Page 37 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Bonnie

“You’re not naked under that, are you?” I ask as I walk toward Kostin. He has a towel draped over his ass, but there’s plenty of skin showing elsewhere.

“Are you naked underneath your clothes?” he asks in response.

I roll my eyes. “Obviously.”

“So am I. Why don’t you just focus on doing your job, like a good girl?”

“Stop calling me that,” I say, stepping up to the black leather massage table and popping open the bottle of mineral oil.

“I could call you a bad girl, if you prefer.”

“You could use my name every once in a while,” I reply as I look over his broad back. It’s covered in so many tattoos that I can barely make out his real skin tone. It’s only in the unshaded teeth of a skull tattoo that I can see the deep olive tan of his skin.

“Bubbles, wasn’t it?” Kostin teases. “That’s a cute nickname. Where’d you come up with it?”

“Take a guess,” I reply dryly, squirting his back with mineral oil in hopes that it’ll shock him with the coldness.

He doesn’t even flinch. “I’ve felt your hands on me before,” he says. “But I don’t remember where.”

“I was a stripper. I’m sure we’ve both felt our hands on each other.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I place my hands on his shoulders, leaning in and squeezing the thick muscles. I feel like I’m holding a heavy slab of meat in my hand, like a butcher handling a prime cut. Kostin is built like his only purpose is to destroy things.

I can imagine he’d destroy me too, if I were to let him, but I that’s not going to happen. He’s already had me once, and it was enough to put three babies inside of me.

Never again.

Kostin makes a small grunting noise through his nostrils, like I’m giving him a hand job instead of just rubbing his shoulders. The sound makes me feel uncomfortably wet between my legs, like someone just turned on a tap in my panties.

All it would take is for his lazy hand, that’s hanging over the side of the table, to lift up and touch the wet lace under my silk robe, and it would be all over. He’d know how turned on I am, doing this for him, and he’d want to go further.

Much further.

“How are things going?” I ask, curious about the situation with Jerry. I know Kostin’s stress is about that, but I don’t exactly know why. He’s refused to tell me, choosing to keep me in the dark, supposedly for my own good.

“How is what going?”

“Work? Jerry? I don’t know.”

Kostin chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle my business.”

“You just seem stressed. Your muscles are all tight,” I say, working my thumbs into his back. I have to lean in so close, to apply enough pressure, that I can feel the heat of his skin against my cheek.

“Being a Mafia boss is a stressful job,” he admits. “That’s normal, though.”

“Is it always this stressful?” I ask, finding a knot and pressing my finger into it.

Kostin stiffens, then relaxes as the knot dissolves. “Business is business. It has its ups and downs,” he replies, vaguely. His refusal to give me any clues as to what he’s doing annoys me, but he never pretended like he was going to be truthful with me. All he wanted was a personal masseuse, and I accepted the deal.

“Have you ever had anything really bad happen?” I ask.

“In the Mafia, bad things always happen.”

“I mean, really bad things.”

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