Ruthless Bratva King (New York Russian Mafia Kings #1)

60. Elena

60

ELENA

T he bathroom door clicks shut behind me, muffling the soft hum of conversation from the restaurant beyond. I take a moment to breathe, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my lipstick slightly smudged.

The door creaks open behind me. I glance in the mirror, startled, as Dmitri steps inside, locking the door with a quiet click.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice low but teasing.

His dark eyes meet mine in the mirror, and the intensity in them sends a shiver down my spine. “Following you,” he says simply, his voice gravelly.

I turn to face him, my back pressed against the cool sink. “We’re in a restaurant, Dmitri,” I whisper, though my pulse quickens at the idea of what he might have in mind.

“And?” He steps closer, his towering frame filling the small space. “Do you think I care?”

There’s no mistaking the hunger in his gaze, but it’s tempered by something softer—something that makes my chest tighten.

“You must care a little. You locked the door, didn’t you?”

His hand lifts to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I don’t think you understand how much I need you right now.”

My breath catches as he leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens.

His hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him as the kiss grows more urgent. My fingers find the back of his neck, threading through his hair as I arch into him, heat pooling low in my belly.

“Dmitri,” I murmur against his lips, half a plea, half a warning.

“Say the word, moya lisitsa ,” he murmurs back, his voice rough, his hands skimming down my sides to grip my hips. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

I look up at him, my heart pounding. I say nothing.

In one fluid motion, he lifts me onto the edge of the sink, his hands sliding up my thighs as he kisses me like a man starved.

His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I can’t help but part my mouth slightly.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “Sitting there, crossing your legs under the table, playing with your hair.” He leans in, his lips grazing my ear as he murmurs, “Do you know what that does to me, Elena?”

I swallow hard, feeling the heat pooling between my legs already. “Yes,” I admit, my voice trembling just enough to betray me. “I do.”

The cold marble bites into my thighs, the hem of my dress riding up dangerously high. My pulse quickens as he steps between my legs, his chest pressing against mine, trapping me against the mirror.

His fingers graze the inside of my thigh, sliding upward until they brush against the lace of my panties. “This,” he says, almost to himself, “is unnecessary.” And before I can protest, he hooks a finger into the delicate fabric and pulls, ripping them away with one sharp motion.

His hands slide up my thighs, spreading them wider as he kneels in front of me. The sight of him there, looking up at me with those hungry eyes, sends a shiver down my spine.

“You’re mine forever,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “And I’m going to remind you exactly what that means.”

His breath is hot against my skin as he trails kisses up my inner thigh, each one sending sparks shooting through me.

When his tongue finally finds my clit, I arch into him, a moan slipping past my lips.

His tongue flicks over me, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder, until I’m gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself.

“Fuck, Dmitri,” I gasp, my head falling back. He growls against me, the vibrations only making it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. “That’s so good.”

One hand moves to my hip, holding me in place, while the other slips between us, his fingers circling me, teasing me, before pushing inside.

I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he works me with his fingers and tongue, each stroke building the pressure inside me until I’m teetering on the edge.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough with need. I force my eyes open, turning to meet his gaze. The intensity is almost too much, but I can’t look away.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and that’s all it takes.

My body shatters, pleasure crashing over me in waves as my climax hits me.

He doesn’t stop, not even when I squirm, not even when I beg him to. He keeps going, drawing out every last drop of my orgasm.

He stands, his hands moving to his belt, and I watch, transfixed, as he undoes it, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss.

His pants follow, dropping to the floor, and then he’s stepping forward, lifting me off the sink and turning me around so my back is to him.

My reflection stares back at me, flushed and disheveled, as he pushes me forward, bending me over the sink.

His hand slides up my back, pushing my dress out of the way before landing on my ass with a sharp smack. The sting makes me gasp, but it’s quickly followed by a rush of heat, pooling low in my stomach.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his voice dripping with lust. “Spread for me.” His fingers dig into my hips as he positions himself, and then he’s pushing inside me, inch by torturous inch, until I’m full of him.

I bite my lip to stifle a moan, but it’s no use. He sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving me closer to the edge again.

His grip tightens on my hips, pulling me back to meet him, and I can hear the slap of skin on skin, feel the way his breathing grows ragged as he loses himself in me.

“Look at yourself,” he growls, catching my chin and forcing me to meet my own gaze in the mirror. “See how good you take me? How perfect we are together?”

I do as he says, unable to tear my eyes away from the image of us, of him buried deep inside me, his expression fierce and hungry.

It’s too much, and I feel myself spiraling again, the pressure building until it breaks, sending me plunging into another orgasm so intense it steals the breath from my lungs.

He follows me over the edge, his movements becoming erratic as he comes inside me with a low groan, his body shuddering against mine.

For a moment, we stay like that, connected, both of us trying to catch our breath. Then he presses a soft kiss to the nape of my neck, his hands gentling as he helps me straighten up.

A soft knock at the door startles us, followed by a muffled, “Everything all right in there?”

Dmitri smirks, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “Perfect,” he calls back, his voice steady and composed. “Couldn’t be better.”