Page 24 of Crystal Wrath (Rostov Bratva #1)

“You don't know what you're offering,” he continues, but his resolve is wavering. I can see it in the way his eyes darken, and in the barely controlled tension in his muscles.

“Then show me,” I breathe against his lips. “Stop hiding behind your secrets and show me who you really are.”

The challenge between us for a heartbeat before something shifts in his expression. The careful control he maintains crumbles completely, replaced by raw hunger that takes my breath away.

This time, when he kisses me, there's nothing gentle about it. His mouth claims mine with desperate intensity, and I meet him with equal fervor. The kiss becomes a battle of wills, a conversation conducted entirely through touch, heat, and the slide of lips and tongues.

His hands roam over my body with reverent exploration, mapping the curve of my waist, the length of my thighs, and the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Each touch sends fire racing through my bloodstream, and I find myself making soft sounds of pleasure that seem to drive him wild.

He pulls my shirt, shorts, and panties off, throwing them across the room.

Without warning, he grabs my thighs, spreads my legs open, and buries his tongue in my pussy.

My mouth drops open in a gasp as his tongue flicks back and forth.

I’m already on the verge of an orgasm as his tongue alternates between gliding over my clit and dipping inside my pussy.

I wrap my legs around his head, pulling him closer.

His hand slides up my body, palming my breast and pinching my nipple.

At the same time, his mouth covers my clit, and he sucks hard.

An explosion of pleasure rocks through me, causing stars to dance behind my eyes.

Rising from between my legs, he quickly sheds his clothes. He leans over me, kissing me slowly from my pussy to my lips. My body vibrates as I run my hands through his hair, my desire building again in my core.

Renat steps back, stroking his thick, hard cock, his gaze locked onto mine. He moves between my legs, and I lift my hips toward him, desperate to have him inside me. I watch as he slides the head of his cock back and forth across my clit. My body grows tense with need as he teases me.

“Fuck me already!” I cry out, grabbing his cock and trying to force it into my pussy.

His fingers slide around my throat, cuffing me tightly without hurting me. “You’ll wait as long as I want you to, kiska ,” he growls as he pushes just the head of his cock into my throbbing pussy. “This pussy is mine, and I’ll do with it as I please.”

He alternates dipping his cock into my pussy and then my ass, driving me to the brink of madness. “Please Renat…” I beg. “P-please fuck me…”

He shoves his entire cock into my pussy, filling me up as he squeezes my throat gently.

My back arches off the desk, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his back.

He releases my throat and leans in, kissing me deeply and passionately.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and his tongue slips into my mouth, matching his thrusts.

His thrusts grow faster and hungrier, and the delicious tension between my legs builds. Tingles and waves of pleasure radiate into my arms and legs as pressure coils in my stomach.

“Yes…please…” I beg, so close to shattering.

Renat buries his face in my neck, his lips and tongue stroking the soft flesh. The muscles in his back tighten as his hips move at a frantic pace. My eyes roll back as my pussy clenches around his cock. He groans into my neck, and with one final thrust, I explode around him.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck, Renat!” I scream as wave after wave of pleasure shoots outward across my body.

He hisses a curse in Russian as his cock pushes into me balls deep, filling me up with his release. He collapses over me, holding his weight with the palms of his hands flat on the desk. When he finally pulls out his cock, I lay there twitching and jerking like I’ve just been hit with electricity.

My body slowly calms down, and I catch my breath. “This doesn't change anything,” I manage to tell him, though the words feel like lies even as I speak them.

He studies my face with those piercing hazel eyes, searching for something I'm not sure I'm ready to give. “No,” he murmurs, his voice rough and dangerous. “But it changes everything.”

The contradiction makes perfect sense at this moment, surrounded by scattered books, moonlight, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the musk of desire. We've crossed a line we can't uncross, and acknowledged something that's been simmering between us since he barged into my apartment.

I slide down from the desk, my feet finding the floor, though my legs feel unsteady.

He doesn't move away, instead he places his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the solid wood while giving me the illusion of freedom.

The position puts us eye to eye, and I'm struck again by how beautiful he is, the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead, and the intensity in his gaze that makes me feel like I'm the only person in his world.

“I need to tell you something,” he declares, his voice low and serious. The shift in tone brings me back to reality, reminding me that whatever this is between us, we're still surrounded by danger, secrets, and a world I barely understand.

I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch as he moves to gather my clothes.

After he dresses, he settles into the chair across from mine, the distance suddenly feeling vast after the intimacy we just shared. But his eyes never leave mine, and I see vulnerability there that he rarely shows.

