Scarred: A Russian Mob Romance (Anosov Family Mafia) (Scars and Sins Collection Book 1)

by Vivian Gray

  Anton wrapped his hands around my thighs and, in one fluid motion, stood up. I wrapped my legs around his hips as he carried me to his desk and sat me on the edge. He placed a hand on my neck, tipping my head back, deepening the kiss as he slid out of me and then back in. The animal hunger from a few moments before was gone. Now, he was taking his time, savoring the sensation.

  I groaned into his mouth. How had the tides turned so quickly? Only moments before I had owned him. Now, he was laying claim to every part of me. His hands roamed over my body and my breasts and my hips while he continued thrusting into me slowly, demolishing every wall that had been built up between us.

  All I could do was wrap my arms around his neck and cling on. This wasn’t sex like I’d ever known it. This wasn’t fucking or animalistic desire. This was making love. And if it hadn’t felt so good, I would have been terrified. Instead, I pulled away from him and moaned. I pressed into his neck and bit down on his shoulder as pleasure pulsed from my center in warm waves, reaching out to my toes and fingertips. My body shook against his, clenching around him as he began to break apart as well.

  When we were finished, we stayed there, wrapped around one another. The only sound was our ragged breathing.

  Then, Anton pressed his lips to my neck and whispered, “I want you here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bailey

  I went back to my own room. Anton said I could stay in his, but it felt like too much too fast. Like he was trying to prove something to me by letting me sleep next to him. I didn’t want to pressure him or force him. I wanted his head to be clear. I didn’t want him to let me sleep next to him when he was riding the post-sex high and then wake up in the morning with regrets. So, I crawled into bed in the guest room and stared up at the ceiling.

  Anton was an amazing lover. Like, incredible. Easily the best I’d ever had. He knew when to be gentle and draw the sensations out of me slowly. He knew when to slam into me until pleasure and pain mingled in a toe-curling orgasm. I didn’t want to think about how many women he must have slept with to become that good. Anyway, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t held my past against me, and I wouldn’t do that to him.

  When I’d first met him, he’d seemed rigid. A true businessman. Now, though, I saw the softness in him. It had taken a lot for him to admit he wanted me in his house. I’d almost felt bad about forcing it out of him, but we both needed to acknowledge our feelings. He had told me multiple times that I could stay with him. That I was welcome. And I knew he meant it, but there is a difference between an annoying houseguest and someone you choose to live with.

  I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to recognize me as more than a woman down on her luck he had taken in out of the goodness of his heart. I wanted to be the woman who made him ache with pleasure, who he was excited to come home to.

  I rolled over, trying to get comfortable. After being with Anton, I’d wanted to fall asleep wrapped up in his scent, but I’d been too sticky and sweaty to even think about getting into bed. I needed a shower badly. But now my wet hair was sticking to my face, and it had soaked through the pillow, leaving it cold and damp.

  I even considered tiptoeing across the hallway and taking Anton up on his offer. I could slide into his bed, and perhaps he’d even be ready for round two. I resisted though. I didn’t want to scare him away. I didn’t assume he and I would make it long-term. And that was okay. I didn’t have any expectations for our relationship, working or personal, and I assumed Anton didn’t either.

  It was too soon for either of us to make that kind of commitment. All I wanted from him was respect, which was more than I ever got from Brendan. I also needed to know he wouldn’t wake up in the morning and change his mind about me. That I wouldn’t get comfortable with him and then find myself on the curb in front of his building, hitching a cab back to Brendan’s.

  Because I couldn’t do that again. I’d been away from Brendan for a few days, which had been long enough for my bruises to heal. The faded purple marks on my arms from his thick fingers dragging me around the house were almost gone, and I didn’t intend to have any new ones. I needed to stay with Anton long enough to be able to afford a place of my own – a few months minimum. Longer if things went well.

  And so far, they were going incredibly well. Brendan had demanded my obedience with violence, but Anton asked me for it. He had a quiet kind of dominance that drew me to him, and his reward system was out of this world. It had been over an hour since we’d had sex, and I could still feel the after-effects of my orgasm flowing through me. Sex with Brendan had been forced and painful, but with Anton, I could tap into what my body really wanted.

  Just the thought of it had me running my fingers down my chest, trying to remember what it had felt like when Anton did it. The way he had controlled my body with the softest touches. Then, my fingers ran a little lower, drawing circles above my waistband, teasing what I really wanted. My breathing grew more ragged as my fingers slipped below my waistband and bypassed the elastic of my panties.

  My cheeks flushed with just the thought. Was I really going to touch myself? Apparently, yes, because my fingers were already beginning to circle over my most sensitive area, my toes curling up, before I could stop myself. I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining Anton walking in and seeing me. Imagining him directing my fingers and then taking over himself. My back arched and I stifled a groan.

