Page 192 of Ghost Ribbon

I tightened the belt another notch, forcing his back into a deeper arch, and set a pace that left no room for anything but the wet sounds of me taking him apart while he kept whispering obedient little pleas under every thrust.

“I’m so close, I can’t—”

“Not yet,” I snarled against his ear, never slowing. “You come when I say. You hold it like a good little slut until I fill this greedy hole.”

Marco’s voice cracked into the sweetest, most desperate whimper.

I released the belt just enough for him to drag in a full breath, then used that same hand to fist his hair and yank his head sideways so I could bite down on the side of his neck again. My other hand returned to his cock, stroking him in mean pulls timed to the brutal snap of my hips.

“You’re perfect.” I praised.

I felt his hole start to flutter and clamp down harder around me. The pressure was exquisite, dragging me right to the edge with him. I slammed in as deep as I could go and stayed there for a second, grinding against his prostate while my fist worked his leaking cock.

“Come for me, Malyshka. Come on my cock.”

Marco shattered with a cry, body seizing under me. The feeling of him falling apart dragged me over with him.

I slammed in one final time, buried to the hilt, and unloaded with a groan. I kept the belt tight and my hips pressed flush against his red, trembling ass, forcing every drop as deep as it could go.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

Marco was still whimpering softly, body limp and shaking, little submissive sounds spilling out of him as I continued to pulse inside him.

I stayed buried, breathing hard against the back of his neck, one hand still wrapped in the belt and the other gently stroking his spent cock through the last weak spurts. Only when the final aftershocks faded did I loosen the leather around his throat and press a rough, open-mouthed kiss to the marks I’d left.

He was full, marked, trembling, and completely mine.

***

Now that Marco was safe and healing, my mind finally had room to function again.

The grinding static of fear that had lived behind my eyes for weeks had quieted. I could think in straight lines. I could look at problems without the urge to burn everything. And the first problem waiting for me was Ilya.

Dimitri and I had been circling the same question for months: who the fuck was putting their hands on him. The idiot still refused to say a word. He smiled, he joked and he acted normal. But I knew. If I reached across the table right now and shoved his sleeve up to the elbow, I would find fresh bruises layered over old ones. He still refused to wear short sleeves even in the heat. That alone was confession enough. Someone was hurting him, and the fact that he protected the bastard made my trigger finger itch.

I filed the thought away for later.

There were more immediate fires.

The other syndicates were at my throat. Dimitri had finally taken his seat at the head of the Morozov empire, and that alone made the old families nervous. Power shifting always did. But the real poison was me. After my little stunt - one hundred and forty-seven bodies in a single night - most of them wanted my head on a spike.

I didn’t care.

I would do it again without blinking.

What actually had them sweating was the upcoming visit from the Kazuma family. The largest Yakuza organization operating in the States. We had an alliance - tenuous, profitable, and built on mutual respect for each other’s capacity for violence - but everyone understood the unspoken rule. If one side fucked up badly enough to draw federal heat or public scandal, the Kazumas would not hesitate to erase the problem. They had the resources to dismantle five East Coast families using only a quarter of their strength and still have enough left over for dinner. It could turn bloody in a matter of days. That was why the old men at this table were so terrified of any “psychopath” drawing unnecessary eyes. Everyone at this table feared the Kazumas.

I still didn’t give a single shit.

I sat at Dimitri’s right, posture lazy, expression blank. One of the older man cleared his throat and fixed me with a watery stare.

“Morozov. I trust we will have no further… incidents while the Kazuma delegation is in the city. The last thing any of us need is another spectacle.”

It was almost funny. For years I had been the controlled one. Dimitri was the hothead. Now, I was suddenly the reckless liability.

I leaned back in my chair, voice flat.

“I killed some people. That doesn’t magically turn me into a hotheaded bitch.”