Knocked Up by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Levushka Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  Steadily, he builds up a rhythm until I’m writhing beneath him, helpless and inflamed with no desire to be rescued. I need more.

  This doesn’t feel the way it did alone in my bedroom. With my own hand between my thighs. This feels nothing like that. It is deeper, more animalistic. Aleksandr is lapping at me and sucking my bundle of nerves in a way that is more reverent than I ever touched myself.

  Just when I think I can’t handle any more, he brings the hand behind my thigh to my front and begins massaging small circles with his thumb just above where his tongue is destroying me.

  It is the most I’ve ever felt at once.

  The sensation is overwhelming and all-consuming, and I have to bite down on my own palm to keep from screaming out. The fire builds and builds, being stoked by the furious flicks of his tongue and thumb, until it breaks.

  Wave after wave rolls through me. My entire body clenches and releases to a primal rhythm that only Aleksandr and I know.

  I throw my arms over my head and turn my face into the comforter. I squeeze my eyes shut and ride the wave as he laps me up and then massages me back down. When I’m finished, I am limp and lazy, and I barely notice when Aleksandr pulls my panties down my legs.

  He crawls over me, drawing his hands over my stomach, taking my shirt with him so he can pull it over my head.

  His knees are planted on either side of my spent body, and he looks down at me, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. And hungry.

  “That was fucking hot,” he growls.

  I feel like I could roll over and go to sleep, but the deep baritone of his voices vibrates in my bones and wakes me up. Suddenly, I’m not scared or nervous. I reach down between us and unbutton his pants.

  He lifts his knees to assist me in kicking his pants off, and then before I can lose my courage, I hook my fingers on either side of his boxer briefs and push them down.

  I marvel at the size of him when he springs free between us.

  I could feel when he was pressed against my leg that he wasn’t small, but I didn’t quite expect this.

  Almost as if reading my thoughts, he smiles and bends down to nip at my lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel good.”

  “God, I know,” I murmur, still feeling the gentle thrum of my first orgasm pulsing through my body.

  A proud chuckle rumbles in his chest, but the sound is cut short when my hand wraps around his length. It transitions into a grunt as I pull down his length and slide back up.

  Based on the small whimpering sounds coming from the back of his throat, I assume I’m doing it right.

  Aleksandr falls forward onto one of his elbows, and I press a hand to his chest and roll him over onto his back. It is my turn to explore.

  He flops over willingly, and I kneel next to him, amazed at the perfection of his body. The deep indentations that cut inward from his hips, directing me to the main attraction like flashing lights along an airstrip. The marble-cut edges of his pecs and the corded muscles in his arms flexing as he grabs a handful of the comforter.

  “So good,” he groans, as I slide my hand to his end and then back down. I feel like I should be more nervous, but admiring and appreciating his body is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I simply let my hand explore where it wants to explore, and Aleksandr moans.

  I’m just getting into a rhythm when he shakes his head, and then reaches out, grabs me by the hips, and pulls me over him. My legs settle on either side of his hips as he slides a condom on. When he is finished, I lean forward to kiss him, squeezing my eyes closed, trying to ignore the nervous thrumming of my heart.

  What if it hurts? What if he is too big? Barring an immaculate conception, I know I’m not physically a virgin, but emotionally I still feel like I am. What is it going to be like to give that up?

  Aleksandr tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and draws me in to a long kiss. He sucks on my lower lip and swirls his tongue against mine. It is intimate and close, and I melt down against his body.

  Then, his hand moves from my neck to my waist and my hip. Then, he slides between us and positions himself at my opening. My breath catches.

  “Stop thinking,” he says softly against my cheek.

  I turn my head and catch his lips with mine as he pushes up into me.

  My lips part in a gasp. The movement is slow and gentle, but he is spreading me like I’ve never felt before. Each small thrust of his hips fills me more until I’m not sure I can take anymore.

