Emperor of Rage: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of the room. His ice-blue eyes—so bright and fierce that they almost give off a supernatural light of their own—watch me with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My heart skips a beat, a cold shiver running down my spine.

“How did you get in here?” I blurt, my voice trembling despite my attempts to keep it steady. The penthouse is fortified, guarded by Kir’s best men. No one gets in without permission. And yet, here we are.

His lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. But he doesn’t offer an explanation or utter a single word.

My mind races as I try to make sense of how he’s here. Of course he wasn’t going to let my defiance go unanswered. But seeing him here, in Kir’s penthouse, the heart of my world, makes me feel more exposed than ever.

I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground. “I told you I couldn’t come,” I blurt, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice.

Mal still doesn’t speak.

“I know we have an agreement,” I blunder on. “I know what I agreed to. I just…couldn’t, okay?” Fuck. My voice shakes.

I hesitate. Again, I could tell him the truth—explain my condition, how dangerous it is for me to be out in the sun. But I really don’t want to give him another piece of myself to use against me.

The silence drags on, turning the anxious whining sensation in the back of my skull into a shrill scream. Finally, Mal clears his throat, raising a hand from the armrest of the chair and beckoning with two fingers.

“Come here.”

His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. A warning edge. When I hesitate, his eyes narrow slightly, peering at me, studying me.

Christ, he really is like a predatory animal.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

I swallow uncomfortably, shaking my head, my arms still wrapped around myself. “N-no,” I mumble.

“Then come here.”

He crooks his fingers again, sending a traitorous, confusing tingle through my core. I start to walk slowly across the room to him. I only get halfway there before he raises a palm.

“Stop there.”

I frown. Then, in a voice that sends a shiver down my spine, he growls another command that sends a bolt of something filthy flashing through my core.

“Strip.”

My heart skips a beat, keeping me rooted to the spot. Mal’s jaw tightens in the shadows and the neon glow, his eyes boring into mine.

“Now,” he says—softly, but the command is unmistakable.

I think I knew, dimly, somewhere in the back of my mind, what “you’re mine” meant to a man like Mal. I didn’t dwell on it, but I knew the full extent of his threat and his decree that I do as he says, on pain of spilling my darkest secrets to the world.

But for the first time, I’m being faced with it head-on. It’s right here, full in my face, leering into my eyes with a hungry demand on its lips.

Strip.

I know deep down it’s not going to stop with taking my clothes off. This isn’t the end goal for him. It’s merely the beginning of my submission. My unraveling. My downfall.

So why the fuck is my skin tingling like this? Why is my heart racing, not with dread but with a nervous energy bordering on excitement?

“If you need assistance…” His low, dark voice cuts through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. “Just ask.”

I shake my head, my mouth dry.

This should be easy. It’s just taking my clothes off. And it’s not like I’m some naive teenager. I’m twenty-fucking-six years old, for fuck’s sake.

But I don’t have to ask myself why this is so difficult. I already know.

Because I’ve never done this before.

I’ve never been naked in front of a man. Ever. And the fact that it’s about to happen is both terrifying and thrilling.

With a final deep, shaky breath, I begin to strip. My hands tremble as I pull off my hoodie. I try to keep my expression neutral as I turn to the side and peel off my black yoga pants. Then my black tank top.

When I’m down to just my underwear, I feel the full weight of my vulnerability as I turn back to him, half-heartedly hugging myself.

Mal arches a brow, his eyes raking over my body with both hunger and amusement, zoning in on the French lace demi-bra and bikini cut thong.

Again, it’s my one “girly” indulgence.

Before I ran away from my old life, I had wealth. But I was too young to be spending it myself. After I ran away, it was a daily struggle for survival, first on my own and then with Anni.

Then one day, finally, we had money. Lots of money.

When people who have been without disposable income for a long time—or forever—finally get some cash, they all do different things. But generally, the normal response is to blow at least a little of it.

