Page 50

Victor's breath hitches. His icy blue eyes turn practically black as he drinks in every inch of my body.

"Bozhe moy," he whispers roughly, running his scarred hands up the outside of my thighs, pushing my knees wide apart. "You are a tiny, vicious goddess."

"Less talking, Victor," I breathe, tangling both hands in his damp blond hair and yanking his head down until his mouth crashes into mine.

The kiss is a brawl. Teeth clashing, tongues dueling for dominance, his heavy hands gripping my hips so tight his fingers leave deep white indents in my skin. He rolls his hips against mine, the rough cotton of his towel rubbing against my bare pussy, coating me in friction that makes me whimper into his throat.

He pulls away, breathing like a beast that has chased down its prey, and rips the towel from his waist.

He is enormous. Thick, vein-corded, and leaking clear pre-cum that glistens in the firelight.

"Tell me you want this, Malysha," Victor demands, resting the blunt head of his cock right at my soaking cunt, nudging my clit with maddening, slow pressure. "Tell me you want this big Russian inside you."

I glare up at him through hooded eyes, my chest heaving, my fingernails digging into the thick muscles of his shoulders until I feel the skin break beneath my red claws.

"Shut the fuck up and take me, Victor," I snarl.

A dark, feral laugh rumbles in his chest, and then he drives his hips forward, burying every single inch of his thick cock deep inside my tight, dripping heat with one brutal thrust.

I scream into the rafters of the penthouse, my head falling back against the headboard as my inner walls stretch to accommodate his massive size. The fullness is overwhelming, bordering on agonizing, but as he stays buried inside me, unmoving, the pain transforms into pure, molten fire.

"Look at me, Gemma," Victor orders, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back from moving.

I open my eyes, meeting his burning blue gaze.

"You are mine while you are in my city," he says with absolute, terrifying conviction, his hips pulling back slowly before slamming into me again with a force that rattles the bed frame. "Romeo can have New York. He can have his blind little Donna. But you belong to the Bratva now."

"Try and keep me," I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist, locking my ankles behind his back, meeting every punishing thrust with a roll of my own hips.

The room dissolves into a blur of raw sweat, heavy skin slapping against skin, and the guttural cries of two monsters tearing each other apart in the shadows. He fucks me like he wants to break me, his hand finding my throat again to restrict my air right as my orgasm begins to build at the base of my spine.

"Come for me, little viper," he commands against my mouth. "Squeeze my cock until I drown in you."

My vision flashes white. My cunt clamps down around his thick cock in violent, clenching pulses, milking him dry as I scream his name into the cold Russian air.

Victor roars like an animal, throwing his head back as his hips stutter in hard, frantic pumps, spilling ropes of hot cum deep inside me until he collapses over my body, his chest heaving against mine.

For a long time, the only sound in the penthouse is our ragged breathing and the crackle of the dying fireplace.

He stays inside me, heavy and possessive, his face buried in the crook of my neck. His fingers trace the scar on my elbow where Romeo branded me with the cigar in New York, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who just tore me open.

"You're insane, you know that?" I murmur tiredly, my fingers lazily tracing the tattoos across his back.

"I had to be insane to let a Sicilian hitwoman into my bed," Victor mumbles against my skin, kissing the hollow of my collarbone.

A soft chime sounds from the nightstand.

I tilt my head, seeing the encrypted satellite phone blinking with a green light. A secure text from Romeo, relayed from the yacht off the coast of Capri:

Target acquired. We move on to the Catskills at midnight. Make sure Victor honors the docks.

I look down at the massive Russian sleeping against my chest, his arm wrapped around my waist like an iron chain.

A slow, satisfied smirk touches my lips.

"Don't worry, Romeo," I whisper into the quiet room. "The Russian is completely under control."

SEVENTEEN