Fallen Royal (Mafia Royals 4)

“Yeah, those aren’t going to work. They’re my favorite pair.”

“What part of I almost ended up barbecued isn’t getting into your thick skull,” I snapped his forehead with my fingers. “I should get a free pass.”

His eyes flashed the way they had before. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Argue?”

“Flick me.” We were chest to chest; his eyes did that weird dilation thing again the hell kind of suspense horror film was I in? It was like someone had turned off the lights making his pupils stretch.

Without warning, he picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder, then threw me onto his bed; I bounced up and tried to escape.

He pinned me down with his hands, then leaned down, biting on the waistband of his boxers and sliding them down my legs.

I wasn’t wearing underwear at all.

I was completely bare to him.

Shivering, I wasn’t sure whether to kiss him or kick him.

It was a tie.

And I was exhausted.

He stood, boxers in his mouth. I leaned up on my elbows, afraid to move. He dropped his towel.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his erect cock.

It was just. There. And huge.

He didn’t look away from me as he slowly put them on, tucking himself into the waistband like it wasn’t completely obvious he was hiding a baseball bat in there and walked over to the dresser.

He grabbed a pair of blue plaid boxers and came back to the bed, gently putting my feet through the holes and pulling the boxers up to my knees.

His body tensed, both hands suddenly shoved my thighs apart, then his head descended, and his nose was there.

Right there.

It tickled.

And it was so against character, I mean, he was always amazing in bed, but this was… primal.

Goosebumps broke out over my body as he took one big inhale like I was his drug, then shuddered, slamming my legs back together and jerking the boxers all the way up to my waist.

“Wh-what was that?” I asked.

“You sniffed both my shampoo and my conditioner, so I figured it was only fair that I sniffed your neck and your pussy.”

“Maks!” I blushed furiously. “You can’t just—”

“I did though, didn’t I?” His eyes gleamed. “You have five seconds to leave my room before I follow up with what I was just doing. One, two…” His voice lowered as he counted.

I scrambled off the bed and ran down the hall to my room only to hear him call after me.

“Lock your door, Iz.”

I didn’t have to be told twice.

Did I think he would hurt me? No, not physically, but something wasn’t right, and every instinct told me that letting him in, touching him, physically, emotionally bonding with him more than I already had—wouldn’t just be my death, but his.

So, I kept my door locked and stared at the wall I shared with him.

Was he okay?

I jumped when the sound of something breaking filled the air, followed by a yell, and then silence.

Me: Wrestling bears in there?

He didn’t respond right away; it was more like five minutes before he texted back.

Maks: Nah just my emotional demons. Care to tame them?

Me: Hard pass.

Maks: Damn it, worth a try.

Me: Really though… are you okay?

Maks: Are any of us really okay? Riddle me this… in the mafia, is anything ever normal? I think we’re all just really good at pretending.

Me: Are you? Good at pretending?

Maks: I don’t even know anymore. I don’t know who I am… sometimes I think I’m lost.

Me: So do whatever it takes to be found.

Maks: I am, Iz, believe me, I am.

Me: Good.

Maks: If I promise to be on my best behavior, can I sleep on the floor?

Me: Only if you promise not to touch me.

Maks: Touching you is a bad idea. I mean, it’s a good idea in theory, but… I don’t want to hurt you.

I wanted to type back, you hurt me every day you date someone else, every time you touch me and make me love you more and more, then walk away when all I want is for you to stay by my side.

To follow through on your promise.

Me: Fine.

Maks: You’ll have to unlock your door.

Me: You’re the one that told me to lock it.

Maks: Oh right…

Huh?

Maks: I’ll be right over.

I plugged my phone in to the charger I’d found left by the bed and went and unlocked the door to my bedroom.

Maks was already standing there, bottle of vodka in one hand and a sad smile on his face. “Drink with me.”

“Your poor liver.” I sighed. “Been drinking a lot tonight, probably why you went a little ragey.”

Actually, it made sense, I’d never seen him like that, but I knew better than anyone the pressure he was under from his dad. His dad’s legacy was known worldwide across all syndicates, crime families, and even government agencies.

It would be a lot to take in for anyone, especially considering what his dad did in his spare time—run a club that legally sold women, or I guess illegally sold women to men in order to get them out of trafficking.