Claimed Bratva Virgin (Yezhov Bratva #4)

Chapter 10 – Leonora

“What the fuck, Leo?”

Shuttling between the driver’s seat and the car engine, I refused to look Gavin in the eye. “I know, I know. I’m crazy. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something that made you question my sanity. You know, I’m hurt that you haven’t already come to terms with the fact that I’m not a normal human being.”

“No, kid. You’re not playing a fast one on me. Just crazy? Leo, you’re racing Il Macellaio. Rafayel Yezhov.”

I peeked at the older man from above the hood before I slammed it shut. I crossed my hands over my chest. “So? He’s not God. And I’m going to beat him. What’s the big deal anyway?”

I knew what the big deal was. Even my pounding heart knew what the frigging big deal was.

Gavin stared me down like I’d gone completely off my rockers. And I didn’t blame him. That was the first thing I thought the second I stepped out of Rafayel’s office. The wave of relief that filled me was surreal, like I could breathe again without having to worry about inhaling too much of him.

What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to a challenge with him?

Papa wanted me to do only one thing with him—technically, two: form a strong alliance and crush him.

It should have been as simple as that, but in the meantime, I was meant to stay away from him. Far, far away, where my heart won’t skid to a bloody stop at every sight of him, and I would be able to think straight.

“You picked a fight with his cousin, and now you want to step on the big man’s toes. How the—”

Turning around was unnecessary when I knew why the man had stopped talking. I felt him looming behind me, tall and broad, with his warmth enveloping me in a strange caress.

Zver.

Mustering the courage to look him in the eye and nowhere else, I spun on my heels to face him. The man made it hard to stay focused when he looked like a front-page model in a magazine.

That was a joke.

He looked like a fucking god.

“This the guy who owns the track?”

I barely responded with a nod when my eyes were glued to his flexing biceps and the taut pull of his black t-shirt around his torso beneath his striped black, red, and white Ferrari jacket. His black denim jeans were a perfect fit, and the dark boots were the cherry on top.

Gavin muttered something about active radios for communication and staying off the field before quietly handing off the keys to one of the Porsches and disappearing around the back of the shed.

“What’s his deal?”

I beamed up at him, snagging my lower lip between my teeth and feeling flushed when his gaze darkened as he followed the movement. “He’s only sorry you’re going to go back to your house sobbing like a baby after I’m done with you tonight.”

Rafayel smiled at me, and my heart did that crazy thumping when I realized how extremely handsome he was with that smile. “That means you’re ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

****

The roar of engines filled the air as we pulled into the racing arena, lining up on the asphalt. The vibrations from the track reverberated through my chest. Bright lights gleamed above our heads, illuminating sleek cars that were already having some fun of their own.

I signaled Rafayel through my window, and he pulled on his racing gloves.

“You sure you’re up for this? I wouldn’t want you blaming your car when you lose.” The excitement in his voice came over the radio.

I smirked, adjusting in the cockpit of my car. The interior smelled of leather and fuel, a sharp blend that always sent a thrill through me. “Don’t worry about me. Just try to keep up.”

The starting lights flashed, and I gripped the steering wheel.

Anticipation coiled in my chest.

The moment the green light blazed, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, and like a bullet, the car shot forward, the force pinning me back against the seat.

The track was a blur of flashing lights and roaring machines. Each curve demanded accurate swerves and nerve. I caught glimpses of Rafayel’s car in my side mirrors.

Holy frigging shi—

His car darted forward like a shark through water.

Now, I was impressed. And I w asn’t easily impressed.

“Not bad for someone who claims to be the best,” I laughed into the radio.

A deep, dangerously arousing chuckle came through the speakers. “Don’t get cocky, Leonya. The race isn’t over yet.”

I grinned, taking the next turn with a sharp flick of the wheel. The tires screeched, and the back end of the car slid dangerously close to the barrier. My heart might have as well leaped from my throat, but I recovered just in time. The rush sent a jolt through me, and my hands were shaky on the wheel.

“Close one.” Rafayel’s voice crackled through the radio again, and I thought I heard a hint of worry in the mix of amusement. “You sure you’ve got this?”

I peeked at the mirror again, horrified when I spotted him gaining on me. I needed a boost to get out of this spot.

“Worry about yourself.”

The next stretch was a straightaway, and I pushed my car to its limit, watching the speedometer needle climb higher.

Rafayel pulled up beside me. With his car close enough, I could almost see the cocky smirk I knew he was wearing. Arrogant piece of—

“Let’s see how you handle this.” His car nudged ahead.

