Page 101 of Mafia and Scars

His mouth claims mine again, and I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, greedy for more. More of his scent, of his taste, of everything.

A quiet groan escapes him as I nip his bottom lip. His grip tightens on my waist, pulling me fully against him. And I feel him—hard and wanting beneath me, tension coiling like a spring between us.

His fingers trail beneath my dress, brushing my bare skin, and I shiver. My hips rock forward—just enough to draw a deeper groan from him, a sound that curls heat low in my belly.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he rasps against my lips as we both pant for air.

“Good.”

His hand tangles in my hair, dragging me back in. His mouth is hot and hungry as it moves along my jaw, down my neck. His lips part against my throat, sucking gently before nipping the sensitive skin and soothing it with his tongue. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make my head fall back and steal my breath.

“You taste sweet,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Like something I can’t even name.”

My fingers slip beneath his shirt, palms skimming the hard lines of his stomach and the ridges of muscle that contract beneath my touch. He’s so warm, and God, I want to touch him everywhere and map every inch with my tongue and fingers.

He kisses back up my neck, finding my mouth again. His tongue strokes mine in slow, consuming sweeps that leave me gasping. I grind against him, desperate for friction, for relief, for so much more. He meets me halfway, hands digging into my hips, guiding me against him with a low, desperate sound that makes me ache.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You feel incredible. Like everything I’ve ever needed.”

His hands slide down my thighs, fingers grasping my soft flesh as he pulls me into him more.

Nothing is tentative or hesitant. This is wild. Frantic. Pure passion. It’s everything that’s been building between us.

He pulls back, chest heaving. “I want to take my time with you,” he breathes against my neck, pressing soft kisses there. “I...”

“I know,” I murmur.

“This is all...”

“A lot,” I finish, nodding as I breathe hard against him, his forehead pressed to mine.

“A lot,” he agrees, and I see the frustration and need burning in his eyes.

“It’s okay to feel things that don’t make sense, Viktor. I’m not going anywhere.”

Because beneath all that quiet strength is a man who doesn’t just want my body. He also wants to cherish me.

And I want to let him.

So, I kiss him again and again until we’re both breathing hard, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lost in this moment together.

Until there’s nothing left but us.

My chest tightens. Something as simple as making out shouldn’t turn me to liquid warmth. But here I am, melting as he looks at me like I’m his lifeline.

No one’s ever looked at me like that before.

And it’s a look I only ever want from this one man.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

VIKTOR

I’m returning from work the next day when I hear it.

The buzzing starts before I even reach the Kremlin’s gates. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. It’s another agitation I don’t need.

A low hum follows me down the gravel drive like an unwelcome swarm of mosquitoes. My eyes narrow at the sky. What the hell is making that noise?