Beautiful Russian Monster (A Vancouver Mafia Romance Book 2)

I woke up with the awareness that someone was standing in my bedroom, a dark shadow beside the head of my bed.

Instinct made me open my mouth to scream, but a familiar hand lightly caressed my mouth. “Shh, darling, it’s just me.”

A happy noise escaped me as he bent down to kiss me. He smelled delicious. Fresh and clean, masculine with a hint of musk.

“Why do you smell so good?” I asked as I breathed him in. “Didn’t you just get off a crazy long flight?”

I could feel his smile against my lips. “I showered at work before I headed over here.”

“Turn on the light,” I demanded. “I need to see you.”

My bedside table lamp clicked on, and there he was, larger than life. I lay back on my pillow and watched with interest as he pulled his shirt off over his head, giving me an opportunity to admire his muscular chest.

His eyes didn’t leave my face. “You see something you like?”

“Oh god,” I breathed.

Planting his hands on either side of my head, he leaned down until his lips were pressed against mine. His kiss was skilled. He slanted his mouth over mine, moving his lips until I moaned and opened my mouth beneath his. He was patient, teasing me with his tongue. Sucking on my lower lip.

“You taste like strawberries,” he murmured.

“That’s my lip gloss.”

My arms wrapped around his thick neck, which felt warm and muscular beneath my fingertips. His arms wrapped around my waist, tugging me harder against his body. His fingers pushed into my hair, and he pulled my head back so my neck was exposed to his hot mouth. It had been six long weeks since he’d left for work. This felt more than good.

Without shame, I pushed my hips up, almost panting with desire.

Oh boy, but this man could kiss. He kissed my mouth, my neck, the side of my jaw.

“Sit up,” he commanded.

I struggled to push myself back up, and he grabbed my tank top and whipped it over my head. His mouth came back to mine, and then he was rearing back so he could gently tug my thong down my thighs. I lay back on the bed, my eyes glued to his face.

Big hands slowly slid down my thighs before gently pushing them apart.

He knelt between my legs and concentrated as he played with my clit with the tip of his thumb.

Oh fuck, that feels good.

His expression was hard to read. “You turn me on so fucking much.”

Our eyes locked as he slowly pushed the tip of one finger into me and rimmed my entrance. My mouth fell slightly open. My breathing was harsh.

He slowly pushed that finger deeper into me. I could feel myself clamp around it, wanting more. He played with me. His intense gaze alternated between his fingers, as they disappeared inside of me, and my face. He was watching my reaction. I bit my lip. My head tossed back and forth. All I could think about was the sensation of his finger teasing me, torturing me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge but never letting me go over.

And then he was standing, pushing down his jeans, revealing his magnificent cock. It was thick, hard and in complete proportion to his huge athletic body. My mouth watered.

Naked, he crawled up on the bed until he was on top of me. His mouth teased mine, tasting me, claiming me as his own.

His mouth clamped onto my nipple. Hot and wet, he suckled me, creating rhythmic waves of desire in my body that I could feel right down to my apex. My fingers pushed into his dark hair. He lifted his head, his dark eyes zapping me with heat and desire, before moving to my other breast.

I felt his cock. Between my legs. Poised at my entrance.

“I want you inside me,” I demanded.

He lifted his head. “You in a rush?”

“For you? Yes,” I moaned as his lips traced down my neck. He bit my collarbone.

“You want to fuck?” his voice was muffled against my neck.

His language was a surprising turn-on. Yes. I did. I wanted hot, messy, crazy sex with my fiancé, and I wanted it now.

“Yes.”

He sat back on his haunches and reached out a hand. “Come here.”

I scrambled to a sitting position, and he yanked me onto his huge thighs. “Climb on.”

My mouth was dry with lust. I awkwardly moved toward him, and gasped when he dragged me onto his lap. I went up on my knees, and I could feel him position himself between my legs. His hands went around my waist, and, slowly, he lowered me down.

“Oh god, yes,” I gasped, biting my lip.

He watched my face until he was completely impaling me. Eyes wide, I stared back at his perfect features, feeling awe that this man loved me.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he growled.

I managed to wrap my trembling, shaking legs around his muscular waist. The new angle created intense sensations I had never felt before.

“What position is this?” I asked inanely.

He smiled. “The wrapped saint.”

