Page 5 of Mafia Prize

“I can’t come anymore.” I take a deep breath to calm myself. “I’m too sensitive.”

“You want to stop?” He strokes my arm, his touch light. “Should I untie you?”

I shake my head. “No.” I can see the outline of his erection straining against his trousers, and it sends a burst of fresh heat through me. “I want to suck your cock.”

A dangerous light glitters in his eyes. “If you want something, lisichka,” he says warningly, “you should ask nicely.” He grips my breasts roughly and bites down on my nipples, hard enough to make me gasp. I have to grit my teeth to keep from begging for more.

“Please, may I suck your cock, Andrei?”

“Better.” He unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers. His cock jumps out, long, thick, and hard, and I swallow in consternation. Andrei’s exceedingly well-endowed. There’s no way he’s going to fit.

And I have no time to freak out about it because he’s pressing his head against my lips. I open my mouth and take him in, and he throws his head back with a groan. “Oh, fuck yes,” he grits out. “Take it all the way; that’s my good girl.”

The ragged edge in his voice sends a thrill through me. I open wider, and he slides in, hitting the back of my throat. He pulls out and pushes in again, going a little deeper this time, and tied down as I am, there’s not a thing I can do to stop it.

Not that I want to. I asked Andrei to ravage me. I told him not to take it easy on me. This is exactly what I want,who I want.

“Ah, lisichka,” he groans. His hand cups my cheek possessively, and he holds my gaze in his. His eyes are hot, his breathing uneven. “You make me come undone.”

He thrusts into my mouth again. His hands play with my nipples and my clit, and I sob my pleasure around his thick shaft. He’s fucking my face now, his strokes deep and urgent. Tears leak from my eyes, and drool falls from my mouth. It’s dirty and hot, raw and perfect.

“If you don’t want to swallow,” he says, sounding like he’s hanging onto control by the thinnest thread, “Now’s the time to say something.” He pulls out my mouth so I can speak, but I keep defiantly silent. His eyes flare with heat, and his lips curve into a twisted smile. “Such a good girl, Mirabella,” he says. “Sodeliciously proper on the outside, but inside, so wonderfully kinky.”

He thrusts again and erupts in my mouth. I swallow his cum, feeling oddly wistful as I do so. That was. . . that was everything I thought sex could be and more.

And it was with a man I can never be with.

“Untie me?”

He does. I don’t meet his eyes as I get to my feet and stretch the slight stiffness away. “Mirabella,” he says, that damn caress in his voice again. “Talk to me, lisichka. If you regret this?—”

“I don’t.” If I’m to keep the fallout from my father’s betrayal from taking down my entire family, my attention cannot be on sex. It must be on more weighty matters.

This hour with Andrei Sidorov has been the best hour of my life, but the bratva prince is dangerous to my peace of mind. I reach for my bra and put it on. I look around for my panties, but they are nowhere to be seen, so I give up and slip the dress over my shoulders. “This was a one-time thing, Andrei. We both know there’s no future here. The Caruso and Sidorov families are at war, and as you said yourself, you enjoy playing the field too much for anything else.”

He doesn’t respond for a long moment, and then he shrugs, an elegant movement of his shoulders. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me. I’m Russian. Sex makes me sentimental.” He gets dressed, too, which, in his case, just involves zipping up his pants and buckling his belt. He kisses my cheek. “Until next year, Mira.”

4

The next year, Antonio doesn’t schedule poker on Valentine’s Day. “His new wife would kill him,” Gabriel jokes as we take our seats around the table. “Or steal something valuable from him in revenge.”

Andrei isn’t here. I arrived at Casanova a few minutes early, foolishly hoping I could have a drink with him before we started our poker game, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as well. My father’s death has put us in extremely dire straits. As my uncle Renzo, the new head of the Caruso family, pointed out, we desperately need allies, and I need to marry to secure those alliances.

It’s high time my stupid infatuation with the Sidorov prince ended. No, not prince. King. This year, while I fought for survival, Andrei took over the Sidorov Bratva from his father. According to the rumors, it wasn’t voluntary. Vadik is still alive, but he’s been banished to a village far away from Moscow, along with his wife, and Andrei Sidorov rules in his place.

“Steal?” Lola raises her eyebrow. “Tell me more.”

Antonio shakes his head. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Oh, come on, Antonio.” Ciro leans forward, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You’re being entirely too modest. His wife, the lovely Lucia, stole a painting that had been in Antonio’s collection since he was sixteen. A Titian. But when she got back to her apartment with her spoils. . .” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Antonio wasthere.Waiting for her. In herbedroom.”

“I was not in her bedroom,” Antonio protests, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here for this conversation.

“But the rest is true?” Lola asks. Her voice turns sly. “I didn’t realize you were in the habit of marrying women who steal from you.”

“He isn’t,” Dante says, trying to hide his smile as he defends his boss. “Lucia was the exception.”

“I’m quite offended we weren’t invited to your wedding,” Max gripes. “And now Dante is getting married, too.” He shakes his head wryly. “Two couples in less than a year. I hope it’s not contagious.” He turns to me. “We missed you this summer, Mira.”

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