"These moans of yours, Zemira, they tend to tamper with my head. They're making my mind a haywire, 𝓜𝓸𝔂 𝓿𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓲𝓻." He whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. His dominance was giving me power to show my dominance.
If he wants to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"These bitches were already killing me and now they want to slip too?!" Zemira enters the room, groaning, but still radiating confidence. Her focus was all on the heels, scolding them like they would become alive and apologise for making her slip. The huge pack of men follow her into the room and scatter all across it while her attention was on the heels.
I stay glued to my seat, shocked by the fact that she was standing in front of me in a beautiful black blazer dress with a deep neck, giving everyone a hint view of her breasts. The men were on the verge of drooling and it would be a lie, if I said I wasn't feeling the same. Her height of approximately 5'9 supported her hourglass figure and the dress accentuated her every dip and curve. Kaa was as always roaming around her upper body, hissing occasionally. Zemira looked like a true queen in front us.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Miss, I think you are present in the wrong room." There's Marceau's first mistake, not noticing the stacked black thigh holster peeping from under her dress. I wonder if he'll go back home alive or not. Probably alive, only if Zemira remembers he's Aillard's father but then again I'm reminded of emotionless Zemira Vasilevitch who craves respect.
Zemira had yet to notice me as I was still hidden behind the darkness of the room. She didn't seem to have sensed that there was a third person sitting, waiting to be talked to, especially by her. Zemira's eyes tore from the sight of her heels and focussed on Marceau, taking bold but careful steps towards him with a smirk playing on her lips. Her heels made their usual clicking sounds whenever they came in contact with the surface which boomed across the room.
"I think I'm not, Mr. Naquin." She sat on the chair nearest to her, the smirk and a devilish look in her eyes shining bright in the dark room. "Zemira Vasilevitch, your lavishly invited Russian Mafia leader."
Her hand was all out and ready to be shaken as she took a glance of all the people in the room, even me. I pondered upon the question if she recognised me because when those mixed orbs crossed my forest ones, I saw no emotion in them, scaring me of what I had done.
Marceau still stood in front of her, stone cold. He was probably wondering about how a mafia leader could be a mere girl but he was not aware of the devil behind the innocence.