I wasn’t going to lie; Rafayel drove well and was better competition than all the Prix runners-up. I wasn’t expecting him to be this skilled on the track. Like some other things I believed about him, I thought he was exaggerating when he told me about his racing experience.

I refused to back down, and my competitive side blazed. The final stretch loomed ahead with a series of tight curves leading to the finish line.

Rafayel and I took the turns in near unison, our cars dangerously close to colliding.

“Better hold on.” I maneuvered my car through the last curve.

And in the final seconds, I floored the gas, my heart thumping in rhythm with the screaming engine as I surged forward. The finish line blurred past, and the realization hit me—I’d won.

I fucking won!

By a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

This conquest felt bigger, more significant than the exhilaration that flooded my veins after I emerged tops at the Grand Prix. Like I’d proved my value to someone worth proving it to.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” came his voice tinged with disbelief through the radio.

I laughed loud enough to let him feel the burn of my victory. “What’s the matter? Not used to losing?”

He pulled up beside me, his car idling as he rolled down his window. His smirk was intact, but there was the edge of victory in his eyes. “You got lucky.”

Pfft.

Yezhovs and their frigging pride. It was the same thing Ivan said.

“Skill,” I corrected, stepping out of the car and tossing my helmet onto the seat. “But don’t feel too bad. I’ll admit, you put up a good fight.”

“Remind me never to underestimate you again.”

I smiled, feeling the rush of the race still thrumming in my veins. “Smart choice.”

With the adrenaline still coursing through us, we stepped off the track. The roar of engines no longer charged the air. We’d been so wrapped up in our own excitement that neither of us noticed when the track emptied of other cars, but the tension lingered, thick and electric in the evening air.

Quietly, I walked back to the stands and threw myself on one of the padded seats. Stretching my legs out, I peeled off my gloves, flexed my fingers, and reeled in the satisfying ache that reminded me of my triumph.

Rafayel approached with firm, confident strides and a glow in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher. The man radiated control. Even now, dressed casually with beads of perspiration dotting his upper lips and rolling down his carved jawline, his presence could still turn heads.

He stopped just close enough for the air between us to crackle.

Gazing up at him, I wiggled my fingers. “You owe me ten thousand dollars.”

When he carelessly ran his long, slender fingers through his hair, my gaze dipped to glimpse the fair skin on his torso when his shirt rode up above his belt.

“We didn’t finalize the bet, and I didn’t expect you to take that final corner so aggressively.”

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t expect you to leave me enough room to do it.”

Rafayel’s laughter was soft, almost indulgent, and when he laughed, there was this boyishness around him that erased the image of the rogue I was well accustomed to. I realized I enjoyed watching his eyes light up and the crinkle beside his lips deepen.

“I like a good challenge. You didn’t disappoint.”

Neither did he, though I wasn’t about to admit it again. It would spike his ego, and I wasn’t sure I could handle any more Yezhov pride tonight.

The heat of the race hadn’t dissipated, and standing this close to him, I wasn’t sure it ever would.

“I told you I was a pro.”

“At track.” I met his eyes when he tilted his head slightly. “Doesn’t mean you’re a pro at other things.”

“I never challenged that.”

“But I did. I challenged you.” His eyes were saying something his mouth wasn’t, and his gaze lingered like he wanted me to catch on. “And you told me I run my mouth too much.”

I didn’t get why he remained quiet, and when I pondered hard on it, it clicked.

His mouth .

I grew hot all over again, remembering what he said. And you would be surprised how well I can put it to good use.

“Do you know the first thing I thought about when I watched you cross that finish line, Leonya?”

What could he have thought about except wallowing in defeat?

I was eager to hear it but, maybe, scared at the same time. Because…well, because I knew it was probably the first thing I thought about, too, the minute he walked into the shed this evening looking like the main dish on a gold platter.

Unable to speak, I shook my head.

Rafayel surprised me by dropping to his haunches in front of me. Now, we were at eye level, and I saw everything I’d been pretending not to notice from the minute we jammed paths again in that underground prison.

The foreign emotion swirling in his eyes was overwhelming, but what blew me away was the raving intensity of desire swimming in them.

“I thought about kissing you.”

For the love of—

Shit!

I almost swallowed my fucking tongue because I thought I heard Zver confess to wanting to kiss me just now.

But he did say it, didn’t he? My ears weren’t bleeding in fantasy land; he fucking said it!

