Heavy Crown: A Dark Mafia Romance (Brutal Birthright Book 6)
Heavy Crown: Chapter 23

Visiting Mikolaj and Nessa’s house had a strange effect on me.

As I left, Nessa came down to say goodbye to me. She stood in the grand entryway, panting with exertion, a wisp of damp hair hanging down over one eye, shaken loose from her bun.

Mikolaj reached out with one of his slim, tattooed hands, and tucked it gently back behind her ear. That hand has probably killed a hundred men, but Nessa didn’t flinch away from it even for a moment. She looked up into Mikolaj’s face, her eyes shining with trust and adoration.

Who would have thought a monster like Mikolaj could be loved by an angel like Nessa?

Yet it’s clear to see that they share a bond that can’t be broken by anyone, or anything.

I thought that’s what Yelena and I had.

Now, driving back toward my father’s house, I realize we do have something.

Because deep inside of me, I feel a pull stronger than magnetism, stronger than gravity. The closer I get to the house, the more powerful it becomes. I’m compelled to go back down the long, winding staircase to the cell.

I want to see Yelena.

I need to see her.

I told myself my previous visits were to rage at her, and then to get information.

But if I’m being honest with myself, I need another look at her face. At those eyes the color of twilight, and those lips softer than anything I’ve ever touched, and that body that haunts my dreams when I lay sweating in my bed, unable to sleep.

I want her and I need her, worse than ever.

As I stride into the kitchen, I almost run into Greta, carrying a basket of clothes out of the laundry room.

Greta sets it down on the kitchen table, eyeing me warily.

“Where are you going?” she says.

“Downstairs.”

“How long do you intend to keep her locked up down there?” Greta demands. “This isn’t right, Sebastian.”

I whirl around to face her, trying to hold back this fury that’s continually simmering right below the surface.

“What do you think I should do, Greta?”

“Forgive her or let her go!” Greta cries.

“I can’t let her go,” I say. “And I will NEVER forgive her.”

I say that with total certainty. But as the words leave my lips, they don’t ring true.

I ask myself, what would it take for me to forgive her?

She already risked her life to save mine. What more do I want from her?

Do I want her to beg? To grovel? What would prove to me that she’s truly sorry?

While I’m wondering this, Greta throws her hands up in frustration “This isn’t you, Sebastian! What are you doing? You’re letting Yenin turn you into some kind of monster.”

I can tell she didn’t want to say that to me—her expression is miserable. But she means it, all the same.

I look at Greta without anger—only seriousness. “There was always a monster in me,” I say. “Yenin just let it out.”

Greta shakes her head at me, her pale blue eyes accusing. “You’d better not hurt her,” she says.

I sweep past her without making any promises.

I pause momentarily at the door of the laundry room. I see the heavy, industrial-size washer and dryer, and Greta’s neat row of jars containing detergent pods, fabric softener, and clothespins.

Impulsively, I open the last jar and grab a handful of pins, stuffing them in my pocket alongside my switchblade.

Then I stride down the stairs, past the garage, all the way down to the lowest and most hidden level of this house. Beneath our weaponry, beneath our safe, way down deep in the earth.

That’s where my bride is waiting.

I wrench open the door, startling her so that a book falls from her hands. It was one of my father’s—I recognize the cover with its image of a rose and a skull, in the style of an illuminated manuscript.

As she always does, Yelena searches my face, trying to read my intentions before I even open my mouth.

She won’t guess them today.

I stride toward her and she rises to meet me, her hands held up in an instinctive protective gesture. I shove them aside. I grab her by the back of the neck, seizing her and kissing her roughly.

She stiffens with shock.

I shove my tongue between those tender, soft lips, kissing her so hard that I taste blood in my mouth.

When I release her, she looks up at me, anxious and confused.

“Do you still love me?” I demand.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“What would you do for me?”

She answers without hesitation. “Anything,” she says.

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

“Yes.”

“Don’t say it unless you’re really sure.”

Yelena regards me with an expression as clear and serious as I’ve ever seen it.

“I made a mistake, Sebastian. I was selfish and foolish. But I love you. And I will do anything for you to prove it.”

I look at her standing there—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the most ferocious. Even half dressed, locked up in a cell for days, she remains unbowed and unbroken. She won’t submit. Not to that beast Rodion, and not to her psychotic father.

But she just might submit to me.

I push the cell door shut behind me. It closes with an ominous clank of metal. The room is lit by only one flickering overhead light. It’s a dank and depressing space. But right now, it feels perfect. If feels right.

