Mafia crave
Her back slammed against the wall, the breath caught in her throat.
Before she could say anything, Zayne's body held hers in place, one hand on her jaw, the other around her waist like a vice. His breath was hot against her lips, but his eyes—dark, hungry, and merciless—spoke of sin.
"You keep running, Inspector," he growled, in a deep low sinful voice. "But I will always find you. And when I do..." His tongue brushed her earlobe, slow and deliberate, vibrating against her skin. "I don't just want to hear you plead for mercy. I want to ruin you."
Priya's breath caught.
He smirked against her skin, sensing the way she trembled below him. "I'll have you gasping for my name, your legs shaking, your nails digging into my back. Not once. Not twice. Until you forget you ever hated me."
She tried to shove him off her, but her hands betrayed her, curling into his shirt instead.
"I'll make you feel it," he whispered, even softer. "Every inch of me... inside you... claiming you. Till you forget the badge. Forget the pride. Forget the pain."
"Zayne--" she breathed.
“You’ll scream,” he whispered, biting her lower lip. “Not from fear. Not from pain. But because I’ll make you scream like I own you.”
“And you’ll love every second of it.”