Nikolai sat on the edge of the bed like a shadow carved out of ice and fire. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms inked in thick black and scars I didn't recognize. His tie hung loose around his neck. One hand held a crystal tumbler of vodka, the other draped across his thigh, fingers lazily tapping. His hair was a little messy-like he'd been pacing, or running his hand through it for the last hour. But his eyes... They were clear. Sharp. Hungry. Focused on me. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I stood in the doorway, barefoot and flushed from the night, heart climbing up my throat. He didn't speak right away. Just looked me over like he was taking inventory of what was his. Then he spoke-in Russian, slow and deliberate: "Иди сюда котёнок." "Come here kitten" The air turned thick. Almost electric. I didn't move. My muscles locked, my mind racing. I could feel the alcohol slipping from my system, replaced by something sharper. Colder. Power. His power. I swallowed hard. "Nikolai..." He took a slow sip of vodka, never breaking eye contact. Then leaned forward slightly, voice low but lethal. "Don't make me have to come get you, котёнок." "Kitten"

[BDSM] Power was the game. Control was the prize. Azaria Sinclair didn't go looking for Rhys Beaumont-he found her, studied her, claimed her. What started as a contract meant to cage emotion becomes the one thing that unravels them both. When a man who doesn't believe in love meets a woman who's forgotten how to be loved, the thirteenth clause might be the one that breaks them.

Her boyfriend called her boring. So she booked a sex therapist. What Alessia didn't expect was Dr. Zayn Steele - 34, tattooed, pierced, and utterly irresistible. He's supposed to teach her control... but every session turns into a dangerous game of denial, commands, and dirty secrets. He says not yet. Her body says please now. And when the rules finally shatter, neither of them will be able to stop.

By day, she's focused, flawless, and untouchable. But by night? She's tangled in silk sheets, moaning a man's name she should never be saying. He's everything she shouldn't want older, dangerous, dominant. A smooth-talking savage who knows exactly how to touch her, ruin her, and make her beg for more. Their connection is toxic. Their chemistry? Explosive. And every time she swears it's the last night... she ends up right back between the sheets.

Bloods Vs. Crips East Side Vs. West Side The Montagues Vs. The Capulets. You've probably heard of these infamous rivalries before... But what about the Italian Mafia Vs. The Jamaican Cartel?

| The Mafia Boss and His Submissive | BWWM #1: SINNER'S TRAP An unsuspecting flame in each other's life. One is continuously looking over their shoulder to ensure that they are on track for the future they have envisioned since they were a child. Despite the countless times they've been disappointed, they have all the love and understanding in the world - an enigma. Because of their own past, the other is barred from ever having what they crave. The majority of relationships are bound in transactionality and they yearn for more. Despite being served every conventional need on a platter, they are unable to obtain the one thing they want. Total opposites that fulfill the urges of the others paradox - they should take the chance. It should be easy? ----- He groans into my right ear, "Come on babygirl, beg for it." He takes his hands away, a bitter shriek of irritation rising from the pits of my stomach. With spread thighs and a dripping pussy, his hands grasped my straightened hair and pulled my head back. I couldn't grip onto anything with my hands suspended above my head and my feet held by restraints in the flooring. I was going mad. My weak pleasured cries falling on deaf ears. He kissed the exposed skin on my back, now covered in a small sheen of sweat barely holding up the bra he cut loose like a rope. A weak shriek escapes my mouth as he pinches my right nipple while playfully twisting the other. "Please. Fuck. Please." I start, but the words get stuck in my throat. A few seconds pass as though he expects me to elaborate. I could barely think. His fingers return to my pussy - slender and long; the ring finger softly stroked the one spot inside me that could send me over the edge crashing, while his thumb rubbed my clit in small circles. "You can do so much better babygirl. You want me to make you cum?" He asks, and is met with an immediate nod. "Then address me by my name and fucking beg for it like you mean it." ----- MATURE CONTENT. NOT EDITED

just read it 😛

Who would've known a mob boss' best match is his nephews teacher