Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

“Your pussy was made for me.” Nibbling her glistening skin, I move my lips along her jawline. “Do you like how my cock fills you to the brim?”

“Yes.” A throaty moan next to my ear.

“Good. Because it’s the only cock you’ll ever have inside you from this point on.” I retreat, then slide into her again. “You’re staying in Sicily, Vasilisa. Forever.”

“No, I’m not.”

I seize her chin with my fingers and pin her with my stare. Her face is flushed and her lips quiver, but the look in her eyes is fierce and determined.

“You gave me your word,” she continues. “When I’m done fixing your systems, I’m free to go.”

I lose my ever-loving shit.

Grabbing the back of her neck, I plunge into her. My sanity is gone. My sense of reality—nonexistent. I ravage her kiss-swollen lips as I pound into her like a madman. The only things I can fathom are Vasilisa’s panting, the feeling of her legs clutching my waist, and the smell of her shampoo. My shampoo. I’m never letting her use any other. She is mine.

My eyes are glued to her face, absorbing every single detail about her. The way her lips part when she draws in a breath each time I thrust inside her. The strands of her hair, plastered to her flushed face. The fluttering of her long black lashes as she rides the pleasure I give her. There isn’t a more beautiful sight on this earth.

The bed creaks and protests under our weight. Vasilisa’s ragged breaths turn into ardent cries as she nears the edge. I can feel her walls clenching around me, but I force myself to hold back. It’s the most magnificent torture. As her climax approaches, I change my pace and continue to move inside her with deliberate slowness, prolonging the delicious tension between us. Finally, her body starts to shake again, and a loud scream escapes her lips as she reaches the peak of ecstasy. I let her enjoy that bliss for just a moment, then thrust hard, balls-deep into her tight little cunt, triggering yet another orgasm before she eases off her last.

A burst of white fills my vision, and I’m overcome with spasms as my cum paints Vasilisa’s insides. My lungs are struggling to draw in enough oxygen, and heat settles in my chest. I’ve never felt this way. Did too much of my blood get redirected to my cock?

Or maybe, that’s how it feels to make love to someone you’re in love with.

Chapter 14

I wake up to the sound of crashing waves competing with arguing voices drifting from somewhere downstairs. And faint traces of a familiar scent. I blink my eyes open, my gaze landing on the red velvet box lying on the nightstand.

It’s been a week since Rafael took me out on his yacht. Seven days since I plunged into uncharted waters. Instead of surfacing to find myself close to a solid shore, I’m more adrift than I’ve ever been.

We still have our “work” evenings in Rafael’s office. I continue trying to fix the bizarre issues in his company’s systems that keep popping up no matter what I do to sort them out. Rafael keeps lurking in his dark corner, sipping his wine until he declares that we’re done for the night.

But there’s a major difference to this “new” normal. When I head to the bedroom, Rafael follows.

And we fuck.

In near complete silence. Aside from our moans and grunts, and constant panting. We just have sex.

Lots and lots of mind-blowing, unhinged sex.

He leaves me so spent that I can’t manage to wake up before noon the following day. When I finally rise, Rafael is already gone, and the only proof that we spent the night together is my sore pussy and the whiffs of cypress and orange in the air.

And every day, there’s a new velvet box on the nightstand beside my bed.

The first gift was a beautiful gold necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant. I was tempted . . . so goddamn tempted to blast the thing into the sea. I managed to restrain myself. Instead, I threw the box at Rafael’s head that evening before taking my seat at the desk. He didn’t even comment on it. Just caught the necklace and put it away in his pocket.

The next morning—a new velvet box. Slightly larger, containing a matching set of sapphire earrings and a bracelet. I left it by his wine glass before making my way through the office door. Our sex was angry, but we didn’t say a word.

Day three—another necklace. Rose gold this time, with a huge round diamond solitaire. A gorgeous, classical look. I shoved it into his hand for good measure. He took it without complaint. Pants pocket, and it was out of sight.

A wristwatch on day four. Solid gold and covered in diamonds. On day five, a “full house” designer set—earrings, necklace, bracelet, and even a brooch, all in a diamond-covered jewelry case. On day six, a fucking tiara!

Every night, I returned his gift without a thank you. And each time, Rafael just put it away. Not a word. Not an indignant sound. Just a set of instructions on my next task.

And then, sex.

Epic. Raw. Sex.

Which neither of us talks about.