  Then, Aleksandr wraps his arms around my back and pulls me down. My legs spread further, and I can feel that we are as close together as humanly possible. I sink down onto his chest, reveling in the sensation.

  Aleksandr purrs in my ear. “You are so tight.”

  I circle my hips over him, amazed that it could feel this good again so soon after my first orgasm. I lift my hips and drop down onto him. I rock and slide and experiment, and Aleksandr just digs his fingers into my hips and holds on for the ride.

  Soon, I hit a rhythm that sends jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I lift myself up and lean back, balancing myself with my palms against his thighs. Aleksandr sits up slightly to watch me, his eyes drinking in the sight of my body working over his.

  We make eye contact, and I relish the sense of control. Knowing that I have the ability to make a man as strong and commanding and handsome as Aleksandr Levushka bite his lip and groan. It feels good.

  He presses himself up to sitting with one hand behind him, the other wrapped around my waist, and thrusts his hips into me as I circle him. The combination is too much, and I let my eyes fall closed and tip my head back.

  Aleksandr moans and before I even know what is happening, he tips me backward and is crawling over me.

  “You are too sexy,” he says as if it is a bad thing. “You do it without even trying.”

  I reach down between us to find his length, desperate for more of him.

  He chuckles. “You’re greedy, too.”

  I stretch up and kiss his jaw and his neck. I lick a line up to his ear and suck the lobe into my mouth, nibbling at the soft skin there.

  Aleksandr sighs and then presses a hand into my chest and pushes me back on the mattress. He dips over me, his lips coming so close to mine but never actually touching. His eyes are almost black, the pupils blown wide. He looks serious, and if I wasn’t so desperate for his touch, I might be afraid.

  “Roll over.”

  I do it without question, and when he grabs my hips and props me up on my knees, I arch my back to give him better access.

  His hand smooths over my backside, and then without warning, he presses himself to my entrance and slides in to the hilt.

  I fall forward onto my elbows and gasp.

  Unlike the gentle touches and tender kisses at the start, his thrusts now are merciless. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, and I have to grab the blankets to keep myself from sliding forward off the bed.

  The backs of my thighs sting, but it is nothing compared to the friction between my legs. My entire body is humming with the onset of another release, grasping at him prematurely, desperate. And I can tell by the ragged sound of his breathing that Aleksandr is close, too.

  He leans forward, his weight resting partially on my back, and wraps an arm around me. His finger finds my center easily, and with the first swipe over my sensitive clit, I’m a moaning mess.

  I reach back and dig my fingers into his thigh, clawing at him to bring him closer, to beg him for more. Faster.

  I don’t realize I’m saying it out loud until Aleksandr groans behind me. “Tell me what you want.”

  “More,” I sigh, pressing my face into the mattress and taking deep, greedy breaths. “Harder. More.”

  The slap of his thighs against me is brutal and punishing and yet still not enough. It won’t be enough until he breaks me.

  “Faster,” I breath, gripping his thigh. “More.”

  His thrusts match with the thundering of my heart, a
nd when he adds a second finger to my front, rubbing at me with abandon, I can’t hold it back anymore. I arch my back, lift my head, and give in to the moment.

  Pleasure rushes from my center to all of my extremities, and my legs are trembling from the release when I feel Aleksandr slow down. His thrusts become more purposeful, and I can feel him jerking inside of me.

  He falls forward, his cheek pressed against my spine, his heart racing against my lower back.

  When we are both finished and spent, he slides out of me and falls on the bed next to me, his chin resting on my shoulder. He kisses the back of my head and sighs.

  “Still feel like you’re on fire?” he whispers.

  I can only laugh and whimper.

  Chapter 14

  Aleksandr

  I’m not the kind of guy who makes breakfast. Or lets a woman sleep in my bed.

  But when I roll over and see Zoya sleeping behind me, her hair spread out across my pillow, one arm thrown over her head, I will do just about anything to keep her from leaving.

  The sex was incredible.

