Emperor of Mayhem

|74 | (part one)

____________________________

BEG FOR IT
____________________________

This chapter turned out too long so I had to divide it. Please check the chapter after this<3

____

Somewhere in the corner of the room, paper rustled and fluttered. At the background, a foreboding sound played from one of Mikhail's Turkish series. That one was called Black and White Love—a mafia man fell in love with a doctor. I hated the show though. But Mikhail never missed an episode even though I had no record of him actually sitting to watch it. I doubted he even knew the title of the series.

I was standing by the dressing table in a pretty maxi dress that held my waist tightly before falling in a cute flowy style and rested above my knees. I was absentminded, lost in a world I didn't know, a diamond ring being twirled around my finger. 

Of course I said yes.

For the world or anyone that heard it at that moment, I probably meant I was ready to spend the rest of my life with him. But for some reason I wasn't quite confident in the supposed reason for my answer. Fact was, it was a ring that weighed 15 carats and it cost him about $43.4 million. A huge part of me felt I accepted because the ring was expensive.

I mean, how lavishly would I wish to live that I wouldn't be able to survive with $43.4million in my possession?

That was a lot of money.

Maybe I should just run away. Sell the damn thing and start up a life somewhere far. Maybe go to the Maldives or South Korea. Definitely a place he would never guess to find me.

It sounded like such an enticing idea. Forget this life of flying guns to a quiet one in a quiet little town. I wouldn't look for love, I wouldn't look for friendship. I would just live and die alone.

But then again this was Mikhail Varkov. He was wicked, yes. He was ruthless, of course. Deceptive and selfish, damn right. But I loved him. Even his darkness had enticed me to the extent that I was obsessed with it. His madness was almost exhilarating. His callousness is something I found myself craving.

It wasn't like I was ever an angel. But my obsession with Mikhail had reached a point where if heaven was offered to me on a platter, I would still follow him to hell.

The thought of him even though he was just a few steps away from me caused my heart to stir in longing. And before I knew it, my eyes were searching until they rested on the man with a sculpted physique bent over his study desk, his reading glasses sitting daintily on the bridge of his nose, sleeves rolled up to reveal myriads of inks coating his tanned skin. I stared openly as his rough, huge hands rummaged through some paper files scattered on the table.

And I thought of how badly I wished those callous hands would be all over my searing skin right now. Those long fingers locked around my hip, sharp nails digging into my soft flesh as he tried to hold me in place while he would fuck me raw and hard on that very desk. 

I gulped at the thought, feeling my mouth go completely dry. The temperature of the room suddenly took a dive up and I found myself heating up even though the it was currently snowing outisde.

My two rabbit-like front teeth found themselves sinking into my lower lip, dreamy eyes following his movements, the flex of his taut muscles as he leaned off the table, ran a dainty finger over his left eye brow before he began to flip through the files.

It was unhealthy and unlawful how there was never a position he was in that he doesn't leave you to the dirty fantasies. If he was sleeping, he would appear as a greek god taking an afternoon nap, with one arm flung over his face, the other resting on his torso, one leg sprawled forward and the other propped up, and all I would want to do was crawl to him to take me. And If he was eating, he would eat with the grace of a dark king, every bite a beacon for dark things I would wish to replace that meal and spread myelf before him like an offering, begging him to feast on me, to plunge into every fucking hole until I would pass out.