I roll the condom onto my blood covered tool. I don’t want the condom to irritate her, it might catch, or it might be dry. She might be allergic. I’m thinking too much. The condom is the right thing to do. When I have it on I turn back to her. She’s smiling at me, and she looks like the first warm sunlight of spring. She looks like everything holy, and I am garbage.
“You are amazing,” she says, with her alluring gray blue eyes glittering as bright as her smile. She has to do nothing more than smile at me, and I am weak. She isn’t intentionally seductive, but she has captivated me. Not only is she too good for me, too virtuous, she is promised to someone else, the enemy of my family.
She reaches out to me, and I grab hold of her. She stares down at where our hands meet, and grins. “You’re huge, all of you. Your hands are so big, so strong, I bet you could fight the world, Mike.” She looks into my eyes then, and I see hope. Does she realize what she’s asking of me, what she’s offering me?
I spread her knees, and settle myself between her thighs. This is my new home. I want to live here for the rest of my life. I want to live off of her, to eat her and drink her, and make love to her. I want her.
She twines our fingers together and grips tightly as I enter her again. She frowns, and whimpers a little. I knew the condom wouldn’t be comfortable for her. I know she wants me inside her bare, just like I want it.
I need to distract her from her discomfort, so I whisper, as I inch into her, “My name is Misha.”
“Misha,” she moans. My body shivers hearing her say my name, with her voice dripping desire and need. Her free hand touches the tattoo at my hip, the one I keep hidden from my family. I know she understands its meaning. “Misha, please.”
I might faint from her pleas, along with my name on her delectable lips. My knees are weak. Somehow, though, my chest swells with pride, and my brain fills with dreams of the future. A tiny house in the country. Fruit trees in the back yard. Cows and chickens. A kitchen garden. A baby in a basket, and a toddler on a swing set. I watch over them as I tinker with a tractor. Their mother hangs out diapers to dry in the sun. They have her dark hair, and my blue eyes. She smiles at me, and calls to me. My love.
I reach out to take her thick, dark hair in my hand, and smile as I fill her slowly. She feels like heaven. “Yes, my treasure.”
“Misha, you’re so good,” she encourages me. “You’re so careful. You’re so sweet.”
I exhale raggedly. “No.” Everything she is saying is a lie. I am wicked. I am reckless. I am nasty. But every bit of me, down to the rotten core, is hers.
“Yes, Misha,” she sighs, and wiggles against me. “Yes. Now!” I pull her against me, and she gasps as she feels all of me inside her. She continues to stare at me. Her fascinating gray eyes are focused on just me. I am filling her body and her mind. Me. She wants me. She chose me. “Misha. Misha.” She repeats my name as an aching, yearning moan like she can’t get enough of me.
“I want you, Chiara.” My brain is full of things I want to say to her, but being inside her makes it hard to speak, and think. I slide out slowly, but I need to be in again. And again. And again.
“You have me,” she says. She doesn’t know what I want. I want to run away. I want to give up my family, and my name, and be hers. And I want her to be mine.
I can’t tell her I love her, that I’ve loved her since I saw her leaving her Roman Church alone, with her hair in a tight little bun and her gorgeous body bundled up in her heavy winter coat. Jesus, I’ve done it. I’ve fallen. This innocent little virgin has brought me to my knees.
Her moans fill my ears. She’s close. I’ve brought her to the edge, while staring into her eyes and fantasizing about the future. Can she see it? Does she know she has me? She owns me. Does she know?
“Yes, Misha. I’m yours. Yours,” she moans. I feel her tighten around me, her muscles grip me, her calves hold me. “Take me there. Take me, Misha.”
She doesn’t know. She’s just talking. She doesn’t want me to take her, because I will never let her go. I thrust up into her, and I watch as she comes undone for me. She doesn’t look away. She moans, and her body shakes, but her eyes are locked on mine.
“Yes, my love.” I moan as I feel myself coming with her. It shocks me, because I’m not concentrating on my own physical pleasure. But when her muscles contract around me, my body responds. My moans become growls as she forces me toward my orgasm too. She continues to moan my name, through her climax. I feel it in my heart, in my soul. I’m hers. “Yes, Chi, I’m yours. I’m yours.”
