Keep(Romanian Mob Chronicles 1)(28)

“Vasile, what—”

She stopped short when I lifted her off her feet and turned to leave.

“Wait! You can’t do that!” Esther yelled, walking behind us, pulling hard at my arms to try and release Fawn.

I stopped and turned to look at her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said quietly, hoping the woman understood that I was serious.

She stood still, mouth dropped open with surprise but eyes burning fire.

“It’s okay, Esther. I’m fine,” Fawn said.

Her current position, held so tight against my chest she could barely move, probably didn’t give the other woman comfort, but I didn’t care. What mattered was that even in the face of my anger, she wasn’t afraid.

“You don’t have to, Fawn. Not this time,” the other woman said, voice both pleading and emphatic.

“I’ll call you,” Fawn said as I walked out of the door with her still crushed against my chest.





Eighteen





Fawn



* * *



He hadn’t even looked at me once he’d put me in the car, and the waves of rage that rolled off him made me shiver, made me wonder if maybe I’d pushed too far.

“Vasile, I—”

“Say nothing!”

His thundering voice filled with malice I had never heard from him, at least not directed at me, boomed through the car and right down to my soul. But instead of fear, his voice, icy cold and distant, sparked anger. I stayed silent, but not because he was as angry as I’d ever seen him. I stayed silent because I didn’t trust myself to have a reasonable conversation with him, not when he was like this.

So we rode back to the house, the car tense and silent, and before I could get out, he had again scooped me up and held me in a tight grip.

“I’m capable of walking you know,” I said snidely, unable to hold my tongue.

“Maybe, eh? It seems simple but you’ve proven today I can’t trust you with simple things.”

“What does—”

He turned his icy-green glare at me, and I went silent, though I still seethed with anger. We entered the house and he tossed me directly on the bed.

“If you think—”

My words were yet again cut off, but this time by his hard, insistent kiss. He conquered my mouth, not giving me any quarter, space to talk, think, barely even to breathe. He kissed me thoroughly, tongue stroking every inch of my mouth. But it wasn’t a kiss of passion. There was possession as there had always been, but something deeper, the way he kissed me, touched me almost like he needed to make sure I was really there.

I sighed into his mouth, opening to him, and he took advantage, mastering my mouth with his tongue, my body with his hands. No part of me went untouched as he moved his hands over me as if relearning the feel of my body.

And then he was gone. His hand fell away from my body, his mouth released mine, and he stared at me, eyes still icy but now deep with something else.

Two quick movements, and he’d removed the button-down shirt from my body, and in another, he’d discarded the pale pink bra underneath. I watched him as he watched me, gaze moving over the rounds of my breasts, the puckered buds of my nipples. I wanted to arch, lean forward in offering, but something in his eyes held me still. And though my mind raced with images of him touching me, he did not, but instead, pulled my pants and panties down and off my body and cast them and my shoes aside.

He’d seen me like this before, but I felt more vulnerable now, couldn’t tell what he was thinking, especially not when he stood and discarded his own clothing.

His cock, thick and hard, jutted out from the nest of darkish brown hair, and as it always seemed to, my throat went dry. And this time, I couldn’t stop the little squirm-shiver that rushed over my body, the anticipation of having him inside me too great to bear.

As he moved toward me, his cock bobbed, hitting his stomach, and even in the dim light of the bedroom, I could see the slick arousal that had gathered at the head, the other drops that leaked from him freely.

On instinct, I lay back, and he climbed atop me, his cock finding my core unerringly. He pushed in and filled me with one solid stroke. He hadn’t bothered with preparation, and I was so full, I worried I couldn’t hold him, felt the sharp sting of unprepared flesh stretching around his girth.

That sting intensified and then melted into a pleasure-pain that froze my lungs when he moved. He thrust inside me hard, unrelenting, not kissing or touching me as he had before. And through it all, he held my gaze, his eyes stone cold, unreadable, his face a mask of anger.

Before I could stop myself, I reached for him, tangled my fingers in his hair, and I thought I saw a shift in his expression, some sign of the softness I had seen glimpses of before.