“Leonya.”

There was no denying it anymore. This man desired me, and I craved him worse than children craved chocolates and cookies. It was like a rising volcano with an urgent need to erupt—a maddening desire to burst. I was the balloon, and he was the pin. The ache was strong. None of this made sense, this energy rotating around us. But it was there, and we couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want to.

“Leonya….”

I busted out in hysterical laughter because that was exactly how I felt now—fucking hysterical. “You’re bluffing.”

“Bluffing.”

Rafayel chuckled, but it didn’t sound like the first one. This time, it was dark and enticingly murderous, like wicked promises he wanted to fulfill for only me. Carefree Rafayel was gone, and this was Zver chuckling. The lethal, malignant Russian killer we all knew him to be.

He leaned close, reached forward, and before I could shriek or react, long, slender fingers slid into my hair, and hard lips came crashing down on mine.

Musky cologne pulled me under a haze, and his distinct scent invaded my entire senses.

I froze—couldn’t blink, or talk, or breathe properly.

But when he growled against my mouth like a hungry lion devouring its tasty prey, I knew this was real, and my reaction was instant. I parted my lips, almost falling from the padded seat and melting into a puddle when his hot tongue rammed its way into my mouth.

I had trouble keeping up. Cranking my neck, I bent it to the side and moved like a puppet dancing to its master's tunes.

He was hot and rough and greedy, lapping his tongue to taste me, nibbling on my lower lip to tease me. And fucking sue me, I liked it too damn much.

When my lashes fluttered shut, and I leaned forward to shamelessly sink into him, he pulled back. I opened my eyes to catch him smiling and rising to his full height like he didn’t just unravel me from inside-out and leave me there, all wet and uncomfortably needy.

I managed to gasp out, “Not bad for someone who only hit it right in his youthful days.”

I was dazed and confused.

What the fuck just happened?

“My estate is nearby. Why don’t you stop by? A drink, maybe. Or we could freshen up.”

That offer was anything but casual. I could see where this was going. He wanted to finish what he started.

A smarter woman might have refused, drawn a line in the sand, and stood her ground.

But I wasn’t in the mood to be smarter.

I arched a brow, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep him guessing. “I suppose I could use a drink.”

His smirk deepened, his satisfaction unmistakable. “Then, let’s not waste any time.”

****

When we arrived at his house, I honestly expected not to make it past the door. Maybe a few jacks and throws and slams against the wall as he captured my mouth again and unscrewed all the working nuts in my brain while he mouth-fucked me would have been better.

But the man was full of surprises, and his mansion certainly wasn’t what I expected.

For a man like him who thrived on control and exuded confidence like a second skin, I anticipated something ostentatious—towering gates, sprawling grounds, a display of untouchable wealth. Instead, the estate was…understated, almost deceptively so.

A line of neatly trimmed cypress trees lined the driveway leading to a house, striking a balance between old-world charm and contemporary restraint.

It wasn’t grandiose, but it wasn’t ultramodern either. Smooth limestone walls were accented with dark wood beams, and soft uplighting released warm glows on the arched windows. It was the kind of place that hinted at luxury rather than screamed it.

Now, inside, the surprises continued.

The foyer was modest, with polished wood floors that gleamed under a minimalist chandelier. There were no oversized portraits or gaudy gold accents—just a clean, inviting space that somehow still felt personal—a quiet elegance.

We walked past the parlor, and I took notes. It was a clash of moods. On one side, a sleek black leather couch and modern glass coffee table suggested a man of practicality and taste. On the other, a wall of bookshelves, crammed with everything from classics to what looked like obscure philosophy texts, hinted at a depth I hadn’t expected. And then there was the massive vintage record player tucked in the corner, out of place but perfectly him—if that was even something I could define.

Every moment with the man felt like different pieces of him were being revealed, each one giving me whiplash.

A simple wooden dining table stood in stark contrast to the intricately designed wine rack on the wall. A quick tour of the study, which was not too far away, revealed stacks of papers, folders, and maps spread across a sturdy desk. The adjacent wall was lined with expensive liquor bottles, like trophies.

This was where he decided the tour ended, though. In his study.

He plucked out two glasses and a bottle of what looked like vintage wine. After he filled both glasses, he handed one to me.

I settled on the leather couch, feeling off balance. And it didn’t help that he was watching me, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Why did it feel strange and different , as though he seemed both more approachable and more enigmatic, here in his home? Like a completely different person, and yet, one and the same?