I take a step toward Yelena. She looks nervous. Which is also right—she should be nervous.

Even exhausted, recovering from a bullet to the shoulder, and locked in this basement for days, Yelena is so beautiful that it hurts to look at her. Her silvery hair hangs loose down her back, tangled but still lovely. She’s paler than ever, with concrete dust smudged across her skin and dark circles under her eyes. It only serves to highlight how clear and luminous her skin actually is, under the dirt. Her eyes look bigger than ever under the straight, dark slashes of her brows, and her full lips are trembling slightly.

She’s wearing the pajamas that Greta brought downstairs—soft cotton, with buttons up the front.

“Take those off,” I bark.

Watching me warily, Yelena starts to undo the buttons. She fumbles with the first few because her fingers are unsteady. But she manages to get them all undone, and she slips out of the top, then the bottoms.

Now she’s standing there in only her bra and panties, showing that body that men would fight and die to possess. The body that’s strong, tall, and rebellious, and completely under my control at the moment.

I thought from the minute I met her that she looked like a warrior princess.

Well, now she’s been captured from the barbarians. Now she belongs to me.

I took her. I married her. And I now I own her.

She says she loves me?

Well, she can fucking prove it.

“Stand against the wall,” I order.

I see a flutter in Yelena’s throat as she swallows hard. Still, she obeys me, stepping away from the mattress and pressing her back against the cold concrete wall.

I pick up the manacles off the floor, where they’ve been laying since I unlocked her.

I close them around her wrists and ankles again. They shut with a metallic snap. I can see the little goosebumps rising on her arms, from the chill or from nerves. I pull the chains tight so she’s bound to the wall, her ankles apart and her hands only able to move a few inches.

I can see her pulse jumping in her throat. I hear her rapid breath, though she’s trying to stay quiet. I can even smell the sharp tang of her adrenaline, laced with the enticing natural scent of her skin.

She’s afraid, and that’s exactly how I want her. I want her to feel just the smallest bit of the anguish I experienced over the last few days. I need to know if she truly wants to give herself to me, or if she’ll crack under pressure.

So I take my knife out of my pocket and I snap open the blade.

Yelena eyes the razor-sharp edge as I bring the knife up to her ribs. She doesn’t flinch away. She stays perfectly still, jaw clenched.

I lean over and put my lips right next to her ear.

“I’m going to push you to the limit, Yelena,” I tell her. “Any time you want, you can tell me to stop. I’ll stop, and I’ll leave. But if you want to me to stay . . . if you want to be mine . . . it’s not gonna be so easy this time. I want ALL of you. I want every last fucking shred of you. Body and soul, you belong to me. I want you bare, vulnerable, and willing. I want to know you aren’t holding anything back from me this time. Do you understand?”

She nods slowly, her eyes wide and unblinking.

She doesn’t really understand.

But she will soon enough.

With one quick slash of the knife, I cut through the band of her strapless bra. The bra falls away from her body, baring those soft, warm breasts. The moment they’re exposed to the chilly air of the cell, her nipples harden and point slightly upward, like they’re inviting me to take one in my mouth.

I will. But not yet . . .

Instead, I cut through her underwear too, tearing the remains of her panties off her hips. Now her tight little pussy is bare, the lips slightly parted because her ankles are chained to the wall two feet apart. She can’t close her legs. She can barely move at all.

It’s incredibly erotic to have her chained up, completely at my mercy. It’s even more erotic to see the look of determination in her fiercely narrowed eyes.

She thinks she’s going to rise to this challenge.

I think I’m going to break her.

We’ll soon know who was right.

Roughly, I grope her bare breasts with my hands. I press her against the wall with the weight of my body. I squeeze her nipples hard until she gasps, and I growl in her ear, “Does that hurt? Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” she says, her stubbornness rising to meet mine.

I take the clothespins out of my pocket. I open one, then I let it close around her left nipple. Yelena sucks in a sharp breath of air, but she doesn’t cry out. I see her fists clench, where they’re chained to the wall at her sides.

Her nipple turns from its normal light tan color to dark pink, the same shade as her lips. It stands out from her breast, caught tight in the grip of the clothespin. I pinch the other wooden pin around her right nipple.

The pressure is steady and relentless. Her nipples are turning darker by the minute, and I know they must be aching. Yelena doesn’t complain. When I kiss her, she kisses me back twice as hard. When I reach down to slide my fingers between those slightly-parted pussy lips, I can feel that she’s slick and wet.

Well, well, well. Either my bride has been missing me, or she’s replaceing her own catharsis in the rough treatment.

