Milana
The aftershocks of my orgasm still echo through my body, but this beautiful man is leaning over me, eyes closed, holding back his own pleasure…so he could pleasure me again. The strain in his jaw, the flex in his arms as he just stalls in place makes me push up into him.
“Luca,” I murmur, reaching for his face, tracing a line from his chin to his collarbone. “Let go. It’s fine.”
With a deprecating chuckle, he pulls out of me, deliberately slow, and I feel every piercing as they tug against me. He lowers his weight, trapping his cock between my soft belly and his ripped abdomen.
“You can come again, princess,” he says with a smile between kisses. “And I love edging myself like this.”
Sweet torment. I have no clue what I started, but God yes. Let’s have this night, just us. Memories to carry us into the dark horizon.
He rolls onto his side and gathers me to him and I kiss him as his hands roam my body, slow, sensual, seeming to have no goal but to worship me through touch.
“How did you tumble into my life? Hmm?” he murmurs against my skin, softly stroking, exploring, making me hum, my body begging for his again.
“A bit of Bratva bravado with some Mafia madness?” I joke, floating on a post-coital haze that seems only to retract so it can come back in a bigger wave.
“Bratva bravado? Hmm, I like that.”
He trails kisses down my neck, lifting my inner arm to his lips, kissing me in little places I never knew ignited lust. He urges me onto my stomach and brushes my hair away to have access to my neck, my back, making his way down my spine.
Every part of me is alight with sensual sparks, and the lower he goes, the more intense they become.
When he leans back and pulls me onto my hands and knees, I’m ready, and this time, he enters me just as gently, but it’s different.
Coming from behind, his piercings rub my g-spot and it’s so intense, I feel myself falling in with his rhythm, chasing the deepening sensation.
His hand is in my hair, gripping me close at the base of my skull.
He doesn’t pull, but it’s as if the carnal command is there: his body, dominating mine, demanding my pleasure, unhooking me from the paradigms that keep me leashed in my mind.
I pant helplessly, arching my back so he can ride me harder, feel the friction deeper, cresting.
He lets go of my hair, his fingers curving around my neck as his lips ghost over my temple, breath spilling over me.
“Come for me, Milana. I feel you’re right there. ”
The command is soft but said with such authority that I crash into release, my body flooding with a high I’ve never experienced before.
In this moment, I’ve somehow given myself completely to him, no longer attuned to my thoughts, only to my body and to his, the explosive pleasure he’s guided me to.
I didn’t know I was capable of this. Again, he freezes, cursing softly as if in a trance, but the strain in his arm which is circling my waist, the slight pressure from his other hand on my throat, tells me he’s on the edge.
He grips me just tight enough to intensify my release, but not to choke me.
He breathes, and it’s as if with every inhale and exhale, he counts himself backwards from the ledge. When he slowly pulls out, our bodies are sticky with sweat, his mouth is back on my skin, his hands are hauling me up and turning my head to meet his desperate, erotic kisses.
“Fuck, Milana…princess.”
My prince. My Mafia madman who has been everything I never expected in a man. How did he stumble into my life?
All I want is to reciprocate, to have him at my mercy and make him come.
I twist around in his arms and we’re kneeling, facing each other.
I lean into him, and he is so gentle as he holds me close, kissing me with reverence now.
I reach for his cock where it is straining against my body, long, hard, studded with piercings that amplified the desire kindled by my own.
“I didn’t— It’s never— I have never come twice like this before,” I murmur against him as he cups my cheeks, kissing me now as if there’s no tomorrow.
“Let me make you come once more,” he whispers.
“Let me make you come,” I whisper back, caressing the silken skin on his cock and then fisting it tight.
“Ah, fuck, it won’t take much. I’m living on the edge,” he says, that smile back in this voice.
And as I stroke him, I kiss him too, down his neck to his pecs, splaying wider as I sink down on my knees.
His fingers drive into my hair, but I’m now licking and sucking at his nipple, replicating what he did to me.
My mouth finds a path of its own, and I’m kissing the lone tattoo on his inner forearm.
This. This is what’s in his blood. To love.
To provide. To care. Luca doesn’t judge; he wants to straighten my skewed world and complete it.
My throat constricts, and I kiss him with more reverence, this man who is putting everything on the line for his arranged-marriage wife who comes complete with another man’s child.
I still don’t understand why he’s doing it, if not for the fabric of his soul, the bricks of his bones, the fibers of his heart.
His heart. His beautiful, honest, lonely heart. It beats so fervently where I’ve rested my palm against it, calming me, giving me the peace I haven’t found for months. Tonight, I’ll sleep. Finally in his arms. Safe. And tomorrow, we will conquer the world.