Some people buy a fancy car, or a new piece of tech like a big screen TV or a high end laptop. Some people go out to a ridiculously expensive dinner, or travel.

When I first got my taste of real money, I went out and bought a thousand-dollar set of ultra hot lingerie from Dita Von Teese’s line: stockings, panties, garter belt, corset…the works.

Now why did I of all people—the girl who dresses in black hoodies and studded boots, who literally never takes her clothes off for anyone—go out and buy sexy lingerie?

Well, I’m no psychiatrist, but I can make an educated guess. I’m sure some of it was that I was just relieved not to be scrounging to survive on the streets. When you’re scamming the machines at laundromats to wash the three changes of clothes you own, “sexy” and “lacy” aren’t in your wardrobe.

I’d bet another part of it was that even though I had no interest in sleeping with or being intimate at all with anyone, I still wanted to feel sexy and like a woman—at least privately, for myself.

Elegant, expensive lingerie became my guilty pleasure, to the point that it’s all I wear now. It’s a perfect compromise. On the outside, I’m the walking, shit-talking, gothy middle finger held up to the world. Underneath it all, I get to be whatever suits my mood. Sexy. Confident. Slutty, even, without ever making myself vulnerable to another person.

The point is, it’s all for me.

And now, for the first time, the lace armor I wear is on display to someone else. As if it’s for someone else.

A hungry, predatory smile curls the corners of Mal’s lips, his jaw resting on his thumb and a finger tracing up and down his cheekbone.

“You shouldn’t have gotten all dressed up for me.”

I scowl, defiant. “I didn’t. This is how I always dress.”

His lips twitch into a smirk as he eyes me, his finger still tracing up and down his cheekbone. “Well, considering you belong to me now⁠—”

“I don’t,” I snap before I pause and clear my throat. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Mal’s eyes flash, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Yes, you do.”

His gaze sweeps over me with an intensity that makes my skin flush. “And considering that, I suppose this is all for me.” His eyes dart to mine. “Though I did tell you to strip.”

Heat floods my traitorous core. I tremble and reach for the strap to the demi-bra.

“No,” he mutters. “Leave it on.”

There’s a hungry amusement in his tone and his gaze.

“And come here.”

He crooks his fingers again. Fire sparks and claws inside me as I take one tentative step toward him.

Mal stops me with a shake of his head.

“Ah-ah-ah. On your hands and knees.”

I stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to crawl to me.”

The room goes still. I swear, so does my pulse for a second as my eyes lock on him.

“Don’t ask me to repeat myself,” Mal growls. “You heard me the first time. Crawl.”

There’s something in his eyes. Or maybe his tone. Whatever it is, it feels like something else is controlling me as I feel myself slowly drop to my knees. I lower my eyes, my cheeks flushed as I stare at the space in front of me and place my palms on the floor.

“Good girl.”

Fuck.

A dark, needy pulse throbs inside me at the words.

“Now—come to me.”

An arresting tingle ripples over my skin as I start to move, putting one hand and one knee forward, then the other, crawling across the floor to Mal until I’m right in front of him sitting back in the chair.

“Look at me.”

I barely can bring myself to, but I do, raising my face and my eyes until they’re captured by his piercing blue ones.

“Undo my belt.”

It feels like someone’s doused me in fire.

Again, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that this is where this was going. I’m not that naïve. Of course Mal’s demand that I become “his” would be sexual in nature.

But also again, coming face to face with it is like jumping into the deep end without knowing how to swim.

And I don’t have a life vest.

“I don’t believe I stuttered.”

I shoot him a frosty look, shaking my head from side to side, as if I’m rendered speechless.

Maybe I am.

Getting up on my knees in front of him, I reach forward. My hands tremble, and my fingers feel weak when they brush the metal of his belt buckle. I fumble at first, feeling as if I’m in a dream state. Finally, I get it loosened and undone.

“Next the button, and the zipper.”

I can’t meet his gaze. Not because I’m ashamed, or afraid.