“This isn’t what I imagined,” I admitted and took a sip from my glass.

God!

It took every shred of dignity in me not to spit the wine back. I gurgled and dropped the glass on the center table, not able to decide if it was too sweet, too strong, or too old.

“What the heck is that?”

Smiling, he walked up to me, gingerly taking more sips from his glass than I was sure I could handle. “Romanèe-Conti.”

“It tastes like a hundred years old.”

“It’s not up there, but it’s vintage for a reason.” He smirked, dropped to the couch beside me, and leaned back against the armrest. “Didn’t think I’d be the simple type?”

“ Simple isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the house or himself, but either way, he wasn’t wrong.

Giving him a serious look, despite the fact that my heart was beating crazy in my chest, I rose to my feet, dusting my frayed denim bum shorts as I cleared the distance between us.

“I also didn’t imagine you invited me over here for an actual drink.”

So, I was being forward, throwing myself on him like a thirsty odalisque.

So what?

I always went for what I wanted, whatever or whoever it was.

His eyes dropped my bare torso peeking from underneath my cropped T-shirt, lingered for a second longer, and darkened.

When he lifted his chin to gaze up at me, his dark irises grew stormy, like two gleaming onyx stones, as if the turmoil of his soul was brewing within their depths.

The pupils seemed to dilate, expanding like black holes, drawing in the light around him, and I could almost see the turbulence churning within his eyes, like the dark, swirling clouds of a thunderhead on a summer’s day.

Lust.

Rafayel’s hands found my hips, and he dragged me toward him, roughly slipping his fingers along the base of my neck and into my hair once more. His touch against my skin was like fire on ice.

One touch, and I was melting, heating up like a piece of pie in a fucking microwave, losing my sense of self-control, self-respect, and everything self .

Thoughts prodded and poked: What would Papa think if he found out? What would the family think if they heard?

“I thought I’d start off with being a gentleman.”

Rafayel’s voice brought me back to the moment, turning me into a careening sack of flesh and bones without logic or the balls to smash my knee into the visible bulge between his legs and run away.

Right now, I couldn’t give two flying fucks if I was just going to be on his list of women he’d conquered. I wanted this.

No, I needed this.

Maybe, just once, and I’d purge the madness out of my system. The madness to feel him, to taste him, bite him, suck him.

“Fuck that,” I whispered when his lips were close enough to mine. “We both know you’re anything but.”

With a tight grip on my hair, he brought my lips to his, and we released a growl of satisfaction at the same time.

There were exactly seventeen years between Rafayel Yezhov and me. I knew because I’d done my research. He was a forty-year-old man who’d seen enough and had the experience to have lived the life of a century.

In short, he was out of my league. But nothing about the way he touched me was a century-years-old. He was everywhere—groping, sucking, fondling like an expert skilled in the art of giving pleasure.

My toes curled in my shoes, and hastily, I kicked them off, leaning on him for support.

Rafayel moved against me with the same fervency he’d used at the track but more gently than I wanted him to. So, I mirrored his actions, slipping my fingers into his hair and pressing my mouth deeper against his to pass the message to hurry the fuck up.

He smiled between snagging my lower lip and sucking my upper lip. “You’re impatient already.”

“I’m hot and bothered. Deal with it.”

“Oh, trust me, I will.”

I wasn’t watching his fingers and didn’t know when they moved from my hair to the gap between my legs. He cupped me through my shorts and slipped his index finger past my panties to the place where I ached for him the most.

I groaned. And he growled some Russian profanities against my neck.

The heat of his breath on my skin fried whatever restraint I thought I had left.

He kissed me on the lips and on the neck and dipped his head to bury his face between my breasts, which were aching to be free.

He stuffed his finger inside me, driving his index first and fingering deep to feel me. My walls clenched around him, my back arched, and my ass pressed deeper into his hand.

“You’re driving me crazy, Leonya.”

He’d said it in Russian, and strange whining noises left my mouth without my permission when I understood it. I dug my nails into his shoulder to steady myself when my knees buckled.

I stood in an awkward position, with him now seated on an armrest as my only support. His body posed as my anchor. I couldn’t even feel the ground beneath my feet.

“You’re fucking wet for me, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breaths were coming in and out in heated puffs. “So wet. Fuck!”

There was an undeniable satisfaction in watching him revel in the act of touching me, as though every brush of his fingers brought him as much pleasure as it did me.

