Keep(Romanian Mob Chronicles 1)(17)

His hand was huge, hot, rough yet gentle, and the dizzying sensations he stirred left me disoriented, torn between the desire—need—to seek more and the fear that I wouldn’t be able to withstand it. That fear died on a choked-out moan, replaced with the insistent need for more when he pressed up, his palm pushing against my clit, the pressure intense but not nearly enough.

Eyes slammed shut, I groped out to feel him, his solid, heavy muscles under hot, smooth skin only ratcheting my need further. I didn’t recognize the husky voice that spilled from me. I’d never made a sound like it. No one, certainly not David, had ever made me feel even a fraction of what he did. That was even more true when he worked his fingers against my slit, spreading my lips with easy but persistent caresses, ones that coaxed even more moisture from me with each pass.

He was a stranger, a terrifying, dangerous one, yet more than anything, I wanted him inside me. I rocked my hips, trying to get more, and he took pity on me and sped his motion, allowing one finger to ever so slightly breach me.

“Please… More…” I cried, gripping his thick, solid forearms tight.

I rocked against him harder, faster, trying to set a rhythm that would send me to the climax that lay within reach, but he moved at his own speed, driving me higher but not sending me over.

“Fawn.”

My name on his lips, the low rumble of his voice, the accent that had once sounded cruel but now dripped over me like warm honey gave me the strength to open passion-heavy eyes. Our gazes collided, the icy green of his softer now, sparkling like the finest jewels. His expression was still stern, but I thought I could see desire in his huffed breaths and the tight clench of his jaw.

And then my eyes slammed closed again when he pushed two thick fingers inside me, filling me more than I ever had been before. One pump, two, and I clamped down on him, my cunt sucking at his fingers, trying to keep him inside. His harshly exhaled breath fanned across my face, and I was so sensitized that the simple touch felt like a heated caress.

Our bodies didn’t touch except where I gripped his arms and where his fingers pumped inside me. He still hadn’t even kissed me. But none of that mattered. No one had ever possessed me as fully as he did in this moment. And with that thought echoing in my mind, I held him as the pleasure rushed through me, cresting and then falling in a wave that had my vision blurring at the edges.

“Let me…” I started long, long moments later, laying a hand on the hard ridge that tented his pants, wanting to give him some of the pleasure he’d given me.

But he slipped his fingers from me, grasped my arm, lifted my hand, and placed a soft kiss on my wrist.

And then he was gone.





Ten





Vasile



* * *



“Do you want me to handle it?” Sorin asked.

“You wish,” I said, allowing myself a moment of levity before we entered Familie. “But no. It’s my responsibility.”

Sorin nodded as we made my way to the back room. The restaurant was closed today, and only Clan Petran was present. I stared out at the men assembled, all of their faces familiar, men who had been here before me, some of whom would be here after I was gone. I centered my gaze on one in particular.

“Viktor,” I said, the crowd quieting when I spoke, “is there something you need to tell me?”

Viktor kept his gaze averted, confirming what Sorin had discovered. I waited, and the room went silent, the moment tense and heavy. We all knew why we were here.

“I apologize,” he finally said. “It won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again, Viktor?” I asked.

“I won’t sell drugs for the Peruvians again,” he mumbled.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because the leader of my clan has forbidden it.”

“And you will make amends?” I asked.

“Of course,” Viktor said, nodding. He looked up, his rugged, worn face almost hopeful.

Then he stepped from the crowd and laid his hand atop a table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a serrated knife. I watched as he pushed down, removing his pinkie and ring finger in one clean slice.

And to his credit, Viktor didn’t cry out. The only hint of any reaction was the flash of pain that crossed his face and the shudder that passed through his body. He then took a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his bleeding hand, the blood that flowed from his fingers wetting the fabric almost instantly.

“Is that your amends?” I asked, stepping closer to Viktor.

He nodded. “Is it sufficient?” he asked, still hopeful.

“It is not,” I said. Then I plucked the knife from his fingers and slashed it across his throat, stepping out of the path of the blood that spurted from the wound. I watched as he fell to his knees, a gurgling sound emerging from his throat as he groped at the wound, fingers going slick with his blood.