Chapter 51
DROGO
The morning sun is already bright, cutting sharp lines across the porch and turning the kid’s terrified face into a mask of pale fear. He’s backed hard against the railing, palms raised, eyes darting between my face and the Glock steady in my fist.
“You saw her,” I growl, voice low and vicious. “You saw my woman in her own fucking house. On her knees. Naked from the waist up. Swallowing my come. And you didn’t knock.”
He’s shaking, knees knocking, voice cracking. “Boss—Mr. Solberg—I’m sorry—I didn’t—I just—I’m so sorry—”
“I don’t give a fuck about sorry.” I step closer, the barrel low but ready. He flinches like the gun is already smoking. “This is her house. She is a woman. My woman. You knock. You wait. You do not barge in when she is indecent. You do not look at what belongs to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes—yes, boss—please—I’m sorry—fuck, I swear—”
“Sorry doesn’t wipe the image out of your head.” I tilt my head, let the silence press until tears spill over his lashes. “Next time you open a door to her without knocking, you won’t walk away. You’ll crawl. Bleeding. From places you didn’t know could bleed. Understand?”
He nods frantically, tears streaming now. “Yes—yes, I swear—never again—please—”
“Get the fuck out of my sight.”
He stumbles down the steps, almost tripping twice before he vanishes into the morning light.
I stand there one more second, chest tight, rage still humming under my skin. Then I turn, shove the kitchen door open, and step back inside.
I push the bedroom door open quietly.
Alena is on the bed, knees pulled up, phone held high in both hands. The screen glows with Lucy’s face—mouth open in mid-scream.
“—BLACK DIAMOND? Alena! Oh my GOD! Show me again—closer—closer! Holy shit, that thing is huge! It’s so dark it’s basically black-hole energy! He remembered? You told him once, like ten years ago, and he actually remembered?!”
Alena is laughing so hard she’s gasping, turning her hand left and right so the ring catches the morning sun pouring through the curtains.
“Yes! One time! I was drunk off my ass at that shitty Soho bar, ranting about how I’d only marry someone who brought me a black diamond, and he just…
filed it away. Look at it, Luce—it’s massive and evil and perfect. ”
Lucy shrieks again, clapping her hands like she’s at a concert. “I’m literally screaming into my pillow right now! Marcus, come look—your brother is a psycho romantic! Alena, you’re getting married! To Drogo! To the actual mafia monster! This is insane—I’m crying, I’m so happy I could die!”
Marcus’s voice cuts in from somewhere off-screen, dry as hell. “Yeah, congrats, sis. But seriously—kitchen proposal? While he’s cleaning a gun? Peak Drogo. Romantic as a gunshot.”
Alena throws her head back, laughing louder. “Shut up, Marcus! It was perfect. He cried, okay? Big scary man cried actual tears. Like, full-on tears.”
I step fully into the room then, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. A low laugh rumbles out of my chest.
Marcus spots me first. “Speak of the devil. You bastard. You really did it in the kitchen? Classy, brother. Real classy.”
Alena glances over her shoulder, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed from laughing. “He’s here,” she tells the phone, tilting it so they can see me. “Say hi to the future husband, you two.”
Lucy lets out another ear-piercing squeal. “Hi, Drogo! You big softie! You made her cry too—look at her face! You’re both disgusting and adorable and I love it! When’s the wedding? Can I be maid of honor? I’m calling dibs!” Damn, that made me laugh. “Yes you can!” Alena screams and Lucy follows.
I push off the frame and walk toward the bed, slow, deliberate.
My eyes are locked on the black diamond glittering on her finger.
On the way it looks against her skin. On the way she looks—hair messy from sleep and sex, wearing nothing but my oversized t-shirt, legs bare, thighs still marked from last night.
Mine.
All of her. Forever.
I stop behind her, lean down just enough to slide my hand over the curve of her ass, fingers digging in possessively.
Alena gasps—sharp, surprised, the sound shooting straight to my cock.
Marcus snorts on the phone. “And there it is. Possessive bastard strikes again.”
Alena’s voice comes out breathy, shaky. “We’ll… talk later, guys.” She ends the call with a trembling finger, tosses the phone onto the nightstand.
The room goes quiet.
Just our breathing.
Just the sunlight slanting across the bed.
Just the black diamond on her finger, dark and dangerous and perfect.