  When my phone rang, I practically jumped out of my skin. My hand shot out of my pants, and I sat up as if my mom had walked into the room and caught me. I groaned and reached for my phone, annoyed at having been interrupted. When I saw the name on the screen, I recoiled.

  Brendan.

  Why was he calling me again? I was tempted not to answer, but I hadn’t really spoken to him the last time he’d called. Anton had taken the phone from me before I could let my feelings be fully known. Anton had also told him not to call anymore, but maybe hearing it directly from me would help Brendan finally get the message.

  “Hello,” I said as flat as possible.

  “Hey, Bay,” Brendan said, his voice annoyingly hopeful. “How are you?”

  “Brendan, we both know you didn’t call for small talk. What’s going on?”

  “I miss you.”

  I rolled my eyes but said nothing.

  “I should have treated you better,” he continued, sounding like a child, who hadn’t read their study book, trying to give a report. Like every sentence was a question, and he was waiting to see whether he’d said the right thing.

  “No shit. And I should have left you years ago.”

  He hesitated. I could hear his breathing on the other end of the phone, sharp and heavy. “You don’t mean that.”

  “It was bad enough that you hit me, Brendan. I should have left you then. But then you bet me. You bet me. Do you realize how fucked up that is? Whatever this thing between us was, it wasn’t love. Not ever. It was broken. Toxic.”

  “We weren’t toxic.”

  I continued, talking over him. “You were controlling, and I was weak, vulnerable. I needed a safe place to go, and you knew I wouldn’t leave. It was all about control for you, and you proved that when you treated me like a fucking chip in your poker game.”

  “Stop, stop, stop,” he said, constantly mumbling as I spoke.

  “You shouldn’t call me anymore. I’m not coming back, ever.”

  “Stop!” He finally shouted loud enough to grab my attention. I froze, the words I’d wanted to say for so long sitting unspoken in my throat. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

  “You’re not listening, Brendan. You are the regret. Our relationship is my regret. Spending years with a man who didn’t appreciate or value me is my regret.”

  Suddenly, Brendan’s apologetic guise was gone. The soft tone and kind words he’d spoken a moment before were as inconsequential as smoke. “One day, this will all end. You and Anton playing house in his fancy apartment, fucking on his thousand-dollar sheets – all of it will c
ome tumbling down, and then who will you turn to?”

  “Fuck you!” I said, angry at him for pretending to know our situation and for managing to get a rise out of me.

  When I’d answered the phone, I had every intention of telling Brendan how I felt and putting it all behind me, but now I felt my blood boiling, my nostrils flaring. He still had some kind of control over me that I couldn’t shake.

  My words didn’t seem to matter to him. He continued on as though I hadn’t spoken. “Like always, you’ll come crawling back to me. And what will you do if I decide I don’t want Anton’s sloppy seconds?”

  “I don’t need you to take care of me,” I snapped.

  He laughed. “That’s not what you said when you were fired. Do you remember? The way you showed up at my house, crying and begging me to let you live with me? I can’t live on the streets again, Bren.”

  He was mocking me, his voice high-pitched and whiny. I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. I also wanted to hang up the phone and cry. How could I have ever been with someone so heartless? So cruel?

  “You don’t know this, but I’d seen you before we ever met,” Brendan said.

  My heart stuttered in my chest, feeling wrong. A nauseating anxiety rolled through my body as I waited with baited breath for Brendan to explain what he meant.

  “I saw you on a street corner with your tits hanging halfway out and a skirt so short it barely covered you. As I watched, a car pulled up, and you slipped inside.” He paused, his breathing heavy and staticky through the phone line. “You were a fucking prostitute before you met me, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll be one again.”

  My vision went blurry, and it took me a few seconds to realize I was crying. That son of a bitch had made me cry. I’d sworn I wouldn’t let him do that again. But when I’d made that promise to myself, I hadn’t known Brendan knew about the most shameful part of my past. I hadn’t known he’d seen me at my lowest point, and I certainly hadn’t known he planned to one day use it against me.

  It was only for a few nights. It was a miracle Brendan had seen me at all. I spent three nights standing on the corner because I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in days, and I couldn’t find work. I did what I had to do to survive.

  “Does Anton know about that particular era in your history?” Brendan asked, his implication clear.

  “What do you want?” I asked, the question coming out in a twisted snarl.

  “I told you what I want… You.”

  My heart was beating out an angry rhythm in my chest, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. I needed time to understand my option, to grasp what was at stake. I couldn’t be rash the way I’d been with my boss at the diner. I couldn’t bulldoze my way through my problems. I had a job now. I had Anton. I didn’t want to do something reckless and lose everything.

  Brendan must have taken my silence as compliance because his voice softened as he continued.

