Page 106 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

His thumb stills briefly against my skin. “Tamara,” he says quietly, “I’m not going to take pieces of you.”

The words hit me so hard my chest actually hurts. Because somehow he understood exactly what I meant without me saying it out loud.

My mother slowly disappearing inside my father’s world. The years I spent building a life that belonged entirely to me. The fear that wanting Aleksander means surrendering all of it.

Instead of tightening his grip, he loosens it.

“Tell me what you want tonight,” he says, voice rougher now. Lower. “Give me a boundary, and I’ll hold it.”

I feel my pulse stumble painfully against my ribs. I can see how hard he’s holding himself back—the tension pulling at his mouth, the controlled rise and fall of his chest, the muscle ticking once in his jaw.

And still he’s asking permission.

The car turns slowly into the underground garage. Neither of us moves when the engine cuts off. The silence inside the car stretches tight enough to break.

Before I can think myself out of it, I lean closer, brush my mouth softly against his, and feel the sharp inhale he tries to suppress. Then my tongue traces lightly across his lower lip.

And Aleksander’s control breaks.

His hand slides into my hair with a rough sound low in his throat as he kisses me back—deep and devastatingly careful at the same time.

Not taking. Never taking. Just holding me there like a precious gift while my entire body melts helplessly toward him.

The garage lights glow dimly through the tinted windows by the time we finally pull apart, both of us breathing hard. His forehead rests briefly against mine.

“Still okay?” he asks quietly.

The fact that he asks nearly undoes me.

“Yes.”

His thumb brushes once across my swollen mouth before he exhales slowly and forces himself backward.

Then the driver opens his door, and reality intrudes. Aleksander exits first, offering his hand with a careful courtesy he always maintains in public. I take it, letting him pull me from the car, acutely aware of how his thumb strokes across my knuckles.

We cross the garage in silence. Enter the elevator. The doors slide shut, sealing us in chrome and mirrors.

He reaches for the button to our floor.

I reach for him, attack, bringing myself up to his mouth and sweeping my tongue inside.

“Tamara. Fuck⁠—”

“I need you to make this ache stop, Aleks.”

My hands fist in his shirt, yanking him down as I rise on my toes. His surprise lasts maybe half a second before his mouth crashes into mine. His hands span my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he walks me backward until I hit the mirrored wall. The impact jolts through me, followed immediately by the solid weight of his body pressing me flat.

I bite his lower lip—not gently—and his groan vibrates through my entire body. His hand slides up to cup my jaw, angling my head for deeper access while his tongue demands entry. I give it willingly, opening for him while my fingers work frantically at his shirt.

The elevator climbs. I don’t care which floor we’re on. The ache between my thighs builds with every onslaught of his mouth.

His tongue moves to my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point, before sucking hard enough to mark. My back arches off the wall, one leg hitching up around his hip, and he catches it with his free hand, palm burning through silk, hiking my thigh higher.

The dress rides up dangerously high.

Good. Better access.

When his hand finds bare skin above my stocking, we both freeze for a heartbeat. Then his fingers dig into my flesh, pulling me harder against him, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this through the fabric of his pants.