Bratva Boss's Babysitter: An Instalove Possessive Male Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 192)

by Flora Ferrari

  I can feel her body opening up for me, deep inside of her, her need to give me a child making her pussy get hotter and wetter by the second.

  I slide my hands down and wedge them between her ass cheeks and the sheets, squeezing onto the round fleshy globes of her plus size perfect rump. For a crazy second, I almost think I’m going to blow my damn load in my pants, her ass is so curvy and voluptuous, an ass made for bouncing as I fuck her, fuck her hard.

  I push forward and drink in more of her, sucking, licking, attacking.

  She moans, biting her lip, her cries of pleasure muffled as her body twitches. She claws at the sheets and, after a few minutes, she begins to buck and writhe like she can’t contain her pleasure anymore.

  She grinds her wet hole against my mouth, up and down, again and again as my licks come quicker, firmer.

  I begin to make low growling noises, my seed writhing all around my body, my manhood so stiff it could snap in half. I push closer, harder, and all at once she empties her beautiful juices all over my mouth.

  “Ah, ah,” she whispers, her voice choked, struggling to even make that sound.

  I massage those large, juicy ass cheeks, images flitting into my mind of my rock hard come slick cock sliding between them, finding the pinkness of her sex as my eyes focus on the roundness of her ass.

  I swallow as her tangy wetness flows down my throat, and then, once her orgiastic moans have simmered down to panting, I can’t take it anymore.

  I stand up and reach down for my cock, in a fugue of lust, and only stop when I see the panicked look streak across her face.

  “I can’t,” she whispers. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve been with another man.”

  Someone is threatening my queen.

  I let my hand fall, curl into a white knuckled fist.

  I stare at the woman I’m claiming, now and forever.

  “Tell me,” I snarl. “Tell me who you’re scared of, Erin.”

  She leans up, grabbing the sheets and pulling them over her bare legs. We share a look and a smile twitches at her lips.

  I can read her, the suggestive look in her eyes.

  She’s silently telling me that if she didn’t pull the sheet up, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

  And she’s right.

  “Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll tell you, Erik. I know you expect honesty. But can we go outside? I think I need some fresh air.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Erin

  We sit on the back deck, the fire lit and licking at the air with yellow-red tongues of flame. The sun has set now and, this far from the city, the stars make a glittering blanket of the sky, only a few clouds dotted here and there, gray and drifting slowly.

  I hug the blanket around myself, annoyed that I couldn’t just forget my anxiety back there. When Erik went down between my legs, it was like he was opening a door inside of me, introducing me to a world of bodily sensations I had never dreamed of before.

  But when he reared up like a bear on its hind legs, his paw reaching down for this manhood, a wave of panic crashed over me almost painfully, making me want to gasp for air, to flee like a rodent stuck in a maze.

  I saw his face, which seems like the most unfair thing in the universe.

  The most special night of my life, it could’ve been, and yet the aftermath of what this twisted prick did to me made that impossible.

  I look up as Erik returns with two glasses of soda, placing them down and then sitting across from me on the interwoven wicker chair. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

  His back bulges, muscular, and his eyes seem darker as he stares at me.

  I can read the protective rage in the tightness of his expression, the way his fists clench.

  “The stars are beautiful tonight,” I whisper, aware I’m just talking for the sake of it, to delay, so I don’t have to face the big bad wolf in my mind.

  “They are,” he agrees, glancing up briefly. “Not as beautiful as you, but still.”

  I giggle, and then find myself waving a hand. The way Erik can bring me out of a darkened mood truly is incredible, a skill I don’t even have with myself, as though he completes a part of me I never knew was there.

  I’m still reeling from the suddenness of all of this, from Erik telling me he was claiming me to the closeness in the bedroom.

  My sex aches in longing and my womb is still screaming at me.

  Why did you stop? We need his seed, silly girl. It’s all we need.

  “When I was seventeen,” I whisper, prompted by some inner need to be close to him, “I had this really great opportunity. I don’t want to be self-pitying, but you could say it was one of the few great opportunities I’ve ever had. I got to go to this summer camp and work on my art. You know, out there amidst the nature, drawing inspiration from the beauty. It was actually amazing. For a while.”

  Erik doesn’t speak.

  He just watches me, an understanding glint in his eyes now.

  I take strength from his silence, from his mature understanding that not every pause has to be filled with unnecessary words.

  “Anyway, they had these counsellors there, and that was one of the requirements of the camp. It was for under-privileged kids, and I guess I fit into that category back then. The counsellor, he … He wasn’t very good at his job.”

  I laugh hollowly, blinking back tears that try to spring to my eyes and slide hotly down my cheeks.

  Erik reaches across and touches my hand, squeezing it, and then moves his chair closer so that he can wrap his arm around me. I lay my head against the stony comfort of his shoulder.

  “Actually, what I mean to say is that he developed a really fricking unhealthy obsession with me. He started to tell me he loved me, to tell me that all my problems could be fixed if I fell in love with him too. He tried to get me to do things. And when I wouldn’t, he turned nasty. He killed rats and hid them in my pillow. He once tried to kidnap me. I ran from the camp. I ran from school. I fled to the streets.”

