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My mouth opens without thinking. I reach up, grabbing the front of his jacket, knowing I should be pushing him away and only wanting to pull him closer. The kiss is hard and punishing, his teeth scraping against my lower lip, his tongue plunging into my mouth and tangling hotly with mine, but I can’t think past how good it all feels. How much I want what he’s doing to me right now.
Lorenzo groans, his hard body pressed to mine as he pushes me back against the table. His cock throbs against my thigh through the fine wool of his suit, hard and insistent, and I moan into the kiss, knowing I should be demanding an explanation and unable to do anything other than kiss him back.
He finally breaks the contact, breathing hard, his green eyes dark and wild with lust. His jaw is clenched, some unreadable emotion crashing over his face, and I don’t know whether to be terrified or as aroused as I can clearly see that he is.
“You shouldn’t be back here,” I whisper, and Lorenzo laughs darkly, his hips still pressed against mine.
“I’m Lorenzo Campano,” he bites out, his gaze dark and heavy as it holds mine. “Underboss of the most powerful mob organization in Los Angeles. I can go wherever I fucking want to.”
My heart pounds harder at that, a delicious tightening deep in my core, warring with the spike of fear that jolts through me. This man can do whatever he wants to me, with me—but right now, I want him to. I want to be entirely at his mercy, in a way I never have been with anyone. That should frighten me, and it does.
His hand slides over my hair, fingers tugging at the tight bun at the back of my head. “Do you know why I followed you back here, dolce?”
I shake my head. I can think of any number of reasons, but I want to hear his. I want to hear what he says.
“I saw you talking to other men at the party. I saw the last man you were talking to, flirting with. Laughing at his jokes.” Lorenzo’s fingers slide into my bun, tugging my head back. “Do you know who he is?”
I shake my head again, a small, quick motion against the tension of the fingers in my hair, veering wildly between fear and desire. Something about the forcefulness of how Lorenzo is holding me stirs something deep within me, fanning a hot, new desire that I didn’t know I had. I never enjoyed being restrained or hurt when Alfio did it—but with Lorenzo, it’s something different. I trust him, even if maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t believe he’ll really hurt me.
“He said his name is Egor,” I whisper. “I don’t really know much other than that.”
Lorenzo’s gaze darkens, his pupils wide, his jaw clenched as he leans over me. “He’s Bratva,” he murmurs, his eyes skating over my face, down to the low dip of my dress’s neckline. “I stood there and watched you flirting with a Bratva man, when the last memory I have of seeing you is in your bed, your skin dripping with my cum.” His hips grind into mine again, his cock an iron bar against my thigh, telling me exactly how much he wants to repeat the experience.
The pieces start to fit together. “You’re jealous because I was talking to someone from the Bratva,” I whisper. A small, reckless part of me wants to push him further. “What would you say if I told you that he’d mentioned his organization wanting to contribute to the ballet? To patronize it? ‘A good Russian pastime,’ I believe he said. He mentioned how high of a regard ballerinas are held in Russia?—”
I don’t get to finish whatever I would have said next. Lorenzo’s mouth comes down on mine again, hot and hard, kissing me so roughly that, for a moment, I wonder if his teeth against my lip might draw blood.
“You are mine,” he snarls against my mouth, breathing heavily. “Mine, Mila Ilenya, and?—”
I jerk back, despite his hand in my hair and his hips keeping me pinned, gasping for air in the fraction of space. “I’ve tried to be yours!” I snap back, my eyes wide, my chest heaving. Lorenzo’s hand is on my thigh, dragging up my skirt, his hand fisting in the thing fabric. “You keep refusing what I’m offering?—”
“I want you to be mine without conditions.” His mouth drags over mine again, his tongue licking at the places on my lip where he’s bitten me. “I want you to beg for me to be inside of you because you want me, and for no other reason.”
His hand slips under my skirt, up the smooth length of my thigh, dipping between my legs before I can protest. He groans as he feels the thin silk of the thong beneath my dress, wet and clinging to me, soaked through with desire.
“Like this,” he murmurs, his gaze hot and dark as his lips press against mine again. “Dripping for me because you crave me, as much as I crave you.” His mouth slants over mine, pressing hard. “I’m going to fuck you, Mila,” he growls against my mouth, his fingers curling around the silk thong. “But first, you’re going to come on my fingers. And then you’re going to beg.”
His two fingers push into me, rough and demanding, and I cry out as my hands curl into fists in the front of his jacket. His hand in my hair tightens, holding my head in place as he starts to fuck me with his fingers, thrusting hard and fast as his thumb finds my clit. His mouth grazes against my ear, his breath warm against the shell of it as my arousal rapidly climbs.
I’m going to fuck you. The bluntness of it only stokes my desire even more, making me tremble between his hands and mouth as he drives me toward a hard, ruthless climax. I feel him grind against my thigh, his arousal as urgent as mine, and I gasp as his fingers curl inside of me.
“Don’t hold out on me, Mila,” he breathes into my ear. “Come for me, dolce.”
As if on command, my body comes apart for him. My mouth opens on a cry as I clench around his fingers, my hips bucking up into his hand as I moan loudly enough that anyone walking by my dressing room would know exactly what’s happening here. The thought turns me on even more, sending shudders of pleasure through my body as I’m wracked with a climax that makes every muscle go taut, Lorenzo’s mouth on my throat as he fucks me hard with his fingers throughout it. My hands are gripping the edge of the table so hard that I know my knuckles must have gone white, my entire body throbbing with need even as my knees go weak with relief as the release pulses through me. I need more than just his fingers, and he knows it.
Lorenzo pulls his hand free, lifting his fingers to his lips with a dark look on his face. His tongue curls around them as he grabs my waist, licking my arousal off of his hand as he spins me, yanking up my dress with his other hand.
He nudges my feet apart, holding my dress out of the way as he jerks his zipper down, freeing his thick cock. I can see all of it in the mirror as he runs his hand down his length, pre-cum already dripping from the tip as he lets go of himself just long enough to slip his fingers around the thin silk of my thong again.
Lorenzo yanks, and the silk tears wetly, ripping free as he thrusts his hips forward and spears me with his cock.
“Lorenzo!” I shriek his name as he sinks into me, too thick, too fast. I feel my body stretch around him, burning pain and pleasure in one hot slide as he slams into me to the hilt, my vanity table rocking with the force of his initial thrust.
“Mine,” he growls against my ear, the hand that was holding my dress coming up to thread his fingers through my now-loose bun again. “Mine. Say it, Mila.” Each word is punctuated by a hard thrust of his hips, his hard, thick cock filling me each time.
I arch my neck, twisting to look at him. A brief flare of resentment rises up in me—all the times I begged him to do exactly this, to fuck me and make me his, to want me this much…and now he demands it as if this hasn’t been what I wanted since the moment he put me on my knees in his office. “Make me,” I whisper, and something dark and dangerous glitters in Lorenzo’s eyes.
“You want me to make you mine?” His voice is a low, rasping growl, his cock slamming into me again and again, his pace punishing. The table rocks under our combined weight, each hard thrust threatening to topple it, and I let out another keening moan as he grinds his hips against my ass. He feels so fucking good, so thick, filling me exactly the way I want. I could come, if he would only touch my clit?—