“You’re mine.” She almost giggles. She’s coming down from her high, and she’s happy and content. Our hands are still together, but her hand that was on my hip moves, to caress my face. She only sees the outside, the pretty package that hides the shit inside it. If she knew me, she wouldn’t want me. “Misha.” She says it confidently, with her bright happy smile. “Tell me your last name.”
“No.” I don’t even have to think about it. I might have said it a little too forcefully, because she gives me a little frown. We’ve been as intimate as two people can be. Of course she’s curious. She wants to know more about me. I want to tell her everything, I do. But now’s not the time. “You don’t want to know. It’s best if you don’t.”
“Do you know who I am?” she asks me.
I look down between our bodies as I pull out of her. She has some blood on her inner thighs. The condom is covered in it. I kiss her lips quickly, when I see that she’s looking too. The last thing I want is for her to freak out over it. When I have her attention away from the gross stuff, I slide the condom off.
“I know you’re mine, and that’s all I need to know.” I step away as I say it, and I quickly toss the rubber in the trash. After I discard the proof of her taken virginity, I turn toward the bath. She moves, and I stop her with a look and a shake of my head. “Wait.”
“I have to pee,” she complains, and Chiara being all pouty is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen or heard.
I start the water, and begin to fill the bath. Then I return to where she’s still sitting on the counter, so I can pick her up and sit her gently on the floor. Then I leave the room and close the door.
I know exactly what I want to do. I hope I have enough time. I steal quickly into the other room, where her dress and her purse are lying by the door. Without any qualms I open her purse. I’ve been in her house, I’ve watched her sleep. Her purse holds no secrets from me. But what it does hold is the ring her fiancé gave her. I find it quickly and take it out. Next I place the ring in a secret pocket inside my jacket. Then I quickly send a text to my phone from hers, and quickly erase it, before I replace it and close her purse back.
When I hear the water go off in the bathroom, I open the door and find her stretched out in the tub. My body immediately responds, seeing my fantasy wearing a pleased expression and nothing else. My stomach muscles tighten because I know that I am the reason she’s wearing that little grin.
I close the shower curtain, and take care of my own bladder before my growing hard on makes it impossible. I hear her scoff, but she doesn’t complain. I ate her out until she came all over my face, she shouldn’t argue that I’m peeing in the same room as her. I finish up, flush, and pull the curtain again so I can climb in with her.
“What are you…” she asks, but by then I’m already in the tub. She spreads her legs, and I bend my knees and place my feet under her thighs.
I smile, and splash some of the warm, soapy water her way. We sit in comfortable silence for several minutes. She has her eyes closed, and her head leaned back against the edge of the bath. Her pink lips are slightly parted. And every few moments she moves her hand, to brush her hair away from her face or wipe sweat off her brow. Each time, she touches one of my legs, and she grins. She grins subconsciously, just because I’m near her.
She’s not going to grin, or smile, when I tell her the truth. So maybe I won’t tell her all of the truth. “You’re Chiara Rossi, Nico�
�s daughter.”
I have all of her attention. She’s staring at me now, trying to figure me out. “You know a lot about me. Who are you?”
I shake my head, before I slide down into the water. I let it cover me completely, almost as if she can baptize me, cleanse me of my sins. Will she, when she knows what I’m capable of? I pop my head up, push my hair out of my face, and wipe my eyes.
Then, I tell her. “I am Mikhail Ivanovich. I’m Ivan’s son. But you might know me by my nickname. I’ve heard the Italians call me the Bloody Ivanovich, because of all of the Italians I’ve killed.” My father calls me the family screw up, but he knows when he gives me a name that person will disappear, as if he never existed.
Her eyes go wide. I guess she’s heard of me. “I don’t believe you. You’re too young,” she argues.
I shrug. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
She’s really frowning now. She’s angry, but she’s keeping her emotions in check. “And you knew who I was when you decided to leave the bar with me?”