  Zoya took her time, and she took charge. Usually, I like to be the one in control. Most of the women I’m with end up with their hands pinned over the head just to keep them from pawing at me. But I didn’t mind Zoya’s touch. The feather-light touch of her fingers, almost nervous.

  Watching her explore was almost as good as the actual sex. Almost.

  Her eyelids flutter, and I almost turn away so she won’t know I’m looking at her. But the temptation to watch her wake up is too strong.

  Her tongue slides out to lick her lower lip and then she presses her full lips together and pinches her eyes closed as she stretches. It is so close to the O-face she made last night that I have to suppress a groan. When she finally rolls over and looks at me, I’m smiling.

  “Good morning.” She says it like she is surprised to see me next to her. “How did you sleep?”

  “Well.” Surprisingly well, actually. Considering I’ve only shared a bed with a woman a few times in my life. “How about you?”

  “Good.” She rolls over and nuzzles her face against my chest. Then, she wrinkles her nose.

  “Do I stink?”

  She looks up at me. “No. You smell amazing.”

  “Then why the face?” I tape her nose, and she wrinkles it again.

  “Because it isn’t fair that you look this good and still smell great first thing in the morning.”

  I laugh and lay a hand on her bare hip. She cleaned up after we had sex, but I insisted she keep her clothes off. Now, I’m grateful for that decision. I let my fingers trail down her leg, feeling the goosebumps rise across her skin. “You smell good, too.”

  She covers her mouth with her hand. “That’s because you haven’t smelled my breath.”

  I use my nose to try and push her hand away to get at her mouth, but she shakes her head and giggles, keeping her hand cemented over her lips. “No, it’s bad.”

  My hand slips between her legs, and her giggles turn to sighs, muffled by her palm. I dip into her warmth, and she opens her legs wider. But still, when I lean forward, she widens her eyes and shakes her head.

  I groan and roll away from her, taking my hand with me.

  Her chest rises and falls rapidly. “God. It is too early to be this turned on.”

  “I would have taken you all the way, too,” I tease, gesturing to her mouth. “But you were too self-conscious.”

  “No, I was worried I’d knock you out,” she laughs, throwing back the covers and getting up.

  Clearly, being self-conscious isn’t an issue.

  Zoya’s naked body is silhouetted against the curtains. She throws her arms over her head, her body stretching long like a cat. Her ass is smooth and tight, and I can see a hint of the curve of her breast, and I’m tempted to drag her back to bed, morning breath be damned. Before I can, however, she spins away from me and moves towards the bathroom.

  “I’m going to shower.”

  I start to get up immediately. “I’ll come, too.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “No thanks. I’ll be out in ten.”

  I flop back on the bed and try to ignore the need between my legs. I can’t remember ever feeling like this about a woman. Especially after I’ve already fucked them.

  The water starts to run in the other room, and laying there thinking about Zoya’s naked body dripping wet isn’t helping my situation, so I pull on clothes and go down to the kitchen.

  Boris has been in and out all week, so he has given his chef the last few mornings off, and based on the lack of breakfast in the kitchen, I assume she is off again. Which is actually fine with me. Breakfast is one of the few meals I can cook well, and it gives me something to do until Zoya is out of the shower.

  I heat a skillet up, drizzle oil in the bottom, and crack five eggs in the bottom. I have to scrape eggshell out of the mixture, breaking a yolk in the process, but it is salvageable. While the eggs sizzle, I grab kolbasa from the fridge and slice off a few heart chunks, dropping them in with the eggs. Then, I grab tomatoes and bell peppers from the pantry.

  Ask me to give a man a close shave with the edge of a sharp knife, and I can do it with my eyes closed. But chopping vegetables proves to be another skill entirely. By the time I finish with the tomatoes, they are a soupy mess of seeds and sludge, and I cut my finger twice trying to slice the bell pepper. By the time I get the vegetables to the pan, the edges are turning black and smoke is accumulating.