But because I’m worried he’ll see something in my eyes I can’t let him see. It won’t be shame. It won’t be fear.

It’ll be need.

The power imbalance here makes that even more fucked up. The fact that technically, I’m being forced to do this. Except I don’t feel very forced right now. It could be that the very power imbalance is what has my skin tingling and my body aching for more.

I want to hate him for making me do this. And maybe I do. But not because of this.

Right now, I feel fucking alive in a way I’m not sure I ever have.

My fingers tremble as they pop the button of his black jeans, and then tug down the zipper, tooth by tooth. When I’m done, I swallow, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth.

Waiting.

“Do I need to tell you what to do next?” Mal rumbles quietly.

I’m not sure what to say, so I say nothing.

“Look at me.”

I shiver when he reaches out, his big hand cupping my jaw and lifting my face to his.

“Look at me,” Mal growls darkly. “And don’t stop looking at me until I tell you to.”

Our eyes lock. Something wicked and fierce flickers between us.

“Take out my cock.”

My thighs squeeze together. Something dark pools inside of me.

…And I reach for him.

My pulse quickens, and my fingers shake as I reach for the waistband of his underwear. When I touch his skin for the first time, I feel a clenching pulse in my core. I half-expected someone as cold and vicious as Mal to be cool to the touch, like the undead or something.

Instead, he’s almost scalding hot.

My hands shake as I pull down his briefs—lower and lower, my eyes dropping to the trail of dark hair leading down from his chiseled abs and navel, the v-lines of his hips distracting me as I pull the elastic down further.

That’s where I stop.

I have no idea how to physically take his cock out of the confines of his briefs and his pants.

“Look at me, Freya,” he commands, his voice low and rasping.

My eyes snap back to his. His own hands push mine aside, reaching into his briefs and pushing them and his pants lower down his hips. He pulls his hand out.

And my jaw fucking drops.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Being twenty-six years old and a virgin doesn’t make me a prude. It also doesn’t mean I’ve never seen a dick before. Not in real life, but I do watch a fair amount of aggressive, kinky porn.

Mal’s bigger than any of the guys I’ve seen in those videos.

Like, a lot. Longer, and definitely thicker.

I stare at him, my cheeks flushed and my lips parted, my eyes locked on the fat, veined, throbbing shaft of his dick. He’s got one of his big hands wrapped around the base of it, and there’s still more than half of it sticking out.

A clear drop of precum beads at the swollen head and drips down a vein, sliding over his fingers, then down over his heavy, full balls.

“Eyes on me.”

I shiver as I drag my eyes away from his cock. His jaw ripples as something dark and fierce flashes in his eyes.

“Now swallow me.”

My breath catches. I want to say I hesitate, or freeze. But that wouldn’t be true.

Instead, slowly, still as if in a dream, I lean forward. My lips part slightly, and I shiver as I kiss the velvety hard underside of his dick.

A pulse ripples through my body. I feel my nipples tighten and harden against the lace demi-bra.

My thighs clench.

I do it again, kissing the underside of his head and then bringing my lips higher. I tingle all over when I kiss the hard ridge of his crown. It’s so soft and rock-hard at the same time, and I feel a tug of need when it jumps and twitches against my lips.

“I didn’t say kiss it goodnight,” Mal purrs. “I said swallow it.”

Both of his hands are suddenly in my hair, grabbing it up in a ponytail and gripping it tightly at the back of my skull. He tugs me forward, and I gasp quietly as he pulls my mouth against his dick. He grunts, rolling his hips and sliding the entire length of him over my lips. I wet them just before he pulls my mouth up to the head again.

“Now, Freya.”

And I obey.

My mouth opens, and before I know it, I’m sliding my lips down over his hot, swollen cock.

Barely.

He’s huge. And even when I stretch my jaw to its absolute limit, it feels like I’m barely managing to take the head inside. But I wrap my lips around him anyway, sucking tentatively as my tongue explores his head.