“I didn't rise to power here by accident,” he begins, and I settle back to listen, knowing that whatever he's about to share will change how I see him.

“Francesco Bennato didn't always consider me a threat.

But when my father died and I inherited the Bratva, I made it my mission to expand and build something stronger than what he left behind.

Bennato didn't appreciate the competition.”

I lean forward, drawn into the story despite myself. “You mean your rivalry isn't just business?”

“It's personal,” he confirms, and there's bitterness in his voice that speaks to years of conflict.

“To him, I'm an outsider. A foreigner who dared to take root in what he considers his city.

He's old school and believes in territory, bloodlines, and control through fear. I believe in efficiency. Ruthlessness when necessary, but not recklessness. I outmaneuver him more times than I can count, especially on the waterfront.”

“Waterfront?” I repeat, the journalist in me immediately curious.

“Real estate,” he explains. “It's not just about buildings. It's about control. Power. Bennato wanted those projects, but I secured them before he could make his move. He's been trying to dismantle my operation ever since.”

I process this information, fitting it into what I already know about Miami's criminal underworld. “And he's using the media, the police, politicians...”

“He owns more people than he should,” Renat confirms grimly. “He's buried men in cement and called it business. I've done worse, but not for entertainment. For survival.”

The admission should horrify me. Should send me running from this room and this man and everything he represents. Instead, I find myself studying his face, looking for signs of the monster he claims to be, and seeing only a man shaped by circumstances beyond his control.

“What am I in all this?” I ask quietly, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

He meets my gaze directly. “Collateral damage. At first. Now...” He pauses as if struggling with the words. “Now I don't know. Something more.”

The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. I don't respond immediately, instead letting the truth of his admission settle in my mind.

“You grew up in this?” I probe, unable to imagine a childhood surrounded by such darkness.

“Born into it. But I didn't choose it. Not really.” He hesitates, and I see the internal struggle as he decides how much to reveal.

“My father wasn't a kind man. Respected, yes. Feared. But never warm. I was a reminder to his wife of his betrayal. The son of his mistress and living proof of his infidelity. My mother died when I was a baby. Murdered, most believe. I never got to know her.”

The pain in his voice is unmistakable, and I feel my own heart clench in response. Despite everything, the danger, the secrets, the criminal empire he controls, he's just a man who lost his mother before he could form memories of her.

“I never knew my father,” I find myself sharing, though I hadn't planned to.

“He was cruel to my mother. She ran with me when I was still in diapers, leaving everything behind to give me a chance at something better. She worked herself into the ground to make sure I had opportunities she never did. I owe her everything.”

It’s brief, but something registers in his expression. A subtle recognition, or maybe something deeper.

“Sometimes, you remind me of the stories I’ve heard about her,” he murmurs. “Stubborn. Fierce. Always trying to fix things that were already beyond saving.”

The comparison catches me off guard, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks. “And you...” I pause, struggling to articulate something I barely understand myself. “You make me want to believe there's more to this life than just surviving it.”

The words are more honest than I intended, and more revealing than I'm comfortable with. But they're true, and after everything that's happened, I'm tired of hiding from difficult truths.

I rise from my chair slowly, drawn by a feeling deep in my chest. He watches me approach, tension coiling in his muscles, but he doesn't move away when I stop in front of him. Instead, he looks up at me with those devastating hazel eyes, waiting to see what I'll do next.

Without giving myself time to overthink it, I slide into his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. His arms come around me immediately, settling on my waist, holding me close but not constraining me. The position puts us at eye level, intimate, without being overwhelming.

“I don't trust you,” I whisper, the confession escaping before I can stop it.

His smile is sad but understanding. “I know.”

“But I want to,” I continue, and his grip on me tightens slightly.

“I want to trust you. I want to believe that you're different from what everyone tells me you are.

I want to think that maybe there's something real between us that isn't just about protection or convenience or whatever this started as.”

He reaches up to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with infinite gentleness. “Then I'll give you reasons to,” he promises, and something in his voice makes me believe him despite every rational objection my mind can produce.

We sit like that for a long time, saying nothing, just breathing each other in. His scent surrounds me and makes me want to bury my face in his neck and forget about the world outside these walls.

I let myself imagine for a moment that this is real. That we're just two people who found each other against impossible odds, and the danger, the secrets, and the criminal empire are all just obstacles we can overcome together.

It's a beautiful fantasy, and for tonight, in this room filled with poetry and the solid warmth of his body against mine, I let myself believe it might actually be possible.