BAD BOYY [ 𝑀𝑀 ]

🍑 ONE 🍑

Who would have thought that the one my mother always spoke about would walk into my life when I least expected it?

My brothers and I are in Italy, handling business with the mafia here. After Wladimir and Aurora, Sunshine, finally reconciled after a fight, he told me we'd be flying back to Moscow tomorrow. Tonight, we're making the most of our last evening — starting at the pool, then heading out.

We're already here, but one person is missing. Maxim. Wladimir hired him to help Mischa in the kitchen, and now Aurora, ever perceptive, tells me to go find him. She knows. Hell, she knows me better than my own friends. She sees the way I look at him, the way I burn for him. I nod and she just smiles, sweet and knowing.

I know exactly where his room is. And I know exactly how badly I want to walk through that door, press him against it, and claim what's already mine. Neither of us has made a move yet, but I've craved him since the moment I laid eyes on him. The way he blushed, the way we clicked instantly, like fade had stitched us together before we even spoke.

Snow-white hair. Pale skin. Dark, stormy eyes. And those lips — full, red, made to be kissed, bitten, fucked. He's small, barely reaching my shoulder, his waist built to fit in my hands. And his ass — fuck. I've lost count of how many times I've stroked myself off, imagining it, imagining him. His tight body taking me. My cock buried deep in his throat.

I force myself to breathe, to stay in control, but it's damn hard when I'm standing here in nothing but swim trunks, knowing he wants me too. I see it in his eyes. Of course, he does. But I've been here before — men who only want me for my body, for the power I hold in my hands. And that's fine. That's easy.

But this isn't easy. This is different. This is him.

And that annoying little voice in my head keeps whispering that maybe — just maybe — he's the one. The one my mother always told me about. She was a hopeless romantic, and I loved that about her. She used to say, The right one will come at the right time.

And after more than thirty years, I think that time is now.

I knock on his door. No answer. A flicker of amusement and something darker coils in my chest. Did something happen? Or is he simply ignoring me? Without hesitation, I push the door open and step inside.

The soft hum of music drifts from the bathroom. The door is ajar, light spilling out into the dim room. He's in there, oblivious. A small smirk tugs at my lips.

Wladimir had told me bits and pieces about his life, but my own research had filled in the blanks. I know more than I should. More than he'd be comfortable with. But I've never been the type to hold back.