Trapped with the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Petrov Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  “Wondering what you got yourself into?” he asks, gathering my dress in his hand and pinning the extra fabric to my waist until I’m exposed to him from the waist down.

  I can feel my cheeks warming, but I shake my head. “I’m wondering how long you’ll be able to last.”

  As if it was a formal challenge, Yuri grips my hip with one hand, positions himself at my opening, and thrusts in with one smooth movement.

  As soon as he’s inside of me, my walls come down. I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been stripped bare. I claw at his back as he lifts me off my feet with the force of his thrusts, and when I realize I won’t be touching the ground again anytime soon, I hook my ankles behind his back.

  His thrusts pick up speed quickly, and before I know it, I’m getting a rug burn on my back from the wallpaper and trying to hold in a building scream. Yuri was right. I’m right on the verge, teetering dangerously over the edge, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall. Doing this with him is a bad idea. I don’t know who he is or what he really wants with me. For all I know, this is just part of his plan to lure me into a false sense of comfort. To make me lower my defenses so he can get into my head and turn me into a blind follower.

  But it will all be okay as long as I keep my head. So, as Yuri drives into me harder and harder, grunting with each stroke, his thighs quivering and slapping against mine, I decide I can let my body have a good time as long as I keep my wits about me.

  “Yes.” I moan and tip my head back, arching my hips against him so he’s pounding straight up into me. I feel like I’m being broken apart from the inside, and nothing has ever been so good.

  “Am I going crazy or are you admitting this is good?” he purrs, breathless.

  I shiver as heat rolls through my body, but still manage to glare at him. “This can be good without you being good.”

  “Whoever said I was good? I certainly didn’t.” His mouth tips up in a smile, and my stomach flips.

  No. No butterflies or stomach flips. That’s losing my wits. I close my eyes and grit my teeth together. “Just be quiet and fuck me.”

  Rather than being bothered by the command, Yuri moans, and with another thrust, I feel him start to lose it.

  I open one eye. “You like being told what to do.”

  His smile is gone and his lip is pulled back. He didn’t plan to get so vulnerable either. I take advantage of the weakness and lean forward, my breasts pressed against his chest, my lips at his ear. “Fuck me harder. Fuck me until I come.”

  He scowls at me, his eyes shadowed by his lowered brow, but his hands dig in harder at my hips and his thrusts become punishing. He moans as he buries himself in me up to the hilt, and as much as I wish I could hold it together and keep myself from falling apart, my body has other ideas. I clench around him, the fire in my belly exploding outward in rough, steady waves. I feel like I’m drowning in heat and the cedar and citrus scent of him. I feel the scream I’ve been suppressing rising up inside of me, and I bite his shoulder to keep the hotel from sending up any security.

  As soon as my teeth find their mark, Yuri curses, and I feel him jerk inside of me. His breathing comes in desperate gasps as he finishes. My body is still spasming when I unwrap my lips from his thick shoulder muscle. When I do, he rests his head on my shoulder and sighs. I want to shrug him away, but I don’t have the energy. My body is spent and sated in a way I’ve never felt before. And I hate that someone so terrible could make me feel so good. And I love that I feel so good.

  Yuri told me he never claimed to be a good person, and now that I’ve let him have me like this, my own morality feels like it’s sitting in the balance.

  Can I really be good if I want someone so bad?

  Chapter Seven

  Bella

  I don’t know what I expected to happen after sex, but it wasn’t this.

  Yuri pulls out of me, cleans himself off with a tissue, and tells me to get dressed.

  “I’m dressed,” I say, gesturing down to my wrinkled dress that now has a very questionable stain on the front of it. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

  He tips his head to the closet. “I had some things sent up before we checked in.”

  The closet is empty except for three dresses hanging on the right side. I examine each one, and they’re almost the exact same cut as the one I’m wearing but in different shades. They’re tight through the waist and hips and flare out just around the thighs. The only difference is that these are shorter and much lower cut.