  My eyes are stinging with the effort of holding back the tears, my lips trembling as I try not to sob.

  I’ve never talked about this before.

  I’ve locked it in a box inside myself, promising never to look there, never to put myself through that. It’s too painful.

  “I thought I’d be safe from him on the streets,” I whisper. “But he kept showing up. Jesus, he’s like the bogeyman, Erik. A month would pass and I was sure I’d gotten away from him, but then I’d see him across the street. Following me. I’ve had to run away from him more times than I can count. And do you know what the worst part about running through New York is? It’s how disgusting I felt. The grubby homeless girl, people turning up their noses at me. They don’t care about my story. They just want to get away from the stinking grubby ugly homeless freak.”

  “No,” Erik whispers, dragging me onto his lap, enveloping me in his embrace. “If they looked at you in that way, Erin, if they looked at somebody who needed help in that fucking way, then they’re the ugly ones. You’re beautiful. Even dirty from the streets, you’d be beautiful. You can’t hide what you have.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I believe you, but thanks.”

  “It’s true,” he says, mouth close to my cheek, painting me in his warm, consoling breath.

  “Anyway,” I say, leaning back against him. “The worst of it was when he tried to kidnap me from a hostel. I woke up and he was standing over my bed, handcuffs in one hand, black bag in the other. The only reason I woke up is because living on the streets does that to you. It makes you hyper-vigilant. I also thought it might sort of help me lose weight, but apparently this is just what I naturally look like.”

  “Erin,” Erik growls, squeezing me close to him, his hand resting on my belly and somehow, somehow, not recoiling in disgust. “You are the perfect weight. Everything about you is perfect. You never have to worry about that.”

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter.
r />   “I mean it,” he snarls.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Earlier, you know … not being able to …”

  He strokes his hand through my hair, brushing it from my forehead in a way that makes me tingle. I still have to remind myself that this isn’t a dream, that one of the junkies at the halfway house hasn’t slipped me his goods.

  But no.

  It’s happening.

  I’m working here. Erik wants me. He wants me.

  Maybe one day – hopefully soon – I’ll actually be able to accept that.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, and I turn to find a playful smirk on his steel shadowed lips. “I clearly took the wrong approach, coming at you like an animal. I need to treat you like the queen you are … for a while. So I’ll take you out tomorrow night, wine and dine you, and then – if you can forget that disgusting cur who doesn’t even deserve to breathe your air – and then I’ll unleash the beast.”

  “I’ll try,” I whisper. “I want to, Erik. I really do. So badly.”

  “There’s no rush,” he whispers, a rumble in his voice that tells me if I said I was ready right now, he’d take me, maybe even lose control and take me here, the risk of his staff discovering us be damned. “Just know that when the time comes, my seed is going to be extremely eager to get inside of you. I can’t promise to be a gentleman in the bedroom, only at dinner.”

  “That sounds amazing,” I say. “But I don’t really have any fancy clothes.”

  “Oh.” He pauses. “Then I’ll have some delivered here for you. I’m not much of a fashionista. Choosing men’s clothes is easy. A suit, a shirt, a tie, a watch. But women’s clothes are a different matter. I’ll order a variety, I suppose.”

  I feel a flush flooding me. “That’s very generous.”

  He laughs grimly. “I’d do far, far more to be able to have dinner with you, Erin. I’d slay a lion in unarmed combat if that’s what it took. I’d walk to the heart of a goddamn volcano. You’re mine, and if I have to spend every second from now until the end of fucking time convincing you of that, then I will.”

  “You’re angry,” I note, sensing the shift in his voice.

  “I want this man’s name,” he admits. “This stalker.”

  “Why?” I say, leaning back slightly. “Are you going to hurt him?”

  “Would it bother you if I did?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “He’s a monster, clearly. He’s probably done this to other women. I guess the problem is, Erik, that I’m not sure I want you to be the sort of person who so easily hurts people.”

  The words just come out, somehow devoid of self-consciousness, somehow not crippled with my fears of how he’s going to respond.

  Is this what openness is?

  Is this what a real human connection is?

  There must be something crazy happening here.

  Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to talk with him like this.

  “Is that who you think I am?” he asks, a savage softness in his voice.

  I slink to the side, back onto the blanket, and turn my gaze up to the stars.

  I hope not.

  “His name is Michael Jenkins,” I say. “At least, that’s the name he used at camp.”

  “It’s his real name,” Erik snarls with certainty.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Is he a lanky man, gangly, with red hair and freckles?”

  I start, my heart thudding, my palms sweating. An absurd, deranged idea occurs to me.

  What if Michael and Erik are in on this together, and Michael has somehow arranged for Erik to lead me here for some twisted purpose?

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Erik sighs. “Michael Jenkins is a known associate of the Irish mob. A whipping boy, you might call him. It would seem he also has other interests, apart from petty crime. Christ, what a small town this sometimes is.”

  I turn back to him and find that he's staring off into the shadows in the garden, working his jaws from side to side.

  “You’re thinking about Michael.”

  “Yes.”

  “About all the things you’d like to do to him.”

  “I am.”

