Page 48 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

THE LAST FIRST KISS

H e doesn’t say anything at first. He just leans into me with his eyes on mine, like he already knows what I’m thinking, what I need. What I’m dying for.

I try to breathe. I can’t, not with the weight of that wardrobe still on my skin. Not with the memory of his fingers still inside me.

“You’re quiet,” he says finally, voice thick and low. “Changed your mind already?”

I meet his gaze and hate how shaky I sound when I say, “About what?”

“Letting me wreck you.”

God. I don’t answer. I can’t.

I straddle him without thinking, without hesitation. I sit on his hard cock like I’m about to fuck him to oblivion. My hands brace on his shoulders, and the second our mouths meet, I swear the whole damn world tips sideways.

He groans into the kiss, deep and rough, one hand gripping my hip like he’s been starving for this.

“Is this what you want, Princess?” he mutters against my mouth. “To ride me all the way home with your pretty little panties still wet from earlier? ”

“Yes,” I gasp, rolling my hips once, shameless.

His hand snakes between us, palming the heat between my legs.

“No shame left, is there?”

“No,” she whispers.

“Good.”

He kisses me harder—open-mouthed, messy, dominant—and this time, when his fingers slip beneath my panties again, he doesn’t tease.

He works me with practiced precision, circling my clit with the pad of his thumb while two fingers slide into me like they never left.

My breath catches. My body arches for him. I want his cock in me, claiming me and branding me as his . I want him to be merciless. Because if being ruined feels anything like the fire he set in my pussy and the heat that burns my skin when he touches me, I’m all in.

“Look at you,” he growls, lips brushing my jaw, my throat. “Already so close and we’re not even through Midtown.”

His free hand slides up my back, fisting in my hair, pulling my head back until I’m exposed and helpless in his grip.

“You’re going to come again, right here,” he breathes. “On my fingers, in my lap, with that sweet little mouth gasping my name.”

Vukan

I slide my hand between her thighs, push past the waistband of those soaked panties, and find her already drenched.

She moans—loud, raw. I press my mouth to her throat to swallow the sound.

“Gonna make a mess all over me again?” I whisper, curling my fingers just right. “You're that desperate to come for me?”

She moans and her hips roll, chasing every thrust of my fingers. Her nails drag down my chest, making an imprint on my shirt. She’s already close.

She’s breathing heavily and her whole body is trembling because everything inside her is winding up for an epic release.

“Come for me,” I command, voice low in her ear. “Now. Right here. Let me see what I do to you.”

She shudders against me, biting my neck, her pussy clenching around my fingers like she was made to fall apart for me and me only.

I hold her tight and enjoy her body moving into mine. I don’t rush her, and I can’t move—I just let her fall.

She moans against my neck as she comes undone. Our bodies are sweaty, and the limo smells of ruin. And when it’s over, when she’s limp and breathless in my arms, I bring my slick fingers to my mouth and taste her.

She watches me do it with her eyes wide. And her mouth parts, but she doesn’t say a word.

Ruined.

I whisper darkly, “You know what I’m going to do when we get home?” I rasp. My voice is rough and filthy. “I’m going to strip you bare. Lay you out on silk sheets and make you beg for it. With your legs spread and my mouth between your thighs until you forget your own name.”

The limo slows to a stop in front of my mansion.

And this time, I don’t plan on stopping.

Bianca

Coming on Vukan’s fingers was loud and fast and wild, and I’m shuddering in his lap as the limo keeps moving. It’s surreal. I never dreamt this in my wildest fantasies.

As the city keeps burning outside, I’m reveling in the fact that he’s the only man who’s ever made me feel like this. I’m not just wanted. I’m his. And he’s not going to leave when things get tough. And he wants me even though I fight him on every turn.

He must like being punished, as I’m not an easy person. I know that, and so does he, but he wants me anyway. And that makes him the first and only man I’ve ever let in.

I curl into his lap, and he strokes my head.

It’s a comfortable feeling, being in his arms, knowing that I have him beside me, no matter what.

Our world is filled with intense darkness, and now, I’ve experienced a sliver of light, and it’s exquisite.

I’m glad I’ve finally arrived. I’m happy thinking that I get to do all the things I love and all the things I’ve done all over again, but this time, it will be sweeter with him by my side.

His mansion looms at the edge of a windswept coastline, carved from dark stone that drinks in the light.

Turrets spear the sky like watchful sentinels, and arched windows glint faintly with stained glass—reds and ambers that catch fire in the setting sun.