I slide my fingers back and forth across her clit, using her wetness as lubrication. I feel her clit start to swell and stand up, just like her nipples. Yelena tries to grind against my hand, as best she can from her constrained position.

She’s moaning and rubbing against me, trying to use the pleasure to distract herself from the nagging pain of her breasts.

I keep rubbing her pussy, increasing the pace and pressure until that pink flush comes into her cheeks, and her breathing quickens, and I know she’s starting to build to orgasm. Then I withdraw my hand and step away from her.

Yelena lets out a groan of frustration. She wants me to keep touching her. She wants it badly. But I’m just getting started.

Her nipples are deeply flushed now. Slowly, achingly, I depress the spring to release the clothespin’s grip on her left breast. As soon as I’ve removed it, I put my mouth around her puffy, swollen nipple and I suck.

The noise Yelena makes is like nothing I’ve heard from her before. It’s a deep groan: part pain, and part exquisite relief. I’m soothing her sore nipple and stimulating it, while it’s sensitive and engorged.

I know she’s dying for me to do the same on the other side, but I make her wait. I tug on the clothespin without removing it. Yelena arches her back, eyes closed, whimpering softly.

At last I remove the pin, and I take her right nipple in my mouth, savoring how swollen and hot it’s become, and how Yelena writhes against the wall, barely able to handle the intense stimulation of me suckling on her tender breast.

Standing up straight again, I unzip the front of my pants. My cock springs free, rock hard and throbbing. I press the head up against her entrance, and I watch her face as I ram it inside. Yelena groans and bites down hard on my shoulder. She bites me so hard that she almost draws blood.

I don’t give a fuck. The only sensation I can feel is my cock sliding all the way inside her tight, warm cunt. Even though it’s been less than a week since the last time I fucked her, it feels like it’s been a hundred years. My longing for her, my obsession with her, it all comes roaring back, stronger than ever. I thrust into her harder and harder, and it’s not enough, I want more. I fuck her relentlessly against that wall, rocking her whole body against the concrete.

The rough cement is probably scratching her back. I don’t care.

In this moment I want Yelena to feel every sensation to a fever pitch, just like I am. Whatever it takes, I have to get her to understand how she puts me through a shredder every time I see her, how my bond to her is painful and terrifying, how she hurt me worse than my knee, worse than losing my mother, worse than anything that’s happened to me in my life. And yet I still fucking need her. I can’t stop it, I can’t turn it off.

She has this power over me, and I need to exert my power over her. I need to know that she wants me just as badly, that she’ll tear herself to pieces for me, just like I’ll do for her.

Feverishly, I unlock the manacles so I can take her in more positions. I throw her down on the mattress and I mount her from behind. I grab that long, silvery hair and I wrap it twice around my hand, seizing it tight. Then I yank her head back as I enter her from behind, using her hair to hold her fast.

I’m fucking her hard and rough, my hips slamming into her ass. I can never decide my favorite position with her, because each one feels the best in the moment. Right now, the sight of her tight waist flaring out to that luscious, heart-shaped ass brings out a primal lust that makes me grunt and rut like an animal.

I’m already sweating and I’m dying to explode inside of her, but I refuse to do it.

I’m taking everything tonight.

I pull out of Yelena to take a short break, my cock gleaming with her wetness.

I’ve never seen it so hard. It’s standing straight out from my body, thick with veins.

Yelena turns around to look at me, sitting back on her heels. Her face is flushed and her eyes look wild.

“What do you want now?” she asks.

She’s trying to be submissive. She’s trying to show that she’s sorry.

But I still see that fire in her eyes. That look like when she stepped out into the skybox. She likes a challenge.

“Suck my cock,” I order.

Yelena looks down at my cock that’s still warm and wet from being inside her.

She doesn’t hesitate. She lays down on her stomach and takes my cock in her hand, looking up at me. She licks all the way up the length of it, from base to head. She keeps eye contact with me the entire time, while she swirls her tongue around the head, and then takes the whole thing in her mouth. She licks and sucks eagerly, using her other hand to gently cradle my balls.

It feels outrageously good. She looks up at me, watching my face to see if I like it. Watching to see if she’s pleasing me right.

I roll her over on her back and I shove my cock inside of her again. I thrust into her ten, twenty times, then I pull my cock out and bring it up to her mouth again, so she can suck me off.

I alternate between her pussy and her mouth, using them each as long as I please. I go back and forth, feeling the softness and warmth of each, bringing myself to the edge of climax over and over.

I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s insane and filthy, and I never want it to stop.