​"Druski! Oh god, harder! Don't you dare stop!" Monet wailed, her head tossing from side to side.

​Her legs, toned and powerful, suddenly whipped around my waist, her ankles locking behind my lower back like a vice. She was pulling me in, trying to bridge the gap, her body demanding every single millimeter of the invasion. The tighter she held me, the harder I drove, bottoming out with a force that made her stomach ripple with the impact.

​Her screams were no longer controlled; they were primal, ragged, and filled with a desperate passion. She was no longer the calculated mob boss who moved men like chess pieces. She was a woman drowning in sensation, her internal muscles pulsing and clamping around me in a frantic attempt to catch the rhythm.

​"That's it, Monet! Take it all!" I growled, my sweat dripping onto her chest, mixing with the sheen of her skin.

​I leaned forward, my chest crushing her small tits as I increased the speed even further. I was a blur of motion, my sight tunneling until all I could see was her flushed face and the way her red lipstick was smeared across her teeth as she gasped for air. She was peaking, her whole body vibrating against the mattress as I hammered home the finality of my rule.

I didn't give her a second to recover. I let go of her wrists, the red marks on her skin a testament to the power play, and backed off just enough to let her lungs catch a desperate breath. But the look in my eyes told her the "meeting" was far from over.

​"Get up," I ordered. The transition was instant. I wasn't the "asset" anymore, and she wasn't the boss. I was the one in charge of the rhythm, the air she breathed, and the way her body reacted.

​She didn't hesitate. The woman who commanded an army of killers moved for me with a submissive urgency that would have made Volkov's jaw drop. I grabbed her by the waist and hauled her up into a sitting position, her legs instantly wrapping around my hips as if she were drowning and I was the only thing keeping her afloat.

​I drove back into her with a single, deep, devastating thrust that buried me to the hilt.

​"Nnggh-Druski!" she cried out, her voice breaking into a ragged sob of pleasure.

​We were chest to chest now, the friction of our skin creating a heat that felt like it was going to set the sheets on fire. I hammered into her, my movements short, brutal, and calculated. Every time I hit her core, she let out a sharp, high-pitched moan directly into my ear, her breath hot and smelling of the expensive whiskey she'd had earlier.

​Her composure was dead. Her manicured nails dug deep into the muscles of my back, scratching long, stinging lines down my skin as she fought to stay attached to me. She was whimpering now, her forehead pressed against mine, her sweat dripping onto my face.

​"Tell me," I growled, my pace turning into a relentless, rhythmic thudding. "Whose house is this? Who's the King?"

​"You... you are," she gasped, her body beginning to shake with the onset of another massive climax. "It's yours... I'm yours... just don't stop, fuck, please don't stop!"

​I could feel the vibration of the headboard through the floor, a steady bang-bang-bang that served as a soundtrack for the man waiting in the living room. Monet was unraveling, her internal muscles clenching around me so tight it felt like she was trying to pull the very soul out of me.

I didn't give her a moment to process the sensory overload. I gripped her hips and flipped her over with a rough, practiced motion, planting her knees into the mattress. She landed with a soft "oomph," her body trembling as she dug her fingers deep into the silk sheets, her head hanging low, her breathing coming in jagged, desperate hitches.

​Her "bumble butt" was a masterpiece—tiny, firm, and perfectly round. I didn't hesitate. I brought my hand down in a sharp, stinging slap that echoed through the quiet bedroom. The skin turned a delicious shade of pink instantly. She let out a sharp, high-pitched wince that was half-pain and all-pleasure.

​"Spread them, Monet," I growled, my voice sounding like shifting gravel. "Show me what I own."

​The woman who ran the city's underworld obeyed without a second thought, her fingers trembling as she pulled her own cheeks apart, revealing her soaking, swollen entrance. It was a sight for the gods—her dark, smooth skin stretched tight, the heat radiating off her in waves.

​I didn't tease her this time. I lined myself up and drove my iron-hard cock back inside her with a single, deep, devastating lunge.

​"FU—!" she screamed into the pillow, her back arching like a bow as I bottomed out.

​I grabbed those firm cheeks with both hands, my fingers digging in for leverage, and began a relentless, rhythmic pounding. Every thrust was a statement of power. I was hitting her so hard our bodies made a loud, wet slap that surely echoed all the way out to the living room where Volkov was sitting.

​I watched the way her small body reacted to the force of my [Infinite Engine]. Her muscles were clenching around me in a frantic, rhythmic pulse, trying to hold onto the girth that was stretching her to her absolute limit. She was whimpering now, a broken, submissive sound that told me the "Big Mom" mask wasn't just off—it was incinerated.

​"You're not a boss right now, are you?" I whispered, leaning down to bite the back of her neck as I increased the pace to a violent blur.

​"No... no... I'm your slut... please, Druski... more!"

I drove into her one last time, pinning her down with my full weight as I released a hot, heavy flood deep inside her. Monet let out a final, muffled scream into the pillows, her body convulsing in a violent, full-body tremor before she finally went limp.

​I collapsed on top of her for a moment, the only sound in the room being our synced, ragged breathing. Her skin was slick with sweat, and the regal "Big Mom" was nowhere to be found—just a woman named Monet, completely spent and conquered.

​"Satisfied, Monet?" I whispered, rolling off her but keeping her close.

​She didn't even open her eyes. She just let out a weak, blissful moan, her fingers loosely curling around my arm. "You... you're a monster, Druski. A beautiful, relentless monster."

​I felt the surge of power—real power. This wasn't just about the sex; it was about the shift in the atmosphere. I looked at the closed bedroom door, thinking about the giant with the ginger beard sitting on my sofa.

​"Tell me something," I said, my voice returning to its steady, commanding tone. "Your boy out there... Volkov. Can I order your servants around now?"

​Monet let out a soft, tired chuckle, finally opening her eyes. They were glazed and adoring. "Druski... after that? You don't need to ask. My resources are yours. Do whatever the hell you want with them."

​A slow, predatory grin spread across my face. I stood up, completely naked, and walked toward the bedroom door. I didn't bother with a robe. I wanted the visual of my victory to be undeniable.

​I cracked the door open just enough for my voice to carry, projecting it with the authority of a man who just tamed a Queen.

​"Volkov!" I barked, my voice booming through the apartment.

​I heard the heavy creak of the sofa in the living room as the big Russian stood up. There was a pause—a moment where he had to process the fact that the "little star" was now calling him like a dog.

​"Bring us some towels. Now," I ordered. "And make sure they're warm."

​I stepped back from the door, looking back at Monet who was watching me with a look of pure fascination. I knew right then—the studio, the streets, and the men who walked them... they were all about to find out there was a new King in town.

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