He stills as I kiss him, and something between us shifts.
When his hands slip away from my body and he leans back, eyes closed, he’s gifting himself to me to do as I please.
His amazing body has been, from the first moment we met, and touched, and kissed, the constant visual siphoning into my veins like an aphrodisiac.
I could kiss him for days. He is pure perfection, Michelangelo’s David, and I’m the one to taste him in the flesh.
I make him drop to the bed and let my lips and tongue slide over and tease his cock, playing with his piercings, dipping my mouth deep and then gently coming back up.
He whimpers, groans, sighs, lets me toy with him. Then he arches into my mouth, takes hold of my head, fucking me, guiding me, but not going too far or too deep. I’m pulsing again with need, and as if he senses it, he brings my head up, pulls me to his mouth and kisses me.
“On your back, princess. Open for me, wide as you can.”
I do as I’m told, being everything I can for this man who is unlocking every layer in me, going deeper, finding more with each door that opens. This time, when he drives into me, I feel almost raw with need, so sensitive, but also already climbing to the point where I want to jump and soar.
“One last time. Look how perfect you are,” he murmurs as he gazes down to where we’re connected, me swollen and wet, his cock thick and hard as he thrusts into me. The visual is so sensual in the soft light. “Can you take a bit more? A bit harder?”
I moan as he demonstrates just what he means, and I reach for his jaw, his chin, his lips. “Yes. More. Give me everything.”
He sucks my fingers into his mouth and it’s wet and sloppy but such a fucking turn-on as he grinds into me, sweat gathering at his temples, concentration etched in lines on his face.
“Fuck, Luca,” I choke, cresting again, and this time, he doesn’t hold back, not letting me tip alone into bliss.
He thrusts hard into me, his raw masculine power seized by every ripple of my orgasm. His face is strained, every tendon in his neck taut as he finally gives in but pulls out at the last second to pulse his release onto my stomach.
“Fuck,” he mutters, still straining.
As he comes down and slumps his head forward, I reach up for him, over the galloping beats of his heart, curving my fingers around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.
“Almost got a bit carried away there,” he murmurs. His voice grows even softer as he leans into me to kiss me, spreading the mess between us. I only catch a few words between hot kisses. Bewitched. Making me lose my mind…Jesus. “I didn’t bother with a condom.”
I didn’t even think about it, too caught up in the moment. I haven’t even had a period since giving birth. Not sure if it was the stress of my situation, and my anxiety-riddled attempt at breastfeeding that failed, but I’m not myself yet. “It’s okay.”
“No. Next time, remind me to condom up, princess,” he whispers as he rolls off me. “Let me deal with this.”
He disappears into the en suite, only to step out with tissues a second later.
There won’t be a baby…but what if there were? It wouldn’t be out of wedlock, which Papa would never have approved of. I wouldn’t need to hide it. It would be in the safety of a marriage with this man, safety I hadn’t bargained on. This man could openly be the father…we’d be a real family.
It’s only sinking in now that everything with Dimitri always revolved around control.
Over me. Over my position on the board in relation to where he wanted me in the game he was playing.
His little pawn. I was in love, but he used me.
I wasn’t really safe with him, even if I played by his rules.
Dimitri didn’t even allow me an opinion.
I’ve known this for a long time, but this fact hits me anew again, raw and unfiltered as Luca tenderly wipes me clean.
There’s just something in his gentle care that constricts my throat and melts my heart.
“Why are you so stressed out about a condom?” I murmur as he splays his hand over my stomach and traces my stretch marks with his thumb, not as if he would erase them, but as if he is in awe.
“I don’t want to trap you, Milana, not like my mom was trapped. You said it yourself: babies become collateral. I don’t want to—” He breaks off.
I reach out to stall him, to whisper that he isn’t the type of man who’d use a child like that, but his hand has travelled up to my face, and he is cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my kiss-swollen lips.
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “But I don’t want to make it harder than it’s already going to be. Maybe with time, we can find a way to separate.”
“Shush,” I whisper, not wanting to hear it. Not after the intimacy we just shared. He’s two steps ahead, planning how to extricate us from this mess. He doesn’t want to trap me, to lock me in with his baby. His playbook is so different from Dimitri’s, I need a mental adjustment.
Plus, we’re not even properly in this mess yet. Russia awaits.
But that’s beside the point. He has already trapped me. Not through Annushka—Zoe—or anything that makes this arranged marriage planned and horrible, but he has managed to conquer a part of me I vowed never to hand over to a man again.
I’m just not ready to admit it yet.