It was shockingly intimate. His hands were on my ass. I was open, and his cock filled me tight. He pulled my ass tighter against him.

Oh god, that feels good.

In response, I ground my hips, squeezing my legs around his back, pulling him tighter into me.

“Are you the saint?” I gasped.

“Not even close,” he said, moving his mouth against mine.

Our kiss was frantic, hot, and tinged with desperate desire as I squeezed my legs. It was less thrust and more grind, but for some reason, it felt hotter, more intense, more intimate.

My arms were wrapped around his neck in a desperate attempt to create more friction. He thrust his hips up, bouncing me on his huge thighs. Each time he did, a noisy moan escaped me.

One hand pulled on my ass. The other massaged my breast and tweaked my nipple while his mouth covered my neck, my jaw, my lips.

I was drunk on love, but I had never been more in the moment. I could feel the rasp of his stubble against my neck. His clean, masculine scent. The sensation of my body being completely filled by his huge cock. How hard he was, deep inside of me. His huge shoulders. The warm, smooth feeling of his skin beneath my fingertips.

With him, my orgasms came on without warning. This one was no different. It sucker punched me, leaving me arching back. His strong arms wrapped around me while I stiffly shuddered and twitched around him.

Then he was lifting me so I was on my back. Now he was kneeling between my legs. And thrusting. Oh god. Such glorious hard thrusts with his muscular legs. My feet, locked around his waist, bounced against his rock-hard ass as he pounded into me.

My next orgasm was even more intense. I cried out. A second later he buried his face in my neck, his thrusts almost violent. Russian poured out of his mouth as his body tightened and released into mine.

We lay there, both panting.

“Thank you for coming home early.” I was embarrassingly out of breath.

He pushed the hair off my forehead and smiled. “The pleasure was all mine.”

“I have a couple of rules if we’re going to get married.”

His look was tender, while his cock remained hard inside of me. “Tell Viktor what you need.”

“We need to have loads of sex, just like that, all the time.”

He laughed, and his mouth moved to my neck, kissing me in a teasing way. “That is a rule I think we’re already following.”

“The second rule is that I want us to tell each other that we love each other, even when we fight.”

“We don’t fight.”

“We might.”

He thought about it. “I will always love you, even if we fight.”

“And you have to tell me.”

He smiled as he planted another kiss on my eager mouth. “Deal. Any other rules for me?”

I captured his face in my hands and tried to think of the most ridiculous thing I could ask for. “I want Nanna to come on our honeymoon with us.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Done.”

I laughed. “I was kidding.”

He smiled down at me. “I wasn’t.”

I lifted my mouth to capture his. “And that’s just another reason why I love you so much.”

“Ninety-six sleeps.”

My eyes widened. “Until?”

“Until you become my wife.” I felt his cock grow bigger inside of me.

I decided to tease him with the words I knew turned him on. “Do you think you’re going to like calling me your wife?”

His cock twitched even harder.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. “You know I will.”

I like the dirty talk and being tied up. Viktor’s biggest turn-ons always revolved around me sharing my feelings and talking about marriage. “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Mikhailov.”

His hips involuntarily jerked, pushing his length deeper into me. His eyes held mine. “I can’t wait either.”

I felt my smile grow, all the happiness inside me spilling out. “You make me happy, Viktor.”

His voice was low and steady. “And you and that smile are my light.”

I gasped as I felt him shift, creating friction in the most sensitive part of me. “What does that mean?”

“Rule number one: no more questions.”

I laughed, but it turned into a gasp when his mouth latched onto one of my nipples and he started to suck with a rhythm that always sent me over the edge. “Remind me to ask about that later.”

I could feel him laugh, and then he lifted his head to smile down at me.

I gasped my question. “What happens in ninety-six days?”

His cock shifted deliciously inside of me. “You become my wife.”

“I become your wife.”

His kiss was demanding, fueled with both passion and love. I clung to him, crying out softly when he started to move inside me again.

“And you’re going to be my husband.”

He groaned, and I could sense he was fighting for self-control. I loved it when I managed to push him over the edge into an abyss of raw passion.

He lifted his head, his eyes bright with lust. “You are what dreams are made of.”

I gasped as he started again with deep, long thrusts. My husband-to-be knew how to fuck. “I can hardly wait until you’re mine.”

“I’m already yours, Blaire.”

And then our words were forgotten as he showed me, in a dozen different ways, how he belonged to me.