He was just too beautiful to look at, with his hair now messed up like a sexy nest—if that was a thing—and no longer gelled backward. The way his breath caught in his throat told me that he was savoring every moment, every sensation, every connection that flowed between us. He looked like the real rogue that he was.

And I was drawn into this absurd intimacy of the moment, my own senses heightened as I felt the heavy pressure of his fingertips, the harsh caress of his breath on me.

“Yes.”

Yes?

What the hell did yes have to do with anything he’d said?

I’d lost it.

His finger moved harder inside me, faster, slapping against my clit and making me buck against his hand. My juices slipped between my thighs, soaking my panties and shorts, and an insane pressure built in my core.

My arousal was so heavy I could hear it smacking against him with every thrust of his hand inside me. I had to bite my tongue from begging.

I’d never begged for anything before. And I’d certainly not experienced a man touching me this way, like it was his life’s mission to please me.

I started to move against him myself, desperate to make sure he didn’t stop what he was doing. I held his shoulders like my life depended on it, and he slammed his hand deeper.

I cried out as the orgasm washed over me, collapsing my body weight on him as I rode out the waves with jerky movements of my hips while he pressed hot kisses all the way down my throat.

Then he pulled his hand out of me and brought his fingers to his lips to suck me off.

I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time at how overwhelmingly conscious that made me. Did he like it? Having me in his mouth, knowing the true taste of me...did he fucking like it?

“This is insane.”

He grunted his agreement, his eyes hazy with need. We both didn’t understand whatever this was, but we were hanging on, not quite ready to let go of each other.

“What’s more insane is how badly I’m aching to be buried inside you, sweetheart.”

That had to be the hottest thing I’d heard anyone say.

“I need to get out of this.” I tried to shimmy out of my shorts, and my hand slipped over the band clumsily.

“You should.” His hands latched on to help me. “I need unrestricted access to fuck you. At this rate, I doubt I’m going to last ten minutes.”

I didn’t want ten minutes. I wanted him, and I wanted him now, so bad my chest was aching, and my blood was boiling. I was burning up fast, and so was he.

My shorts pooled on my feet, around my ankles, and I stepped out of them while he readily dived in to take off my shirt.

Rafayel didn’t hesitate. His hands found the clasp behind my lacy bra, and his fingers made short work of them before he tossed them aside.

When he jerked back, his eyes grew darker than I thought them possible to, like turbulent storms, and my nipples peaked to hard pebbles under his gaze.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking perfect. Come here.”

I walked to him, and he buried his face between my breasts, inhaling deeply as he cupped each mound in his big, strong hands and tugged on a nipple.

I bit down a moan when he kissed my chest and covered one of my breasts with his hot mouth.

“These tits.” His growl was animalistic, reverberating on my skin while he cupped one of my ass cheeks and squeezed like an angry bird. “These goddamn tits…fucking perfect, Leonya. ”

While he sucked on my breast, one after the other, taking his time to nibble and graze on my tender flesh, more incoherent Russian compliments poured out of his mouth in a muffled spree, some darker and more profane than others.

And I wanted to pinch myself for how terribly I liked knowing how good I made him feel.

He slapped my ass, and I yelped, pushing my breasts deeper against his face. I ran my hands down his hard back, clawing at his spine with my fingernails.

“Take your clothes off,” I whined, and my voice sounded strange.

“Not yet. Now lie on the couch and turn around.”

It was an order from Zver —a command I almost hated myself for wanting to obey. But I grew rigid in his arms, understanding that he intended to take me from behind.

He noticed, and dark brows creased between his forehead. “What’s the problem?”

I shook my head, and he gripped my jaw, bringing me closer to peer into my eyes. “Leonya.”

I shrugged my face off his grip, irritated that I had to display vulnerability. “It’s nothing. I just…I haven’t….”

The sudden glint of amusement in his eyes meant he caught on faster than I expected him to, and I didn’t feel as embarrassed as I ought to have been.

“I’ll be good to you.”

He’d said it softly, and I didn’t know why the tension immediately waned, but it did, and I nodded slowly.

Rafayel slid to the couch, and when he was seated comfortably, he snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me down to his height so I straddled him. I rested my hands on his shoulders and eyed his jacket.

He led my hands to it. “You can take them off.”

Without a word, and very eagerly, I obeyed, peeling off the leather jacket before I tugged off the shirt that clung to him like second skin.

I wasn’t surprised when a broad chest and ripped torso came into view. He looked like he worked out a lot, punching bodies and committing crimes.

Tentatively, I ran my fingers across the ridges, and he tilted forward to press a warm kiss across my jaw.