Mal groans, and the sound sends a powerful thrill through my body.

I did that.

Emboldened, I take more of him into my mouth, trying to swallow him down my throat. I don’t get very far before I gag, choking a little and pulling away. He allows me to back off slightly, but he keeps his fist tight in my hair as my eyes meet his.

“Do that again,” he murmurs quietly.

So I do, wrapping my lips back around his head and then taking him into the back of my throat. I gag again, coughing a little and then flushing crimson when I realize I’ve drooled on his cock. I pull back again, my cheeks throbbing as I bring up a hand to wipe it off.

“Uh-uh,” Mal growls tightly, his icy eyes locked with mine. “Leave it. In fact, I want you to spit on my cock.”

A fresh wave of heat floods my face as I stare at him. Again though, I might be inexperienced personally. But I still watch some pretty aggressive porn.

I know what he wants.

The thing is, so do I. I just never thought a guy in real life would want something so…messy. So dirty.

“Spit on my fucking cock, Freya,” he growls again.

I do, blushing again when I see my spit hit his swollen dick and drip down the shaft.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Again.”

I do as I’m told, my thighs clenching as heat pools between them.

“Now suck,” he commands. “Make a fucking mess of my cock. Be a dirty little slut for me.”

Be a dirty little slut for me.

For the millionth time, I wonder if something is wrong with me. Because when he says that, something in me unlocks. Like there was a door waiting to be opened, behind which I stashed all of my blackest fantasies and deviant desires, and he’s just handed me the key.

The ache to be dominated. Subjugated.

To have all shreds of control taken from me.

To be used.

Mal might be the devil. He might be a monster, and he might be holding my life over my head.

But right now, he also happens to be indulging me in the darkest desires I’ve ever had.

So even though the fighter in me wants to curse him and bite his dick off, the subby, horny, achy little mess on her knees in front of him wants nothing else but to give up oxygen for his cock.

You can guess which Freya wins.

I whimper as I allow him to yank my head forward by my hair. I spit on his cock again, biting back a moan at the dirty thrill it gives me. My mouth swallows his swollen head, choking and gagging on it as spit runs down the shaft and drips from his balls.

A moan rumbles deep in my chest as Mal seizes all control, taking my hair in his hands and guiding my mouth roughly up and down his slick, messy cock. He groans, pulling me off him, spit dripping between my bottom lip and his head. He pulls my mouth down to his balls, and I moan as I gently suck each swollen orb into my mouth and tongue them eagerly.

Mal grunts, tugging my hair with one hand and fisting his cock with the other as I slurp wetly on his balls.

“Such a fucking messy little cumslut,” he growls. “You look so fucking pretty between my legs with my cock on your face.”

Fuck. Me.

It’s no longer up for discussion. I’m definitely, unquestionably, completely fucked in the head. Because the more degrading he is with his actions, and the rougher he is with his words, the wetter I get. The more he takes control, the more I want to submit entirely.

I’m not just doing this because he knows my secrets, or because I’m scared of him.

I’m slobbering all over his balls and moaning with his heavy cock resting on my face because this man makes me want to be a messy little slut for him.

I whimper as he pulls me back to his cock and shoves it into my mouth. A thrill explodes through me as he grabs my hair in a fist and wraps his other hand around my throat. He starts to thrust into me roughly, no longer “getting head” from me but “fucking my mouth.”

I’ve never been wetter.

“Look at you, squirming and squeezing your thighs together like a greedy, anxious, drippy little slut, Freya,” he growls, grunting as he fucks his cock into the back of my throat, making me gag. “Touch yourself. Finger that soaking little pussy while you drool on my cock like a good girl.”

My eyes roll back. It’s embarrassing how quickly my hand flies between my legs, pulling my panties aside before sinking a finger into myself with a groan. My thumb rolls over my clit as I gag and choke and drool all over Mal’s huge cock, stroking it with my free hand as he grips my hair and my throat.

I’m pretty good at making myself come. Still, it usually takes a while.