“Yea,” I answer, honestly.
She moves to climb out of the tub, but I grab her ankle to stop her. I’m not letting her go.
Chapter Eight
Chiara
“Let go of me, killer,” I yell. Of course I’ve heard of the Bloody Ivanovich. He’s the assassin that the Moretti family has been afraid of for fifteen years. The Moretti’s accuse him of killing Frankie’s cousin Marco, my dad’s cousin Joe, and my uncle Sal, and that’s just the ones I know about. But he doesn’t look more than twenty-five years old.
He doesn’t release me. I’m completely nude, standing in a bathtub, staring down at the man who stole my virginity. He knows I would never have given it to him if he’d told me who he really was when we met. That’s why he hid it from me, until after the deed was done.
“Did you plan to do this? Did you seduce me to…” Damn him, does he know that I’m engaged to Frankie Moretti? Is that his reason for sleeping with me, to punish Frankie somehow?
“You seduced me, Chiara,” he states, almost calmly. His countenance has changed, drastically. He looks older, angrier, more serious. He looks like a stone cold killer.
“You let me believe you were something you’re not, Mike,” I reply pointedly. He frowns when I say his made up name. “You took my virginity under false pretenses.”
He smirks then, an almost hurtful look in his eyes. “You begged me to take it Chiara. You said please, treasure.” He knows what he did was wrong. But still, he argues. “What’s a virgin doing hunting for meaningless sex at a bar, anyway? Afraid you’ll die an old maid?” One fine blonde eyebrow cocks as he trains his laser focus on me. “You could have ended up with some psychopath.”
“Didn’t I?” I yell at him.
Then he gives me a cocky grin. I see he’s mocking me. But he’s right. He looks completely harmless, almost sweet, until he takes his clothes off and his tattoos are obvious. He’s right, what I did was totally fucking insane. I told Bea yes, I’d go out with them. I put on the seductive dress. I went out tonight with the hopes of finding a man to have sex with, to punish my father and Frankie for this medieval marriage contract they forced on me. And I guess my plan worked better than I expected.
This is all my fault. I should have never begged him to have sex with me, after I saw the tattoos. I knew he was Russian, and the fucking pointed stars on his chest are Bratva tattoos. I should have known he wasn’t who he claimed to be. I did know, and I wanted him anyway.
He moves to let the water out, then his hand trails up my leg as he stands. Damn, he’s fucking tall. And intimidating. And those long, defined muscles of his are fucking gorgeous. The tattoos tell their own story. He’s dangerous. He’s killed my family. He’s the enemy of my fiancé.
His hand is on my inner thigh. He’s standing so close to me I can feel the heat of his body. He’s everything I didn’t want, and everything I should hate. But I want his damn hands on me.
Without thinking, I reach out and slap him, across his beautiful, deceitful face. His head jerks slightly, and when he moves it back he’s smiling smugly at me. “How’d that feel?” he asks. His eyes are sparkling brightly, and his teeth are bared. He looks feral, wild, and I want it. Fuck it, but that look in his bright blue eyes makes my body hot. “Want to do it again? I like the pain.”
That shocks me. Why would he like to be hurt? Do the tattoos hurt? I wonder.
He reaches out, and I flinch. Is he going to smack me for hitting him? No. He caresses my jaw line, and tips my head back so that I have to gaze up at him. How can an assassin look so sweet, how can his touch be so gentle?
Just staring at him is making it hard for me to breathe. My muscles tense up. My nipples are aching for his touch. And now that I know how he feels inside me, I don’t think I can live without it. I want him. I want him even knowing who he is, what he is.
He has possessed me, just like he said he would. “Misha, please,” I whisper.
A noise escapes from deep in his throat that scares me as much as it excites me. It is half purr, half growl, and all sexy. “What are you asking for, my treasure?”
My eyes move down his body, over the ink that mars his alluring pale skin, to his exquisite penis. It’s hard, and long, and straining out toward me, demanding my attention. I move to bend down to be able to look at it, play with it, and take it in my mouth.