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve imagined ways I’d have you.”

I gasped when he cupped the base of my neck, yanked my head back, and trailed wet, biting kisses down my throat.

“Tell me.”

One hand cupped my breast again, and he played with it, weighing it in his hand as he bit my earlobe. “In my car, in the shower, on my bed, that fucking desk right there…everywhere, Leonya. I want to fuck your brains out.”

I couldn’t stop the moan that tore through my throat.

“Wouldn’t you like that, sweetheart?”

I didn’t answer, and he grazed my throat to rip out a response. “Tell me, Leonya,” he growled. “Wouldn’t you like my cock inside you, fucking you non-stop? Wouldn’t you like me to screw you hard, as hard as you pump your accelerators and rev your engines? Just the way you’d like it?”

It was cheesy as hell, hearing him talk dirty car language. On a normal day, I’d have laughed and cringed. But his question rendered me speechless, but it was a good speechless because inside me burned to have him too in all those places.

I nodded. Driven by delirium, I assumed, I kissed the scar on his left eyebrow and kissed it again. I didn’t know why I went for the scar, but I did and wanted to do it again.

The slight tick of his jaw and tightness in his shoulders meant he’d felt it, and I’d done something that hit close to home. But he didn’t say a word and maintained a laser focus on kissing me.

He tasted hot and sweet and so many other things I couldn’t articulate. Whatever was going through his mind a moment ago vanished, replaced by a rapturous hunger, and I allowed myself to feel everything in just this moment.

He felt so good. So frigging good.

“I swear, I’m going to fucking burst if I don’t get inside you.” He grabbed my hand and pressed it down on the bulge hidden in his pants. Burning through the thick jean fabric, he felt searing hot in my palms. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

His eyes never leaving mine, he reached for his belt and shrugged down his pants to knee-level despite my weight on him.

My stomach fluttered at the sight before me.

He was perfect. Cut and lean and so fucking hot.

For a second, I felt like a slut for wanting him the way I did.

His cock stood rigid between his legs and mine, balls heavy with need as a drop of pre-cum leaked from the tip.

I bit the inside of my cheek. The strain looked painful, and I wanted so badly to ease that pain, to have him inside my mouth; it scared me.

“Just tonight…” he was saying. “I’m going to fucking have you all to myself tonight, and after….”

He didn’t finish, but I didn’t need him to. We were venturing past forbidden lines, an act that was bound to screw things up if we continued.

He spread my legs and leaned back just enough so that he could grip his cock in his hand, sliding it against my arousal.

A strangled noise left my throat, and the twitch of his lips showed it pleased him. He started to push inside, and just as I thought, there was a slight bite of pain. God, he was big!

I clamped down on my jaw and closed my eyes. And then it happened.

I squealed a little when he broke through my resistance, and Rafayel watched me with a warmth and tenderness that confused the hell out of me. Like he cared.

Then, he stopped, and the sound of our heavy breathing filled the room as I buried my face between his neck and filled my nostrils with his sweaty scent.

“Are you good?”

I nodded, and my entire body molded against his hard chest when he wrapped an arm around my waist and jerked his hip to slide deeper inside me.

We shared a deep groan, finding comfort in each other’s pleasure.

His finger found my clit, and he didn’t take his eyes off me for a second.

I didn’t look away either, and for some reason, watching him watch me was more intimate than the act itself. Knowing he was the first and only man to have me this way. To be inside of me.

I’d never thought a day like this would come, when I’d be rolling my hips on Rafayel Yezhov to help him stuff his cock deeper into me.

The world had definitely gone mad.

I didn’t expect this to feel so good. But it did. His was pumping in and out of my wetness, searing me with his claws and stares of heated possession, like I belonged to him beyond this night only.

The pressure became too much to bear, and I bounced on him, quickening our pace when I clashed our lips together while riding him back and forth.

Tension rippled along his back and his biceps as we both struggled for control. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his face contorted like he wallowed in anguish.

I didn’t stop riding, even after a scream tore through my throat as I shattered against him.

Then, effortlessly, he lifted me off him, and he threw his head back with his mouth partly open as he groaned out his release.

I watched his cock jerk, with hot ropes of cum shooting between my thighs, while I half-hung above him, thoroughly fascinated by the moment of insanity we had just experienced.

When his labored breathing evened, Rafayel pressed a chaste kiss on my lips and whispered in Russian , “I’m not done with you, Leonya. We’re going upstairs.”