnovan, disappeared about a year ago and I traced her disappearance back to the auction.”

The moment Emma says Krystal’s name, something shifts in the room. Eduard’s expression is carefully neutral in that way that means he’s processing information faster than he wants to show. Rurik’s jaw tightens, the only visible sign that her words have landed.

Krystal Donnovan. The name means nothing to me personally, but the way Emma says it, the raw pain beneath the anger, tells me everything I need to know. This isn’t just about justice or some FBI case file. This is personal. This is grief wrapped in fury and desperation.

And fuck if that doesn’t make her even more dangerous.

“Guards,” Rurik says quietly, his voice cutting through the tension. “Escort Emma back to her room.”

Emma’s head snaps up, her gray-green eyes flashing with defiance. “I’m not done talking.”

“Yes, you are.” Rurik’s tone leaves no room for argument. He gestures toward the door, and two guards step forward immediately.

I watch as they move to either side of her, professional and efficient. Emma doesn’t move at first, her gaze locked on Rurik like she’s trying to will him into submission through sheer force of personality. It almost makes me smile. Almost.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I say, unable to resist. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Her eyes cut to me, sharp and furious. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then cooperate.”

She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

The first guard reaches for her arm, and Emma moves like lightning. Her elbow drives backward into his ribs with enough force that I hear the impact from across the room. The man grunts and stumbles back, and Emma uses the momentary opening to spin toward the door.