  “Just meet with me, baby,” he said, the words dripping with false sweetness. “Come see me. Let me explain everything. Let me show you how good things can be again.”

  “What if I don’t?” I whispered.

  “I’ll tell Anton about your past and let him decide what to do.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “No – that is such an ugly word. Honesty. I’ll tell him the truth. He deserves to know the woman he is fucking. The problem is that unlike me, Anton may not appreciate your colorful past.”

  I wanted to tell Brendan that he was wrong, but I honestly didn’t know how Anton would take the news. Running a criminal operation meant he wasn’t exactly an angel, but would he be okay with his girlfriend having once been a prostitute? Was I even his girlfriend? I had no idea where we stood or where our relationship was headed or what kind of damage this information would do. I didn’t know anything, so I just sat on the bed, the phone pressed to my ear, staring at the blank wall across from me.

  “So, will you meet me?” Brendan asked. “Or do I need to give your boyfriend another call?”

  I wanted to tell Brendan to go to Hell and hang up, but I couldn’t afford to. At least for the time being, until I knew where Anton and I stood, I needed to humor him.

  “Yeah, I’ll meet you,” I said.

  Then, I did the only thing I could to assert some form of control. I hung up.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anton

  I’d paid off police before. People would be shocked how easily their law enforcement officials could be kept quiet. Honestly, it didn’t even cost much. If any of the officers I dealt with had any idea how much money I made trafficking guns out of the US, they would ask for a lot more money.

  Every time I have to do it, the incident leaves me nervous. Bribery itself is a felony, so if the officers were recording the incident, I could be screwed. However, the fact that they took their money and left reassures me. But still, I spend most of the night lying awake worrying about it, amongst other things.

  Mostly Bailey.

  I didn’t want things to get serious. She was beautiful, and I liked her spirit, but a relationship between the two of us was not supposed to be in the cards. I didn’t have room in my life for a serious girlfriend. So why, then, had I told her I wanted her to live with me?

  Her body. That was why.

  I would have said anything to end the torture of seeing her naked body on top of me and not being inside of her. She was like a siren, and I was the stupid man sailing for my doom, lured by her incredibly sexy thong… I mean, song.

  But I had to admit that on some level, I did want her to live with me. I didn’t want her to leave, at least. Not anytime soon. It was nice to hear her moving around the penthouse, to hear the sound of someone else occupying my space. I’d lived in silence for years, and I’d never truly grown accustomed to it.

  At five in the morning, I finally gave up on the idea of sleep and rolled out of bed. I turned the shower on way too hot until it scalded my skin, embracing the biting pain, and then dressed in a suit. I wore the same thing most days because: firstly, it was one less decision to make, and secondly, a good suit can make you feel put together even when you are falling apart. And even if I wasn’t quite falling apart yet, I felt as though I was beginning to crumble.

  I walked lightly down the hallway, trying not to wake Bailey, but when I got into the kitchen, I realized she was already up. She had two steaming mugs of coffee in front of her and had the newspaper open in front of her, covering her face. She lowered it as I approached.

  “Good morning,” she said, smiling and sliding the second mug over to me.

  I smiled back and took a drink, the liquid burning my tongue. I took another drink. I needed the pain to keep my composure. Looking that good first thing in the morning should be illegal.

  She had on a white dress that cut down across her chest, revealing her pale cleavage, and had a slit that exposed most of her thigh when she was sitting cross-legged. Her red hair was wavy and pulled back into a low-ponytail that I wanted to tug on while I pushed the dress up around her waist and made her moan the way she had the night before.

  I cleared my throat, trying to calm the wild animal inside my chest and my pants. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

  Bailey slid the business section of the paper to me. “I couldn’t sleep. Why are you up so early?”

  “Same reason.”

  “Do you want breakfast? I saw some oatmeal in the pantry.”

  I shook my head. “No, coffee is great.”

  She nodded and bit her lower lip.

  What was happening? Why did this feel so weird? I’d been comfortable around Bailey from the moment I’d met her. It felt as if I had always known her. But now, the newness of our relationship – if it could even be called that – was tangible, like a third person in the room.

  “Well, I’m going to make oatmeal,” she said, standing up, and then hesitating, her hands on the island countertop. “If that’s okay?”

>   “Oh, yeah. Of course. Make whatever you want,” I said.

  Did she think she needed my permission to eat? She’d never asked before. Was she the one acting strange, or was it me? Or both of us? Was this because of last night? Had my admission that I wanted her here made everything feel too serious?

  I hated that I felt so unsure. I prided myself on being confident, on knowing exactly what to say and when to say it. But with Bailey, I felt like a pubescent teenager, trying to navigate both my out of control horniness and my nerves whenever she was around. I hated it.