But he stops me with his hand on my elbow. My eyes search out his, as my hands go out to his abs. “No, treasure.”
Is he angry at me because I smacked him? Will he not have sex with me again because I called him a killer? But he merely shakes his head at me. He doesn’t want me now, I think. Then he bends his knees, and I’m again in his arms. He doesn’t want a blow job? What guy doesn’t want that?
He sits me down in front of the counter again. His lips find mine, gently but firmly. My brain is filled with questions, but I’m only distracted by my thoughts for a few moments. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I moan from deep inside me. My clit and the muscles between my legs know how his tongue feels now, and my body wants it.
I suck his tongue in, welcoming it as I had hoped to do with his big cock. I just want him in my body, however I can get it. He moves quickly and I’m disappointed. Why won’t he give me what I want?
Deftly he spins me around, and I’m facing the mirror. His eyes catch mine, and I see that wild animal stare. I sigh loudly, because I know he wants exactly what I want. I watch as he bends, and his mouth finds my shoulder. As soon as his lips touch my skin, I feel his hands on my stomach.
“Yes, Misha, that’s what I want.” My voice is breathy and airy. Is this how I sound when I’m turned on? It must be, because I’m on fire for him. I watch as his hands move up over my body, and it only enhances my pleasure.
“You like to watch, treasure?” he asks, his lips against my ear. My entire body shakes in response. “I love watching you experience everything for the first time, but this is one I have to feel and not watch.”
He tugs at my hips until I’m bent at the waist. Then he bends down behind me, and I feel his rough palms against the backs of my thighs. “I like that, Misha,” I moan. I want him to know it feels good, after yelling at him earlier. Why am I worrying about his feelings? Why am I trying to…
“Ohhhhhh, fuck!” I exclaim when I feel his tongue against my pussy. I hear him chuckle, and I feel the vibrations against my tender skin. His tongue slides inside me again, this time so much more intimately. It feels amazing. “Your tongue is so good, Misha,” I mutter. His tongue pulls out, then lunges in again. “Damn, I could let you do this forever.”
That’s when I feel his rough hands on my ass cheeks, massaging, rubbing, and pulling. Then his tongue moves upward. It’s there, where his finger was earlier. And it feels amazing. My muscles tighten against him. He groans, and murmurs, “Relax, Chi. Give me my prize, love.”
“I don’t know what you want,” I squeak.
His body moves up, a
nd I’m afraid maybe he’ll stop. I tip my head up to look into the mirror. His tongue trails up my spine, making my body quake. When his eyes find mine, he sucks two of his fingers into his mouth. His fingers pop out, and he moans, “I want to own every inch of your perfect body, treasure.”
His hand moves down, and he’s still staring at me as I feel one of his fingers invade my ass. My head goes back, and his lips touch my neck. “Ahhhhhh…” I sigh.
“Say you want it, love,” he demands, as his finger moves in and out.
“I want it, Misha,” I reply breathlessly. How does he know exactly what to do to my body to make me burn? How can he possibly know a woman’s body so well?
He bends down again, and when his finger comes out his tongue shoves in.
“Ummmmmm…” It should be dirty. It should be bad. But it’s so fucking good I can barely stand. He spreads my ass cheeks again, and starts to fuck it with his tongue.
He’s a killer, I remind myself. He’s a stone cold killer. He murders people for his father, for his family. He’s taking everything he wants from me, with his fingers, his tongue, or his dick. And I love it. I want to give him whatever he wants. Apparently he wants me to capitulate, to submit to him in every way.
“I surrender,” I cry out, as I feel the orgasm sweeping over me. I’m shaking all over from it. My muscles contract, over and over. He must feel it too, because he grunts deep into my body. I lean my head forward, as he places a kiss on each of my cheeks. I sigh then, and giggle a little. “I surrender.”
“Tell me who owns your body, treasure.” His voice is rough with need. He’s commanding me now.
He knows my answer before I say it, but I want to give him what he wants. “You do, Misha. You.”
War (Bratva and Mafia Chronicles Book 1) Page 5
