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Dinner with the Bratva

At dinner that night, with the guests assembled, Lucien flicked a cool grey look at his wife. She looked beautiful, he thought again, with the accompanying tightening in his groin although he had just f*cked her thoroughly, a few hours ago.

Resplendent in the gown that made her seem seductive and ethereal, she glided about, discreetly supervising the table. And she was HIS. Only his, he thought as he noted her slightly swollen lips, the result of his hard kisses, the mark on the pale mound of her breast that she had tried hard to cover with her hair; the mark he had left on his Woman as he sank his teeth into her soft breast as he emptied his seed in her.

Kirill Gosev had not taken his eyes off Proserpina since he came, his bushy eyebrows lifting slightly as he noted that she was pregnant. He had smiled, his gold-capped teeth glinting as the introductions were made. All the Delano children had been present, and the Mafia Don ran his eyes over pride. They were a handsome lot, his four
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