  “A senator’s daughter would never be seen in something so revealing,” I say, turning around the dress and noticing the back for the first time. “It will be a miracle if my butt crack isn’t hanging out.”

  I expect a chuckle or smile or something from Yuri, but he just looks at me, expressionless. “Put it on. We have to go.”

  Between black, purple, and red, I opt for the red dress and take it into the bathroom with me. The mirror is not kind to me. My lips are swollen from kissing, circles are forming under my eyes, and my hair is greasy and slicked down to my head. Ignoring Yuri’s urgency, I turn on the shower, letting it run until the mirror is fogged over, and then slip out of my dress and step inside.

  The hot water is a revelation. Every drop feels like it’s carrying away the evidence of Yuri, of what we just did. Though, even after scrubbing my hair and skin with the hotel soap, there’s something inside of me that still feels like it belongs to him. As if he staked some corner of my being for himself. I hope it will fade in time.

  After toweling off, I reach for the dress and realize I don’t have any clean underwear. I have no intention of putting on the one I’ve been wearing for the last twenty-four hours, so I step into the skimpy dress and pray I won’t have to crawl out of any cars with cameras flashing. The last thing I need is an upskirt photo.

  I use the blow dryer attached to the bathroom wall, and by the time my hair is dry, the mirror has unfogged. I stand in front of it and spin around, annoyed that the dress fits so perfectly and that, despite the revealing nature of it all and my lack of makeup, I look good. Damn good.

  This is further confirmed when I walk out and Yuri can’t even look at me. He takes one look and then turns his head to the door, his eyes drilling holes through the wood. “You ready?”

  I nod and am grateful that he had the strength to look away. Because I can’t.

  He’s wearing dark gray trousers that highlight his muscular legs and a white button-down rolled to the elbow. He looks like he just stepped out of a cool guy’s formal-wear catalog. When we walk out of the elevator, all the women in the lobby, both single and taken, notice too. He draws eyes like he’s walking through the room naked, and I would wager a guess that almost everyone wishes he was.

  He cuts across the lobby, walking me around a fountain with dolphins spitting streams of water, and presses a hand to my bare lower back as we step into the hotel’s bar. Most hotel bars are a sad affair, filled with businessmen drinking alone, trying to kill time until work starts again, and gooey couples on anniversary trips and honeymoons. But this bar could go head to head with any of the clubs I frequent with my friends downtown. It’s a little less rowdy and a bit more formal, but there’s still a DJ in the corner, a multicolored dance floor, and dinner tables with fine linens and waiters in tuxedos carrying expensive wine in gold buckets.

  Yuri doesn’t talk except to order us both the red snapper and a pinot noir. We eat in silence, and although it’s awkward, I don’t mind it. I’m not sure what to talk to him about anyway. Not after what we just did. In the shower, I imagined us bantering back and forth. Maybe I would offer him some tips on how to better please a woman, as though he didn’t thoroughly rock my world. He would brag about his stamina and his size and mention that I wasn’t complaining about his methods while I was biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

  The memory makes me feel flush, and I take a long sip of wine to try and cool off.

  Suddenly, Yuri crane
s his head towards the door, and before I can turn around to see what he’s looking at, he stands up and offers me his hand. “Care to dance?”

  I frown at his hand and then at him. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to agree to that.”

  He snatches my hand out of the air as I reach for my wineglass again, and I whimper. It feels like he’s crushing my bones. My fingers still held prisoners in his viselike grip, he leans forward and kisses my knuckles tenderly, sweetly. To anyone watching, he’s being the perfect gentleman. But I know the truth. I see the shine in his eyes, the threat of what he’ll do to me if I disobey.

  I smile up at him, my lips laced with poison. “I didn’t realize it was so important to you, dear. All you had to do was say so.”

