Page 5 of The Bratva Contract
“I saw you dancing. I had to have you,” I tell her simply.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it? You want something, so you take it?”
“Damn right I do,” I tell her. I crowd her up against the edge of the wooden table and loom over her a bit, using my size to ratchet up the tension and build her tolerance for having me so close to her. She has to crane her neck to look up at me.
“You think I’m just going to leave my friends and come in here to fuck you?” she says. I lean in and fasten my mouth to her throat, licking and sucking; my teeth scrape her tender flesh, and she tightens a hand on my shoulder. I growl inappreciation and lift her onto the table. It helps with the height difference, for one thing. I take in her pretty dark eyes, that mouth. She’s flushed pink and panting, and she reaches for me. One hand still on my shoulder, she grabs my tie and pulls me in closer. Our lips crash together, untamed and desperate to taste. Teeth, lips, tongues rush to slake the craving. It’s not romantic or beautiful; it’s carnal and purposeful.
I press her knees apart. The motion hikes her tight little skirt up her thighs, and I trace its path with brazen, appreciative hands. I slip one palm between us, up between her thighs, firm and hot with desire.
“Oh, Jesus,” I bite off the curse because my fingertip grazes her lower lips, damp and soft, impossibly soft. I long to bury myself in her sex instantly. Instead I penetrate her with my finger, pushing myself in knuckle deep and feel her flex and grip, and getting consumed by the hot honey of her passage.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “So tight.”
“I intend to,” she murmurs and cants her hips toward me, greedy for more of me. I set some kind of speed record freeing my pulsing cock as I scoot her back and climb on the table with her. This wasn’t the plan. I meant to screw her up against the door and be done with it, just to work out the wave of lust. Now I have to mount her, cover her with my body and lay claim to the hot little slit I’ve already touched. She reaches behind her and unzips her dress. I tug the front down and fasten my mouth to her tight pink nipple and suck hard.
“Good girl,” I praise as she moans beneath me. She grabs my hair, pressing my face harder into her breast and demanding more. I suck one nipple and play with the other. She’s so obliging, ready to come all over herself after only a few minutesof my very lucky mouth on her big, sexy tits. I slide my hand back between her legs. One press of my fingertip on the pearl there sends her legs kicking, her head thrashing, her arms locking around me. I shove my fingers into her pussy as she comes, her inner muscles clenching so hard they try to push me out of her slippery sex.
She clings to me, gathering me in her arms as she comes back down. I brush the blunt head of my cock to her soft lips and I can’t wait anymore. It is one jerk of my hips and I’m buried in her, bottomed out inside the fiery sweetness. I rear back above her, pumping my cock into her. First with defined strokes but gradually getting sloppier and more heated. I can’t control myself. I’m just rutting in that hot, wet body that welcomes me. Eager, her hands are on my face and then my chest. I bite the thumb she rubs across my lips, gladly sucking on the throat she exposes to me. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I knew she was responsive, that it was so easy to make her come. I didn’t know she’d have the same effect on me. I can normally go for an hour, but seven pumps in and I’m ready to blow. There’s something about the way her slick, heated body grips mine, the greed with which she grabs my face and drags me back to her breast, so big and reddened by my earlier fondling.
I’m about to release my seed, but just before I give in, I slide my hand into her long hair, twist my fingers, and hold on. She grins wolfishly and bites her lip. She meets every thrust with those full hips, clinging to me, but I pull back and meet her eyes. I’m breathless; she studies me, cool and appraising. “What are you waiting for?” she demands. I take the hint, dragging every inch out of her, then slam back inside with a snap of my hips. I buck, arms shaking as I hold myself above her, hand anchored in her tangled hair. Six hard pumps and I’m spilling, pouring into her. From the second I gripped her hair, shetensed and clenched, uncontrollable waves locking around my shaft, climaxing long and hard on my cock. We shove together, grinding through the fiercest orgasm of my life, wringing every last drop of pleasure from it. I’ve fucked this stranger on a priest’s desk, shoved her up the table with the force of my thrusts, pounded her down until she’ll bruise from my hand on her thigh, my mouth on her breast. I’ve possessed her in a way I can’t describe, and it thrills me more than the rake of her long nails down my back.