  “Fuck.” I turn and drop the vegetables back on the cutting board, wipe my hands on the towel hanging from the oven, and pull the pan from the burner. The handle is metal and burning hot, and I immediately feel the palm of my hand begin to welt. “Shit.”

  I grab a towel and use it to hold the handle while I try to scrape the eggs out of the skillet. The undersides are dark brown and crispy rather than golden brown and chewy. The smell of sausage has been replaced with the odor of ash.

  “I usually like my eggs over easy, but extra crispy works, too.”

  I growl and look over my shoulder. Zoya is standing in the doorway in a long gray t-shirt dress that clings to every curve of her body, her hair hangs in a wet bundle over her shoulder, and her face is bare and pink from the heat of the shower. She looks good enough to spread out on the island and eat.

  I continue scraping at the eggs for another second, hoping something of the meal might be saved, but Zoya lays a hand on my arm. “I think we have to call it, Alek.”

  I tense at the nickname.

  Only Mikhail called me Alek. All at once, I realize he will never call me that again.

  I almost correct Zoya and ask her to call me by my full name, but I don’t. Because hearing the name on her lips didn’t feel wrong.

  It felt familiar. It felt intimate.

  I drop the spatula and run a hand down my face. “I was going to make us breakfast.”

  “And you did,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling her body against mine. “It just isn’t edible.”

  My frustration begins to ebb away when I see her playful smile aimed at me. “Maybe you were right about me. I’m better at being served than servicing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “You did a pretty great job of servicing me last night.”

  She presses her hips more firmly against me, and I’m hungry for something other than food now. I lean down and nip at her exposed neck, breathing in the vanilla scent of her soap. She sighs, stretching out her neck, and then quickly pushes me away.

  “Food first.”

  I sit down at the island while Zoya scrapes the burnt remnants of my breakfast attempt in the trash and cracks a few more eggs in the pan. She browns some of the kolbasa in a separate pan and throws in the vegetables I chopped near the end, hitting them with a dash of freshly ground pepper and salt. It smells heavenly.

  “This was my dad’s favorite breakfast,” she says, smiling at me over her shoulder. “My mom or I
made it every weekend.”

  “He was a good man,” I say.

  “You knew him?” She seems surprised.

  I nod. “I spoke with him a few different times. He enjoyed his work here. Maintaining the grounds, being outside. He seemed really happy.”

  Zoya smiles. “He was.”

  Then she turns away from me, tending to the breakfast, but I see the slope of her shoulders change. Her head is hanging down. When she slides over and turns around, leaning back against the counter, she is biting the corner of her mouth. “My dad loved his job here, but he wanted more for me.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  My own father never seemed to want anything from me. In fact, the less he had to deal with me, the better. That is why I just did my best to do my work and not raise any alarms. Mikhail didn’t live by the same principles, clearly. I’m fascinated by the idea of an actual father-child relationship.

  “You asked me what I liked to do for fun last night,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. I do my best to ignore the way the movement presses her breasts higher and lifts the hem of the dress higher on her thighs. “Well, I’ve always liked graphic design.”

  She smiles as she says it, as though she is releasing some long-held secret.

  “Really?”

  “My dad saved up to buy me a computer so I could work on my designs. He wanted me to go to school for it and find a job in the city.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She shrugs, the smile fading again. “He got sick, and I wanted to be close by. I thought maybe when he got better, I would give it a try. But…”

  “He didn’t get better,” I finish for her.

  She nods and then looks down at her stomach. “And now…”

  “You’re pregnant,” I finish again, clenching my teeth through the words. Even though he didn’t mean to, Mikhail really did fuck up everything he touched.

  Zoya takes a deep breath, filling her lungs and straightening her shoulders, and then lets it out. “Life happens. All we can do is roll with the punches.”

  I know she is talking about her father’s death and the unexpected pregnancy, but I can’t help but wonder if Mikhail’s death was one of those punches.