  Yuri helps me to my feet and places his hand once again on my lower back. It feels like his finger is wrapped around my central nervous system. I can feel his touch everywhere and it’s making me feel more unstable than the wine. He spins me into his arms when we reach the center of the dance floor, one arm wrapped around my back, the other holding my hand high. The DJ is on break and has been replaced with the piano player I saw in the lobby when we arrived. The music is slow and romantic. Under normal circumstances, this would be a great first date. As it is, I want to stain the front of Yuri’s shirt with my wine and storm out of here.

  “Smile.” Yuri is grinning down at me.

  “Excuse me?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He sighs, his annoyance breaking through the façade. “At least try and look like you don’t want to kill me.”

  “That’s difficult since it’s all I can think about,” I snarl. “Do you mind moving a few feet to the right? That way, if the disco ball miraculously falls, it will shatter over your head.”

  He glances up, and his smile looks genuine. “Did you organize a hit on me with the party planner here?”

  “Sadly, no, but I’m just preparing in case God finally decides to smite you.”

  He pulls me tighter against his chest, and I can’t help but look up at him. There’s nowhere else to look. “You’re a firecracker, did you know that? I can’t imagine you with a good guy. I don’t think a good guy could handle you.”

  “You don’t know anything about good guys, Yuri.”

  He inhales sharply, and I wonder whether I didn’t somehow hurt his feelings, but before he can say anything, a tall blond man in black pants and a blazer taps him on the shoulder. Yuri looks up at him and smiles.

  “Mind if I cut in?” the man asks, tipping his head to me.

  I feel like a woman in an old-timey movie. Men can’t just “cut in” during a dance. How does this guy know we aren’t a couple? How does he know he didn’t just make a move on another man’s wife? The idea of Yuri and I being married—or Yuri being married to anyone at all—almost makes me laugh.

  That laugh dies in my throat, though, when to my astonishment, Yuri drops my hand and agrees. “The dance is yours.”

  I’m still standing there, stunned, when the man wraps his hand around my waist where Yuri’s just was and grabs my other hand in his own. I feel like my entire body is blushing, not from flattery or embarrassment, but anger. I’m not a tin of mints to be handed around to random men. I have a say in who I dance with. Or, at least, I should. I was only dancing with Yuri because he threatened me, so who is he to hand me off to a stranger?

  “I’m sorry, but I actually—” I start, but the man’s arm tightens around my waist and he shakes his head. My heart splutters in my chest. Who is this guy? Who did Yuri give me to?

  “I’m going to talk,” the man says through a fake smile. “And you’re going to listen.”

  I blink several times.

  “Do you understand?” he asks.

  When he pulls me even tighter against him, I finally nod.

  “601278203138,” he whispers slowly. “Now, repeat that.”

  I stare at him blankly. “What?”

  He huffs. “Listen and repeat. The song is almost over. Sixty. Twelve. Seventy-eight. Twenty. Thirty-one. Thirty-eight.”

  My heart is hammering in my chest, and I have no idea what is going on, but I feel like if I pass this test, the man will let me go. So, I take a deep breath. “Sixty. Twelve. Seventy-eight. Twenty. Thirty-one. Thirty-eight.”

  Just as I say the last number, the piano player finishes his song with a flourish and stands up as the crowd claps. The blond man takes my hand, bows, and then is gone. Yuri immediately takes his place.

  “Repeat them.”

  “Who was that?” I ask, watching the blond man head for the doors into the lobby. He’s leaving.

  Yuri steps closer to me until he’s all I can see, and that’s when I notice the flashing red light in his hand. He has a recorder, and I’m supposed to repeat what I just heard. Voice shaking with confusion and fear that I’m becoming part of something unforgivable, I repeat the numbers once, and then again. As soon as I finish the second time, Yuri drops the recorder in his pocket and walks me back to the table. He orders another bottle of wine, and I drink more than I should.

  Chapter Eight

  Yuri

  I wish I knew what Bella is thinking. About the man who cut in on the dance floor. About the numbers she had to memorize. About me.

