Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 130

Her lips part. God, what I would give to bite down on those lips right now. The things I’d do. The prices I’d pay.

“I knew you would refuse me,” she admits.

“But you came anyway. See?” I say triumphantly. “It is a game.”

“You call it a game; I call it survival.” Her breath catches for a moment and, just when I think she’s done talking, she says, “Yes, I came here even when I knew you would say no. But I just wanted an excuse to be in your space. I wanted to be near you. Because… because I miss you so damn much. Even if you’re not here.”

Is this real? My cock certainly thinks it is. My body is completely won over and it wants her so badly that every breath I spent not inside of her is absolute agony.

But my heart remains cautious. My mind is wary.

I can’t let her in again…

“I’m right here,” I rasp. “What’s there to miss?”

She shakes her head and lifts her hand to my face. Her fingers are light as a feather as they dance along my cheek. “No, you’re not. You’re not here at all. I miss the old Ruslan. The man who carried me to bed after I fell asleep. Who covered me with a blanket to make sure I wouldn’t get cold at night. I want the man who took care of the kids for me so that I could fall apart in peace. I want the man who looked at me as though I was special. I want that man.”

Every word she says strikes a chord. It hits some deep buried part of me that I’d hoped would never resurface again.

But every time she’s near me, I can feel it stir. Like a hibernating beast who catches his first whiff of spring.

There are so many problems with that.

The first problem is that I’m hard as rock.

The second is that, every time I look into her aqua blue eyes, the need inside me gets harder to ignore. I can’t take that stare anymore. It’s pushing me too damn close to the edge.

So I grab Emma without warning and twist her around. She gasps but she doesn’t move. She goes perfectly still in my arms, waiting to see what I might do next.

I’m curious, too.

“He is not here anymore,” I snarl into her ear as I grind my erection into her curves. “He doesn’t exist anymore.”

Emma just breathes one solitary word that undoes me. “Liar.”

She fucking dares…

It makes me furious. It also makes me even harder than I already am. She just feels too damn good, nestled against my body, melding into my shape. Her soft curves against my hard lines. Her innocence against my sinfulness. Her fire against my fire.

“You’re asking for trouble, kiska.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Is it possible to come from a damn conversation? Before now, I didn’t think it was. I’m starting to reconsider.

Before I can stop myself, I slide my tongue over her earlobe. She gasps and wriggles in place, her ass pushing into my cock.

“The man you want is gone. But this you can have.”

Her breathing hitches up as I start ripping her skirt up. Her legs spread of their own accord; I don’t even have to help them apart. When I can reach them, I rip her panties off, and when she’s bare, I put my hand on the back of her neck and push her down so that I can line my cock up with her slit.

She’s sopping wet. I almost slide inside her before I’m ready. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to do that.

Emma jerks, gasping desperately, pushing that juicy ass up eagerly. I slap her cheek once and tear her blouse open. I want to feel those lush tits before I enter her.

They’ve changed since her pregnancy. They’re bigger, rounder, so much perkier. I squeeze hard enough to make her cry out. Good. It can’t all be pleasure. Pain is a necessary reminder.

“R-Ruslan,” she whimpers.

I squeeze her tits and nip at her neck with my teeth. The tip of my cock slips inside her, but I’m not all the way in yet.

“Please,” she begs.

“You’re my little whore, aren’t you?” I growl in her ear. “You’re my dirty little slut.”

Her shivers intensify. “Yes,” she moans. “Yes, yes… just fuck me.”

My balls feel like they’re about to burst. But I’m nothing if not disciplined. At least, I was once—before her. Maybe I can find a way to toe that line. Maintain all that discipline I’ve honed over the years. Keep her at arm’s length while still having her whenever I want.

“Is that what you miss?” I hiss. “Being my whore?”

She stiffens and goes silent, so I push myself into her a little deeper.

“N-No… I miss you.”

“You can’t have me,” I warn. “But you can have this for tonight. And only tonight.”

I wrap my hand around her neck and she pushes her ass back. Just like that, my entire length slides inside her, filling her up completely. She cries out.

At the same time, a strangled moan escapes my own lips. It’s never felt quite this intense before. Maybe it’s true what they say about hate fucking—it’s a dangerous force to mess with.

Not that either one of us has the power to stop it. Now, that I’m balls deep, there’s nothing on heaven or earth that could keep me from fucking the life out of her.

With each impassioned thrust, I question what I’m doing. Not just to her but to myself, too. What if this is just another manipulation? What if she’s trying to worm herself back into my life? What if she’s trying to break down the barriers I’ve only just built back up again?

The more I fuck her, the less I care.

I’ll think about it later.

For now, there’s just me and her.

Plus the heightened echoes of our combined moans, the slick heat of our bodies as they collide, the vague sense that I’m slowly undoing everything I’ve worked to keep steady.

It doesn’t take long before she comes. And the moment I feel her walls constrict around me, I know that I won’t be able to hold out much longer, either. Gritting my teeth, I empty myself inside her. I fill up her pussy just like I filled up her womb.

The thought is enough to make me hard all over again.

Mine.

Fucking mine.

When I pull out of her, I notice the cum start to drip down her thighs almost immediately. She doesn’t reach for a tissue, though. She just starts to put on her clothes. Apparently, she remembers my requirements from the last time we let this happen.

Her face is impassive at first. But her mouth starts to curve down as the dust settles. There it is: reality hitting.

I know I’ve hurt her with my distance and my disdain. She’s trying not to show her pain, but the wound is still raw. It still stings every time I look at her.