Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (58)

But she’s not even trying to push me away anymore. One hand is clutching the banister tight once more, and her second hand is gripping the step she’s on.

I wind one finger into the thin strap of her panties and rip them right off her. She gasps in shock as the material gives way. But before she can recover, my tongue probes her slit and she arches back with a wordless cry.

I tongue her relentlessly until her insults turn to moans and her body goes limp with desire. In less than a minute, she’s on the verge of an orgasm.

That’s when I pull back and lift my head.

All I can see at first is her heaving chest and the beautiful arch of her neck. She looks up with confusion, and I know I’ve interrupted her right on the brink of coming. I lick her juices from the corner of my lips.

“What did I tell you?”

“You fucking bastard,” she pants.

Smiling triumphantly, I bend my head back down and thrust my tongue deep inside her once more. I explore her wet depths and when she’s shivering again, I bear down on her clit.

“Fuck,” she whimpers. “Fuck…”

Then she succumbs to it. As she explodes, I feel her fingers tugging at my hair. She’s still twitching and muttering breathlessly when I lean back, free my cock from my pants, and plunge into her.

It’s fast. Savage. Hardly time to breathe between one orgasm and the next.

I make it known with the very first thrust—I make the rules here.

Cami jerks back to life, her eyes going wide with shock.

“You want Maxim now?” I demand as I thrust into her.

Her hands wind around my neck and her thighs tighten around my waist automatically. She can say whatever she wants—her body is betraying her.

“You… asshole…” she growls at me.

I smile down at her and increase the tempo of my thrusts. Our hips meet brutally hard each time.

“This is what you really want, isn’t it, little kiska?”

The words on her tongue turn to gasps as I slam my hips against hers. “Fuck, Isaak, you’re going to tear me in half…”

I squeeze her thighs so tight that I know I’m going to leave imprints. Good. Let her look in the mirror tomorrow and remember who she belongs to.

“Good girl,” I growl. “That’ll remind you who you really want.”

“This… fuck, this doesn’t change… anything…” she gasps.

But I’m not sure she even knows what she’s saying. Her eyes are rolling back in her head. Her hand cups my hip, pulling me into her, begging for more.

“Tell me,” I whisper in Cami’s ear. “Has he made you come like this?”

Instead of answering, she digs her nails into my flesh, drawing blood.

Pain flashes across my chest, but I fucking revel in it. It makes the pleasure of being inside her that much more intense. All I want to do is draw her out of her self-consciousness. Force her to unleash the wildness I know is inside her.

To fuck all the lies out until the only thing left is the fire I can’t stop obsessing over.

I’m fucking into her as hard and fast as I can. Sweat drips, breath mingles, moans mix. “Fuck…” she cries out as I fuck her into her third orgasm.

The moment I feel her spasming on my cock, I let myself go, filling her with me. As soon as I’m done, I step back to admire what I’ve done.

She’s still crumpled on the staircase, laid out like a gift.

Her eyes are blinking back into the present moment. Her chest rises and falls in gulping inhales.

Then I hear a gasp.

Camila bolts upright, practically pushing me off her. “I’m so sorry, sir,” whimpers one of the maids, Imelda. She turns around to give us privacy. “I… I was just… going to clean… I didn’t mean…”

Camila scrambles singled-mindedly to tug her skirt back into place. Her cheeks flame with embarrassment to have been discovered as we were.

“It’s okay, Imelda,” I say quickly as I tuck myself away. “Don’t worry.”

Imelda retreats back into the corridor. Seizing the moment, Camila rushes past me, heading straight for the door. She doesn’t so much as glance at me as she leaves.

But just before she disappears from sight, I see it: five little bruises on her thigh, courtesy of my fingertips.

Marking her as mine.





23





Camila





“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.”

I pace up and down, throwing frustrated punches at the air and trying to figure out how I had allowed my senses to abandon me when I needed them most.

He had cornered me, yes. But I’d gotten off on it. I’m like a junkie who can’t say no.

I should feel violated.

Do I, though?

No. Not at all.

Because he hadn’t done anything to me that I hadn’t accepted, wanted. Hadn’t practically begged for.

I climb onto the sofa in front of the fireplace and pull my legs up. I bury my face in my hands and rock back and forth.

Not only had I completely abandoned my principles, but my shame had been on display for the maid to see. I’m willing to bet that news of our little sexcapade will be all over the house in three minutes flat.

“What’s wrong with me?” I breathe to the empty room.