She has never looked sexier in her life.
The need hits me like a freight train—feral, unstoppable, roaring through every vein. Seeing that ring on her—knowing she said yes, knowing she’s mine in every way that matters, knowing no one else will ever touch her, claim her, own her—it’s tearing something loose inside me.
My blood is pounding. My cock is already throbbing, straining against my sweatpants. Every instinct screams to take her, mark her, ruin her until she can’t walk, until every inch of her body remembers who she belongs to.
I want her.
Now.
A lot.
My hand is already moving, sliding between her thighs, finding her soaked through the thin fabric of her panties. She whimpers, hips rocking forward into my touch.
I growl low in her ear, voice rough with hunger. “You’re dripping for me, babe. Already.”
My hand is already moving, sliding between her thighs. I push one finger straight to her clit through the soaked fabric of her panties. She’s drenched—hot, slick, ready. The thin cotton clings to her, outlining every fold, every swollen inch.
Alena whimpers, hips jerking forward into my touch. Her breath hitches, eyes fluttering half-shut.
“Fuck, babe,” I growl against her ear, voice rough and thick. “You’re so wet already. All for me.”
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead she shoves me—hard—both hands flat against my chest.
I let her.
I fall back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. Before I can even prop myself up, she’s climbing over me, frantic, impatient. She yanks her panties aside, then drops down, straddling my face.
Fucking paradise.
Her thighs bracket my head, warm and trembling. The scent of her—sweet, dark, addictive—floods my senses. I grip her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pull her down hard.
My tongue is on her instantly. Flat, broad licks up her slit. Then pointed, circling her clit, flicking, sucking. I devour her like a starving man. I want her to come. I want her to come hard. I want her to lose control, to flood my mouth, to squirt all over my face, to drown me in her.
I suck harder, tongue relentless, lapping at her entrance, then back to her clit. She grinds down, riding my face, chasing the pressure. Her moans are broken, desperate, filling the room.
Her thighs start to shake. Then they clamp—tight, iron-tight—around my head. She’s clenching, squeezing so hard I can barely breathe. Good. Choke me. Let her take everything.
She comes with a raw, shattered cry. Her whole body locks, hips bucking wildly. Wet heat gushes over my tongue, my chin, my cheeks. She’s squirting—hard, messy, perfect. I drink it up, greedy, lapping every drop, swallowing her down like she’s the only thing that matters.
Fuck yeah.
My cock has never felt harder. It’s throbbing, leaking, straining against my sweatpants like it’s trying to rip free. Every pulse is agony and need and triumph.
She’s mine.
And I’m nowhere near done.
She lifts just enough to let a rush of air fill my lungs, her thighs still trembling faintly around my ears, the heat of her skin radiating against my cheeks.
Her release lingers on my tongue—salty-sweet, warm, with that dark, musky edge that's uniquely her, clinging to the inside of my mouth like a promise.
The morning light slants through the curtains, catching the sheen of sweat on her inner thighs, making her glow like something forbidden and sacred all at once.
I can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against my lips where they still brush her sensitive flesh, and the scent of her arousal hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the faint trace of my cologne on her skin from last night.
I don't give her time to come down from it.
My hands clamp around her hips—fingers splaying wide, digging into the soft give of her flesh with enough force to leave faint red imprints, the kind that'll bloom into bruises by evening.
The warmth of her under my palms is intoxicating, her body pliant yet yielding, every curve fitting perfectly against my grip like she was carved for it.
I yank her down the length of my body in one firm, deliberate pull, the drag of her slick skin against mine sending sparks up my arms. She gasps—a soft, startled hitch of breath that vibrates through her chest and straight into me—the sound raw and needy, like she's already chasing the next high.
I flip her onto her stomach without a word, the mattress dipping under the shift of our weight, the sheets whispering against her bare back.
My heart pounds in my ears, a steady drumbeat of want, as I drag her hips up higher, forcing her knees apart with my thighs.
She's open now, exposed, her ass presented to me like an offering—pale skin flushed pink from her orgasm, a faint sheen of sweat making it glisten in the light.
The air between us feels thicker, charged, every inhale pulling in more of her scent, making my head spin.
I shove my sweatpants down just enough, the fabric rasping against my legs, freeing my cock—thick, heavy, already throbbing with a dull ache, the head slick with pre-come that beads hot and sticky at the tip.