  I move closer and run my fingers along the very light beard of his jawline, and then turn his face to me, our eyes locked.

  “Let’s just focus on us, for now, please?” I whisper.

  He sighs and then takes my hand. “Yes, Erin, for you. For you.”

  He pulls me close and we sink closer together, glowing under the starlight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Erik

  The four of us – me, Erin, Kat and Bullet – sit near the fountain in a small circle around the picnic blanket, Bullet with his tongue lolling as Kat plays with his ears, giggling. I watch her, making sure she’s being careful and respectful, and then Bullet grins and laps at her cheek.

  I have my answer.

  Erin looks incredible in her emerald green dress, the same shade as her eyes. It’s inset with small diamond-like glistening points, from the neck to the hem, making her sparkle in the setting sun. Her hair is wavy controlled mayhem down to her shoulders, and she’s wearing a light, elegant coating of makeup, enhancing the beauty already there.

  Her legs are bare, and as she sits there with them folded beneath her, I have to look away, lest my lust overwhelm me.

  I have to remember that Kat and Bullet are here.

  I have to restrain the savage within.

  That has been difficult today at work, thoughts of Michael bouncing around my head. We’re already at war with the Irish – this strain of the mob, the one that deals in drugs and women and pain and abuse – and now this is just another reason to hate them. There could be a good Irish mob one day, perhaps, but this gang led by Crawford is not it.

  I push those thoughts aside and remind myself that this evening is about Erin and me.

  Us.

  Kat has been looking slyly between the two of us ever since I announced that we were going out this evening and she would be in the care of Igor, the maids, the guards and above all Bullet.

  She knows something’s going on between us.

  And I think my niece might approve.

  “Why won’t you say where you’re going, uncle?” she asks. “Erin really, really wants to know.”

  “Erin does,” my queen agrees, a sparkle in her glance, a bright glint in her eyes. “It’s a long drive to the city. Shouldn’t we get going soon?”

  I smirk. “I think we’ll be okay.”

  “What are you planning, uncle?” Kat says, kneeling up and narrowing her mother’s, Yekaterina’s, eyes at me. “Is it something amazing?”

  “Erin will have to be the judge of that.”

  “Are you and Erin boyfriends and girlfriends now?” she asks in her forward, plain, endearing way.

  Erin blushes and turns to face the fountain and I find myself smirking and turning away, too.

  How can I explain to Kat that we are so much more than that, that the moment I heard her, just her voice, I knew that her womb was the place where my seed belonged?

  How can I explain the absolute rightness of this all?

  In the end, I don’t have to, because the blades of the helicopter cut the air and the engine roars like a beast as it crests the top of the house and makes for the rear of the garden, through the hedges, toward the field where it’ll land.

  “Wait,” Erin says, mouth falling open. She gapes at me. “Is that for us?”

  I climb languidly to my feet and then wink down at Kat. “Unless you’ve ordered a helicopter for this evening, little lady?”

  “I did, actually,” she giggles. “Me and Bullet are going to Disneyland.”

  I offer Erin my hand and she takes it. As the four of us walk towards the rear of the estate, I can’t help but think that this is what it’s going to be like when we have a family of our own, and of course Kat will always have a place in our home.


  And Bullet.

  I don’t like to think about Bullet and the future, though, because dogs don’t live as long as people. And that’s fucking unfair.

  The helicopter comes into view and I turn to Erin, finding her smiling brightly.

  Even now, I can’t stop myself from imagining my hand sliding up those creamy, full thighs, sliding against her panties, feeling her juiciness.

  I have to control myself, beat those instincts down for the time being, and it’s hard, really damn hard.

  “Are you ready?” I ask her.

  “I think so,” she laughs. “I mean yes, yes. Erik, I’m ready.”

  The city is laid out before us in a glittering landscape as we sit atop the private skyscraper restaurant, empty apart from Erin and me. She leans back in the silver chair, glancing down at the city, her mouth bespeaking the same wonder that led her from the helicopter and into the side door of our own personal heaven.

  We sit at the window, the glass reinforced and the room warm, protected from the cold of the high New York sky. All around us, candles are lit, glowing softly.

  I reach across the table and grab the electronic pads, taking mine and handing Erin hers.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “Well, don’t you want to order?” I smirk.

  She tilts her head at me for a moment, cute and sexy as a fucking goddess. Then she giggles.

  Her giggles could cure a million illnesses, I’m convinced.

  “No waiters?”

  “One of my trusted men will carry our dishes from the kitchen to us,” I tell her.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “Because I take every measure at safety in this life, where lesser men assume they are invincible. I won’t have some criminal pretending to be a waiter and getting close to my woman. I’ll always protect you, Erin. Always.”

  “Woah,” she says, scrolling. “This is the biggest menu I’ve ever seen.”

  “If they don’t have what you want,” I say, “just type it in, and they’ll make it for you anyway.”

  She reaches across the table now, tightening her hand around mine, a blemish of shyness making her bite her lip.

  “Erik, this means so much to me. I never dreamed I’d be in a place like this, looking down on the city I was once just a rat in, a rat caught in a maze … a maze of concrete. Not that I mean to go all poetic or anything.”