Page 34 of A Bride for the Mafia King

I bury a hand in her hair and pull her mouth to mine, kissing her with such feverish need that it's animalistic. Murmuring against her lips between breaths.

“Yes. Here. Now. Right now.”

With a swift movement, I free myself, hooking her panties out of the way with a finger almost simultaneously. Then I slam into her, hips thrusting with primal need. She rocks against me, head lulls back, riding every wave of pleasure I sent through her, hands clutching my shoulders.

“Who do you belong to Eva?” I demand from her, watching the roll of pleasure across her face in the mirror. She opens her eyes, those hauntingly beautiful eyes meeting mine in the reflection. “Who owns you?”

“You,” she gasps the word as. “You do. I’m yours.”

A wicked smile breaks across my face at her words. Her moans edge me on, filling my body with a rapid influx of endorphins as I continue to rock my hips dipping my hard length in and out of her over and over.

“That’s right, baby girl,” I growl. “You’re mine.”

Time blurs as we both watch in the reflections all around us—every thrust faster, deeper, harder. Her moans fill the elevator as she tumbles over the edge again and again. And I’m not far behind her, with a final thrust I feel my release fill her.

When we finally collapse against each other, breathless, my arms wrap tightly around her trembling body. This honeymoon is going to be just what we both need.

Chapter Twelve

Tolya

Tolya’s Jet

The Caribbean sun greets us as we step off my private jet. The breeze thick with salt and citrus, curling through Eva's hair and tugging at the hem of her sundress. She's laughing at something that the stewardess said that I didn't catch, the sound light and free.

I can't stop watching her. I was transfixed as we left the airfield.

The villa sits on a bluff overlooking the sea, whitewashed stone and pale wood, the kind of place billionaires come to disappear. It's private. Isolated. Safe. The staff has already cleared out before our arrival. No one here but us.

And fuck, does it feel good.

"Careful, Tolya," she calls over her shoulder, adjusting her sunglasses as she walks backward toward the waiting car. "You're going to burn."

I squint at her, shielding my eyes. Even with the aviators on it’s bright, too bright. The sun in Chicago never hurt my eyes the way it does here.

"I don't burn."

She grins wickedly. "I think you do. This is the first time your skin has seen the sun since the fall of the Soviet Union. You're practically glowing."

I can't help the huff of laughter that escapes me. "Keep teasing me, wife, and I might forget this is a honeymoon."

"We wouldn't want that," she tosses back with a wink.

The moment we're inside, she kicks off her sandals and makes a beeline for the master suite, twirling like a dancer across the marble floors.

"This place is incredible!"

I lean against the doorframe, watching her toss open doors and run her hands over the linens. The sun pours in behind her, gilding every inch of her skin.

She’s radiant.

"Glad you approve," I say. “I take it you’ve never been to the Islands before?”

“I’ve barely left Chicago in all these years. Nico was always too busy to take me traveling anywhere.” She turns to face me, that wicked smile playing on her lips again. "Now, are you going to keep standing there brooding or are you going to come enjoy paradise with me?"

I shrug out of my jacket, tossing it onto a chair. "That depends. Are you planning on keeping that dress on much longer?"

Her brow arches.