Not fucking tonight.

Tonight, on my knees in front of this man, with my lips stretched lewdly around his fat cock while spit dribbles down my chin, it’s like I’m already at third base. My throbbing clit tingles and aches as I rub it wildly, my thighs shaking.

“My, my, my,” he rumbles. “I think you’re ready to come for me already, aren’t you, my little slut? Are you going to be good, greedy little whore and make that pretty pussy come with my big, fat cock in your mouth?”

It’s like pulling a trigger.

My thighs tighten. My pulse skips. With a deep, guttural moan, I scream out my release around his cock, still buried in my mouth, as I feel myself start to come.

Hard.

With a grunt, Mal pulls out of my mouth. He pushes me back onto my heels as he strokes his throbbing, veined, glistening cock, watching me coming all over my fingers. He lets out a snarling groan, and his cock flexes and twitches.

…And suddenly, he’s coming too.

Everywhere.

I moan louder as the thick rope of white cum explodes from his swollen head, splattering over my breasts and neck. I flinch, whimpering when the next spurt lands across my tongue and my lips. A third covers my chin, and a fourth hits my cheek.

He’s still coming.

My eyes roll back in pure, filthy, deviant pleasure as I keep rubbing myself, moaning as Mal strokes his cock and covers me with his hot, sticky cum.

With a cry and a wrench of my body, I feel myself start to come again, shaking as I explode for him a second time.

Then the room goes still and quiet. My breathing is ragged and deep as I sit back on my heels, trembling and shaking.

What. Just. Happened.

His cum coats my face and my chest. His eyes lock with mine.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

He reaches out as if to cup my face, but instead, his thumb pushes through the sticky mess on my cheek, nudging it toward my mouth.

My lips part. My eyes are locked on his as I take his thumb and his cum into my mouth and suck.

Mal does it again, scooping cum up from my face and chest and slowly feeding it to me. His cock throbs between us, as if he’s getting off watching me suck his sticky jizz from his fingers.

Honestly… I might be, too.

When I’m relatively cleaned off, Mal stands and tucks his still-hard cock into his jeans. I start to get to my feet, but he stops me with a shake of his head.

“Stay right there, on your knees,” he growls quietly. “Close your eyes.”

I swallow, tasting his cum on my tongue as our gazes clash.

“Close your eyes,” he commands.

I do. Then I shiver when I feel his hand stroke the top of my head.

“I’m going to leave. You’re going to stay right there, on your knees, and count in your head to one hundred. Then, you’re going to touch that needy little pussy again while thinking of my cock, until you come again.”

I gasp when his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging it in his fist.

“I’ll know if you don’t do as I say. I trust you realize that?”

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper.

“Good girl.”

Goddammit. That fucking phrase and its power over me.

It’s silent for a moment. I almost think he’s left already. But then my pulse skips when I feel him lean down, his breath in my ear.

“You look so pretty on your knees with my cum on your face.”

My core tightens, my entire body rippling with heat as the words slip over me. He pulls away again, and the silence drags on. And on.

I start to count in my head. When I hit one hundred, it’s not even a question of “if” my hand moves between my thighs. I start to rub my clit again, shuddering as I replay the sensations of him using my mouth, fucking my face.

Of being on my knees submissively for him.

I might hate Mal. He might be a monster holding the life I’ve built over my head to satisfy his sick desires.

But the thing is, it seems to be satisfying my sick desires just as much.

My finger is a blur over my throbbing clit. My other hand clutches at my breasts, pinching and teasing my nipples through the lace before sliding it up to my throat. I squeeze, desperate for that same rush that he brought me, choking myself before my fingers creep up to my mouth. I run them over my lips, capturing the last sticky drips of his cum there and sucking them off eagerly as my core seizes up and my thighs quiver.

With a muffled moaning cry, I’m coming, sucking his cum from my fingers as I explode against my fingers.

When I open my eyes, he’s gone.

I’m alone.