  She looks incredible in the dress I ordered for her. I got her size from a shop she went to the week before. The woman behind the counter was more than willing to give me Bella’s information when I told her I was Bella’s boyfriend and wanted to surprise her with a dress for our anniversary. People love being part of other people’s romantic gestures.

  It’s devastatingly low-cut, revealing the entire inside curve of her breasts, and it takes physical effort not to lick my way across her exposed skin the way I did in the suite. And the hemline is shorter than anything she normally wears. Whether because of her own preference or her father’s political status, her hemlines usually remain firmly around her knee, but now she’s showing off a delicious slice of thigh, and I can’t help but remember how they felt wrapped around my waist.

  Having sex with her was the best bad idea I’ve ever had. It complicates things, weakens my control over her. How is she supposed to take me seriously when she watched me fall apart inside of her? But the more important question is: how am I supposed to care when falling apart felt so good?

  “What was that about?”

  Bella’s slur pulls me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring at her chest during my entire reverie. Bella must have noticed because she twists slightly away from me and crosses one arm over her chest. The other is too busy holding onto her wineglass.

  I raise an eyebrow in question and she sighs. “You know what I’m talking about. The man on the dance floor. The secret numbers.”

  I hiss for her to lower her voice. “Emphasis on secret.”

  She waves a dismissive hand at me. “No one is paying attention to us.”

  “That isn’t true.” I tip my head towards the bar and the bearded bald man who has been staring at Bella like he’s trying to communicate telepathically with her. “He’s paying a lot of attention to us. Or rather, to you.”

  She looks over, tips her chin down in a shy smile, and winks at him. The man bites his lower lip, and I want to rip it off his face. Instead, I drop my fist on the table a little harder than necessary. Bella looks over at me and rolls her eyes. “Is it against the rules for me to flirt with guys now? I need to keep a list of everything I’m not allowed to do.”

  “Flirt with whomever you want,” I say. “This isn’t high school. I just wish you’d stop flirting with men who don’t have a chance with you. You’re going to make them think they can do better and ruin them on other women forever.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, her lips pouting out in a way that makes me want to pounce on her. “You keep saying that like I’m a supermodel or something. I don’t exactly have men beating down my door.”

  “You could change that if you wanted,” I say simply, afraid to say much more.

>   Bella tilts her head to the side, her freshly washed hair tumbling over her shoulder in loose waves. Her face is bare and interesting, and I want to study it, figure out what it is about her that draws me in. But she’s staring at me, and I don’t want her to see what is behind my eyes. “You know, that was almost a compliment.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Bella tucks her legs underneath her and leans across the table on her elbows. Her dress is gaping open around the neck, and I can see the points of her nipples. She licks her lower lip. “I think I’m drunk.”

  “No, you aren’t,” I say, leaning back in my chair like I’m not already hard. “But you’re close.”

  “I probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.” She takes a deep breath, her chest heaving, and I’m practically throbbing inside my trousers. “So, you might as well tell me who that man was. Why did he make me repeat those numbers? And why did you need them?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s absurd. “Maybe I was wrong. Because you must be drunk if you thought that was going to work.”

  She frowns and drops down in her chair. “Can we go now?”

  “Are you done flashing me to try and uncover my secrets?” I ask in a teasing tone.

  Bella finishes the last drink of wine in her glass and stands up, pulling her dress down so it covers the tops of her thighs. “Unfortunately for you, yes. If you’d played along, I had a lot more left to show.”

  I quirk an eyebrow, interested despite myself.

  “You bought me a dress, but you failed to buy me any panties.” She flashes me a wicked grin and then walks across the bar. I watch her go, imagining what’s underneath. Then, thanks to my vivid imagination, I’m forced to wait a few minutes until I cool down to follow her.

  When I get to the room, she’s already inside, sitting on the sofa.

  “You left me,” I say, unbuttoning the top couple buttons of my shirt.