Guilty Stars

10

I was awestruck by his beauty. Michelangelo couldn’t have painted a more perfect form had he tried. Michael possessed that delicious V women salivated over, and it led down to a gloriously thick c**k ringed with veins and a rounded head red with blood flow. He would feel magical inside me. Michael crawled over me, sliding my panties down my legs, then kissing his way to my core. “If you lick me there, I’ll never last,” I breathed. He nipped at my inner thigh. “Just a taste. One sweet little taste.” His tongue swept firmly from my opening up to my throbbing c**t.

My head slammed back into a pillow, pleasure electrifying my body. “Oh, God. Michael … I can’t. It’s too—” I gasped when his tongue flicked at my swollen bundle of nerves, losing all train of thought. He licked and sucked until my thighs shook around his head, and my belly rippled with the oncoming waves of a threatening o****m. Just as before, he pulled away as I approached the cusp of that divine peak, completely ignoring my ragged protests. He lifted his body flush with mine, fitting perfectly against me like lock and key as though we were made for one another. My tangy scent drifted from his lips. Smelling myself on him was erotic and insanely attractive. Some people defined masculinity as lifting weights and driving trucks. For me, masculine was a naked man covered in his woman’s scent after he’d driven her mad with pleasure. Now that was hot. “I wondered about your hair,” he mused, teasing me with his c**k as it slid back and forth over my mound. “How it would look flowing across a pillow. It’s even more perfect than I’d imagined.” Before I could beg him for more, he tilted his hips and pressed against my opening. With three easy surges, he was inside me, finally satisfying the gaping need at my center. He continued his movements, growing lost in his mission to burrow inside me. I writhed and flexed in harmony with him, my body seeking that natural rhythm so elemental in our beings. Harder and faster, his thrusts hammered at my senses, flooding me with electric pleasure and threatening to unravel me from the inside out. I panted and gasped. My hands clung to Michael’s shoulders in desperation—to keep myself from shattering or to drive myself into oblivion, I wasn’t sure which. Whatever it was that I needed, Michael was at the source. He lowered himself just a fraction, face buried in my hair, and the angle added just enough pressure on my c**t to send me rocketing into a new dimension. Blissful waves of pleasure careened out from my center and filled every inch of my body. I cried out, voice ragged and spent. Body a brilliant shooting star streaking across the sky. Michael’s arms encircled me, squeezing me as he found his own release. We slowed our movements, gliding on the crest of a broken wave rolling toward the shore. He eased onto his back and guided my head onto his chest. His heart thundered against his ribs, and I felt a piece of me break off and plant itself deep within him. A piece of my soul that would never be mine again. I could only hope he would cherish it as if it were his own. “So what exactly do these mean?” I traced one of Michael’s star tattoos. He had an eight-pointed star inked just below each shoulder. We’d stayed in bed, enjoying the feel of one another’s bodies, and I’d been asking about some of his particularly interesting tattoos. I knew the stars had to do with the Bratva, but I didn’t know their precise purpose. “They’re given when a new member enters the Bratva—first on the knees to show that we kneel before no man. Then the stars are placed on the chest when we’re given more responsibility. Because my father was a part of the life, I was elevated to a higher rank more quickly than some. Originally, the tattoos were a part of prison life. A way to broadcast a man’s associations and accomplishments. In this day and age, few of the men here have ever been to Russia, let alone a Russian prison.” “Were your parents born here?” “Yeah. Some of my mom’s family is around. My dad’s parents came over from Russia but died when he was young, which is probably how he ended up involved in the Bratva.” He held a lock of my hair in his hands above us, running the strands through his fingers reverently as if it were spun gold. “If you hadn’t gone into business with your father, what would you have done?” He took in a deep breath. “Something with cars. Maybe racing—part of a pit crew or something like that. I love everything about fast cars.” “You don’t drive particularly fast,” I mused. I’d been in his car several times and not once felt in danger. He peered down at me from under thick lashes and grinned. “That’s because I had precious cargo.” I giggled at his sappy explanation and pinched his side. “Some mobster you are.” “I never said I was a good one.” Our laughter sobered when a knock sounded at my front door. Michael sat up, brows drawing together. “You expecting someone?” “Not aside from you.” I leapt off the bed and threw on some clothes. Michael slipped on his jeans, then headed for the door without waiting for me. I scurried after him, slipping my arms into my shirt as he opened the door. I was surprised he took the liberty but also glad to have him there. The freedom of living alone was great when a stranger wasn’t pounding on my door. Michael blocked a majority of the entrance with his broad body. I peered around him and gaped at my stepfather. Donald’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Michael. “It’s you, from the bank. What the hell is going on here?” What was he talking about? Had Michael been to Donald’s bank? I pushed Michael to move aside and crossed my arms over my chest. “Why are you here?” Donald’s confused expression morphed to palpable disgust when his gaze slid to me. “I have called and called you.” He pointed his finger and sneered. “I don’t know why I expected better from a spoiled child, making me come all the way over here. You never have cared about anyone but yourself.” In a flash, Michael surged forward, grasping Donald’s collared shirt at the neck and slamming him against the hallway wall opposite my door. “Do you have any f*****g idea who I am?” he hissed. Michael was so intimidating that he easily dominated the older man who was similarly built. It wasn’t a matter of size but ruthlessness, and Michael could be an absolute savage when needed. “I know exactly who you are.” Donald’s lip snarled.