A wrought-iron gate, twisted into thorned vines, guards the long drive, which curves through Eastern Red Cedar trees and ends at a grand double staircase of marble veined like flesh and bone.

The facade is regal and foreboding, draped in ivy that clings like memory. Gargoyle statues crouch on the parapets, their weatherworn faces frozen in grim amusement. Even in silence, the mansion hums with presence—ancient, restrained, and unblinking. The house is a fortress, so I know I’m safe.

We walk through a massive wooden door, and we enter the foyer. My heels click on the marble floors. I notice the high ceilings and gorgeous chandeliers, which appear too expensive, and yet, they are perfect.

My pulse is still thundering. My thighs are still slick. And I know— I know —he’s not going to stop this time.

I follow him in silence up the grand staircase, past rooms I’ve never seen, but I notice each is decorated with a different theme. It’s too much. The house. The silence. Him .

He stops at a door and looks over his shoulder .

“This is mine,” he says. His voice is low. Rough. Like he's barely holding it together.

I nod, afraid to speak. Because I know I’ll beg.

He opens the massive wooden doors, and we step inside. It’s not what I expected. Yes, it’s dark and huge and impossibly masculine—but it’s quiet, too.

The room is impeccably clean and cold, looking like it’s a picture from a magazine. The door closes behind me with a heavy thud.

I turn. He’s already unbuttoning his shirt, watching me with a hunger in his eye that should scare me, but instead, I’m flattered.

I take in his chest, the one I’ve yearned to touch for weeks, and observe the detailed tattoos, a snake wrapped around a dagger, words in a language I don’t understand, and scars from battles lost.

He unzips his trousers and drops his boxers. His hard cock springs free. I gasp with pleasure at his huge, veined cock, and instinctively, I flick my tongue over my lips.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice like gravel and fire. He takes my hand and I let him.

I nod. “Yes.”

He moves like a man finally unleashed as he pulls me into his arms. His hands caress me as they run down my body until they grip my waist. Then, he’s unzipping my dress, lifting it, and tugging it over my head.

My bra drops to the floor. I slide out of my heels. He rips my undies off, and then he stares.

“Lie down,” he says, pointing to the bed. “Now.”

I go. Not because I like taking commands, but because I want to. I need to.

The sheets are soft against my back, and I barely have time to blink before he’s crawling over me, settling between my legs.

When he’s over me, his eyes look intently into my mind. I’m so wet I could swim in it. I’m bursting at the seams. I want him over me, under me—possessing me.

Then his warm lips are on mine, and it’s hotter than hell. Slowly, his perfect lips press on mine, warm, and with the right amount of wetness as they cover mine, taking, giving, nipping, and sucking.

It’s well, it’s devastating . It’s heat and emotion. His tongue moves like he’s worshipping me.

I moan, and God help me, I don’t want him to stop. He’s pushing me out of my comfort zone. I’m falling into the abyss, and I don’t care. I can’t fight it, nor do I want to. I surrender, giving myself to him completely because the thought of my life without him is unacceptable.

He works his way down my body, hot with desire, dropping kisses as he travels down to my soft mound. Then, he’s between my legs, licking my soft, warm folds.

“Keep your eyes on me, Princeza,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “I want another taste of you.”

He licks and nips and teases me, bringing me to the cusp of euphoria and backing off. It’s torture, the most sublime torture I’ve ever experienced.

My fingers pierce the skin on his back as I cling to him. He licks me a few more times, snaking his hand up to fondle my breast, and when he pinches my nipple, I come undone.

“Come for me, Kitten,” he murmurs, rapidly licking my nub.

I cry his name as I come. He continues to lap my warm cum, murmuring, “Good girl.”

He slides up my body and kisses my lips like I’m something holy. Shivers ran up my spine. I’ve never had a man so intent on pleasuring me. He makes love to every inch of my body.

And when I gasp his name, when I arch off the bed?—

He just groans like he likes how messy I’m getting.

My thighs are still trembling from his mouth, and already, he’s climbing over me —eyes dark, and jaw clenched like he’s barely holding back.

He kisses me. The kiss is slow, deep, like he’s branding me.

I nip at his lips, tasting myself on them. I lick his neck and nuzzle his strong neck as his huge cock presses into me. I grind up against him like I’ve forgotten how to be embarrassed.

“Take your time,” I whisper, even though I don’t mean it.