Page 8 of Mafia Prize

I wriggle them down my hips, pick them off the floor, and hold them behind my back. Andrei takes them from me. “Did you wear these for me?”

It’s the last time we’ll ever do this. There’s no room for lies. I meet his hungry, heated gaze in the mirror. “Yes.”

“And the dress?”

“Yes,” I say again.

“It’s a beautiful dress.” He tucks the panties into his pocket. “But not as beautiful as its wearer.” He moves my hair away and trails a finger down the back of my neck. “Do you want to come tonight, Mira?”

“Yes,” I reply immediately.

He chuckles. “That was quick.” He kisses my neck and unzips my dress. It falls to the floor, leaving me naked. Andrei growls appreciatively. “So beautiful.” He cups my breasts from behind, his thumbs brushing my nipples. “Your body was made for pleasure,” he says into my ear. “If you want to get fucked tonight, you’ll keep your eyes open and watch yourself in the mirrors.” He squeezes my breasts and pinches my engorged nubs hard enough that I whimper. He doesn’t stop. He plucks at them again, and I lean into the pain, letting it melt into bliss. I start to close my eyes, and then, just in time, I remember his threat.

“Good girl,” he says approvingly.

He turns me around and sucks a swollen nipple between his teeth. A flash of pure heat goes through me. “Andrei,” I whimper. “Please. . .” It’s so good. I think I could come from this sensation alone, from the feel of his tongue and his teeth on my throbbing nipples. A familiar tightness starts to spiral through me, and I force myself to keep my eyes open and watch our reflections. His dark head dips between my breasts, lavishing them with his attention. The contrast between his suit-clad body and my naked one is heady.

“Please, what?” He lifts his head up, and a smile creases his face. “I saw the way you looked at the chair when you entered the room. Did you wonder what it would feel like to be tied down on it?”

“Yes.”

“You get to find out now. Sit down.”

I plant my ass on the seat and position my calves on the leg rests. Already, I feel exposed, and I can tell they’re not as far apart as they’re going to be. Andrei buckles my knees and ankles in place. “Keep watching,” he warns, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “No looking away.” Once my legs are restrained, he pushes a lever. The leg rests spread apart, and with them, my thighs, until I’m splayed wide open, my pussy completely exposed to Andrei’s predatory gaze.

He moves away and returns with the whip he had earlier. “Hands behind your head.” He trails the tails over my naked breasts. “This is a suede flogger,” he says. “It can be pleasurable.” He flicks his wrist, and a thousand stings erupt on my bared breasts, leaving me hot, needy, and aching. “Or it can be painful.” I clench in anticipation, waiting for a brutally hard stroke on my skin, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Andrei slides a finger between my folds. “What about this turns you on, I wonder,” he muses. He lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking it between his sensual lips. “Is it being tied up, or is it the threat of pain?” The flogger lands on my breasts again, sharp and hot, and immediately after, Andrei pushes a finger deep inside me. “Tell me, Mirabella.”

I groan out loud.It’s so good.“Both.” Nothing feels like Andrei’s touch. Nobody owns my body the way this bratva king does.

Don’t make him something he isn’t. He was ruthless enough to cast aside his father for power. You would be wise not to forget that.

He notices my slight withdrawal. “What is it?”

“What would your mother say if she knew who you were fucking in a BDSM club? Your sister?” He starts to reply, and Ihold up my hand. “Don’t tell me that you don’t tell them about the women you fuck. That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” He straps cuffs around my wrists and fastens them to hidden restraints at the seat of the chair. “You’re more concerned with what my family would think than I am.” He pushes his thumb inside me and presses it down on my lower lip. I open my mouth and suck his finger, tasting my juices on his skin. “Unlike you, I’m uninterested in sacrificing my life in service to my family. It doesn’t matter what they think. If we’re together, then they will treat you like their own.”

I don’t believe him. Andrei Sidorov might be happy enough to fuck me, and he might even enjoy my company. But we can never be together. This is a man who craves power so much that he deposed his own father. And the Caruso name is a liability, not an asset.

He waits for me to respond, but I keep stubbornly silent. “Nothing to say, Mira?” he asks, frustration slipping underneath his mocking tone. “Very well. Have it your way.” He moves between my legs and plants an open-mouth kiss on my pussy. I jump in shock, and he lifts his head. “Keep still,” he says sternly. “Or else.”

He circles my clit with his tongue and thrusts his fingers into me. Restless need pulses through me like an insistent drumbeat. My pussy is heavy and swollen with desire, and his touch is driving me wild. Over and over, he licks my clit, the touch maddeningly light but pushing me closer to the edge.

More. I needmore.

I arch my hips toward him, and he pulls away and spanks my pussy sharply. “What did I tell you about moving?” he demands.

Oh, crap. My muscles contract with pleasure at that slap, and I almost come. “I’m sorry,” I wail. He ordered me to hold still, and I moved. “I didn’t mean to be disobedient.” A tear leaks from the corner of my eye. I clench my fingers into fistsand concentrate fiercely on holding off my orgasm. Not yet. Not without him. “I forgot.”

“Apology accepted,” he says calmly. He walks away from me and returns with leather straps. He ties me to the chair, immobilizing me completely. “I’m going to fuck you now, Mirabella.”

“Yes,” I gasp. Thank fuck. I almost close my eyes in relief before remembering I need to keep them open. “Please. Thank you.”

“So polite.” This time, he strips completely. I watch greedily in the mirror as his powerful, muscled body comes into view. Andrei is built like a bruiser. He looks like he could break a man in half with his bare hands. Some people—foolish people—look at him and assume the Russian bratva king is not that bright, more brawn than brain. They’re wrong. If you underestimate Andrei Sidorov, you do so at your own peril.

He rolls a condom on—he’s too smart to allow an unplanned pregnancy to complicate his life—and moves between my legs. He rubs his head over my slit, testing my ability to keep still. It’s impossibly difficult. I make myself wait patiently, biting my lip so hard I draw blood. “Good girl,” he says again.

Then he fucks me.

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