Claimed By The Mafia Rogue King (Snow and Cupid) novel Chapter 68

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

Snowflakes

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I have been to places that made my jaw drop. Mooncrest Pack, with its vast waterfalls and air thick with moon–goddess blessings, was the most breathtaking sanctuary I’d ever known. I once swore nothing on this human region or werewolf territory could rival it.

I was wrong.

When Cupid said he lived in a rainforest of illusion, I thought it was poetic exaggeration. It wasn’t. He had spoken the literal truth, as he always does.

The car left the city lights behind, took the loneliest highway I’d ever seen, then slipped into a hidden tunnel that shouldn’t exist. Darkness swallowed us. Wall lights flickered on one by one as we passed, guiding us deeper. At the end, massive steel gates parted silently, sensing his arrival.

We rolled into an underground garage that looked more like a private museum, rows of gleaming supercars and custom motorcycles under soft spotlights, each one worth more than the last.

My breath caught. I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t process the scale of it.

Cupid was already out, holding my door open, waiting.

“You have… every expensive one,” I whispered stupidly, finally stepping onto the polished floor.

His hand settled possessively at the small of my back as he guided me forward. A hidden panel slid aside, revealing a private elevator.

We stepped inside; I instinctively reached for him, fingers curling into his coat as the doors closed and the ascent began.

When they opened again, my knees nearly buckled.

The loft was suspended between two impossible worlds. One entire wall was floor–to–ceiling glass facing a vast, restless ocean, rain sliding down the panes in silver sheets.

The opposite wall showed dense forest under gently falling snów, moonlight glinting off the flakes. Wood and steel merged seamlessly. Warm cedar beams, black marble floors, furniture that looked carved clean lines through the enormous space.

Three deep leather sectionals faced a fireplace big enough to stand in. A long glass desk sat at the side with shelves built around it.

Cupid crossed to the desk, dropped the documents he’d taken from the car, then loosened the first three buttons of his shirt, revealing the tattooed column of his throat.

He moved to the bar, poured amber liquid into a heavy crystal glass, and took a slow sip.

I was still frozen in the center of the room, feeling like an intruder in a dream.

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Chapter 68

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He set the glass down with a soft clink and walked toward me, stopping just close enough that his heat

reached me.

“How about you take a bath first?” he asked, voice low, velvet–rough.

The words slid straight between my thighs. Every promise I’d made to myself about staying strong, keep control, don’t give in, dissolved like sugar in rain. I dropped my bag on the nearest couch and closed the distance myself.

My hands slid up his chest and circled his neck. He bent instantly, claiming my mouth. The kiss started gentle, almost reverent, then turned hungry, consuming. His fingers found the hem of my top and peeled it upward; cool air kissed my ribs as he tossed the fabric aside.

He pulled back just long enough to drink in the sight of my breasts still cradled in black lace. Worship flared in his eyes, raw, unmistakable. With practiced ease he unhooked my bra, slid the straps down my arms, and let it fall. My breasts spilled free, heavy and aching under his gaze.

He swallowed hard, the sound audible, then gripped my waist and kissed me again, softer this time, teasing. One hand drifted lower, unzipping my skirt, easing it down my hips along with my panties until I could step out of them.

I stood completely naked before him, scar and all, and he looked at me like I was the only miracle he’d ever witnessed.

His fingertips began a slow pilgrimage, circling one nipple until it tightened painfully, tracing the raised line of my scar with something close to reverence, then gliding lower, over my trembling stomach to the soft curls between my legs.

When he brushed my folds, feather–light, my knees buckled. A helpless sound escaped me.

He caught me instantly, scooping me up as though I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist while he carried me up the short open stairs to the bedroom that overlooked the living room and ocean alike.

At the far end he pushed open a glass door into a bathroom that stole whatever breath I had left. An enormous sunken tub sat against floor–to–ceiling windows; beyond the glass, rain and ocean merged into one endless silver. A full–length mirror faced us.

Gently he set me on my feet and turned me toward our reflection. His palms slid around me from behind, cupping my bare breasts possessively, thumbs brushing the stiff peaks. His lips found the curve of my neck, pressing a slow, hot kiss just below my ear.

“Bath,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough with promise.

Then he stepped back, took a seat on the wide marble ledge, and settled in to watch, eyes dark and patient, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize exactly how I come undone for him.