Page 72 of Forced Mafia Bride
“Nikolai…” I whispered, my voice trailing off as his lips brushed against my neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Sometimes, I hated how easily he could do this—how he could push me to the edge, make me furious, and then pull me back with just a touch, with just a few words.
He pressed me back onto the bed, his hands firm but gentle as they slid down my hips, the anger between us dissolving into something much more primal.
“I think about the taste of your lips twenty-four-seven.”
His lips found mine, and he kissed me, urgent and needy, and I felt that familiar rush—the one that always came when he let the mask slip when I saw the man beneath the calm, calculated exterior.
“I crave you,” he muttered against my lips, his voice rough with need. “Every single day, Rosa. I need you. I just want to be close to you, to touch you,fuck you,taste what’s mine. You drive me mad.”
I let out a soft gasp as his hands moved between my legs, cupping my sex through my cotton pajama shorts, the heat of his touch igniting something deep inside me.
“What did I tell you, huh?”
Lost in the smell and taste of him, I scrambled through my memory to know what he was referring to. “What?”
“There’s no lover, Rosa.” His tongue flicked against mine. One hand on my throat and mouth to my ear. “It’s just you.”
It was always like this with him—a storm of emotions that left me spinning, breathless, but somehow always wanting more. He moved with purpose, his mouth finding mine again, stealing away any protest I might have had.
In the midst of it, his hand slipped to my stomach, resting there for a brief moment before his eyes met mine, dark and intense.
“I want you to give me another baby,” he said quietly, and his voice was steady despite the fire between us. “I want to see you carrying my child again.”
His words caught me off guard, sending a shock through me that was almost as powerful as the heat of the moment.
“What?”
My breath hitched, and I stared at him, searching his eyes for any trace of uncertainty. But there was none. He was serious. His gaze held mine, as if he had thought about this a thousand times before saying it out loud.
He whispered, his lips brushing against mine, softer this time.“I want us to build more. I want another piece of us in this world. What do you say?”
The way he said it, with such certainty, such longing, made my heart pound even harder.
I didn’t know what to say, how to even respond, but in that moment, words didn’t seem necessary. The fire between us burned too bright for that.
His hands tightened around me, pulling me closer, and whatever anger or doubt I had felt earlier melted away as his lips claimed mine again, his touch reminding me of the depth of what we had, of the intensity that always lingered just beneath the surface.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the Bratva, not the Irish, not the Mexicans.Not even the hours I spent waiting.
It was just us, tangled together in a mess of passion and need, and the world outside our door faded away.
Epilogue – Nikolai
One Year Later
“No, I am not fucking singing.”
“You made a deal.”
“Over a year ago.”
Timur picked up a piece of cake and shoved it into his mouth, and Anatoly glared at him. I stood by the grill, watching them bicker. They’d been at it all day, something about a bet they made a year ago that I hadn’t paid much attention to at the time. Timur caught my eye, grinning like a kid with a secret, and I knew I was about to hear something absurd.
“Hey, Niko,” he called out, taking a sip of his beer. “Remember that bet Anatoly and I made at your son’s christening?”
I raised an eyebrow, flipping the burgers. “Vaguely. What about it?”