She sighs as the aftershocks finally end. “Ugh, you have to do that again, exactly the same way,” she groans. “Otherwise I’ll never get it that good again.”
I unload a heavy amount of cum all over my hand and cock, wishing she was here to lick it all up and suck me dry. I’m still stroking myself, gripping my softening cock in the aftermath, wondering how long it’s been since I came this hard, especially over nothing more than a picture. I looked forward now to meeting the daughter of Sergei.
CHAPTER 4
KARINA
Two days into our stay in the country, Papa finally tells me why we’ve come. I know better than to think he’s here to rest.
“I’ve invited a friend, the son of an old comrade. Dimitri Petrov, Anatoliy’s boy, now heads the Petrov bratva and?—”
“A tech entrepreneur. I know the name.” I keep my tone flat. “His company launched Atheneum three years ago, the game in which players rescue rare books from marauding zombies. It’s insanely popular across Europe. So what about him? Is he after my cybersecurity software? Because I won’t sell my company, and I certainly won’t hand over the distribution rights.” A little flare of excitement sparks in my chest.
“He’s coming for a social call, a visit to see if he likes the look of you. A man of his power and influence, at his age, is looking for a wife. It’s time to settle down and have an heir to carry on the name and the business.”
“Likes the look of me? Really, Papa,” I scoff. Of course, he hasn’t invited a tech impresario here to brag about my accomplishments; he’s just looking to show me off like a filly from his racing stable.
“Like it or not, you’re of an age to marry. And since you take an interest in my business, I’m sure you’d like your son to inherit one day. This match could merge our two organizations, creating a bratva more vast and powerful than Russia has ever seen, united through your marriage to Dimitri. You’re welcome, daughter, for bringing such a fine man to inspect you. You should be proud he’s making the trip.”
“Yeah, that’s why I went to university,” I snap, “so I can brag to my friends that some rich crime lord drove all the way out to my dad’s house to check whether my teeth are straight and my tits are big enough.”
“That mouth, Christ Almighty,” he mutters, rolling his eyes heavenward. I stalk away from him.
“He’ll be here tonight,” he calls after me. “Dress for dinner.”
Oh, I’ll dress for dinner, all right.
I’m at my window when the car arrives, and from above I watch him step out. Powerfully built, dark hair shot through with silver at the temples, strong jaw, heavy shoulders, broad chest. He moves like he wears power as comfortably as a coat, flicking one finger for someone to open his door.
Awareness. That’s what this is. A tingle slides up my spine. What would it feel like to be commanded by a man like that? I shove the thought away. I don’t want a husband, and I sure as hell don’t want one who thinks he owns me. I won’t vow obedience to anyone, least of all a big, brutal crime boss. Yet from thisdistance, watching him unseen, I feel seized, caught in a grip I can’t name. I should be getting ready, not lingering at the window like a stalker.
He looks up, as though he felt my stare. He pauses, tips his head back, and those sharp, dark eyes miss nothing. He sees me. I jolt, gripping the curtain, yet I don’t duck away. Pinned by his gaze, heat rushes through me. He’s caught me skulking at an upper window like a peeping girl. It’s more than embarrassing, it’s exposing, as if he already has me figured out, which is ridiculous. We haven’t even met. Still, his gaze feels like a hand at the small of my back, fingers trailing up my thigh. He doesn’t look curious or surprised. He looks possessive.
I try to shake off the sense that he already owns me. I slip into a silver Versace minidress with an asymmetrical cut, a single buckle at the shoulder and a plunge deep enough to flaunt plenty of cleavage. If Mr.Petrov thinks he’s shopping for a demure Russian bride, he’s about to have his eyes blown out. I twist my dark hair up and pin it, stepping into silver-capped Saint Laurent stilettos, and glide downstairs as cool as you please. The long dining table glows with candlelight with Papa sitting at the head. Then I see Dimitri Petrov. He rises when I enter, and my heart flips. Air punches from my lungs as though I’ve fallen onto hard ground. Those severe, dark eyes hold a secret fire. I nearly stumble.
It takes every ounce of willpower to walk to my seat at Papa’s right. A chill prickles over my arms beneath Dimitri’s stare. He says nothing, but just assesses me, waiting to see if I’ll giggle or squirm. I sip my wine and turn to Papa as though Dimitri isn’t there.
