“I am. Couldn’t sleep,” he admits, his voice husky and low.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I place my palm on the back of his hand.
He doesn’t say anything, humming against my ear instead of speaking. I don’t bother asking him again, knowing that he will ignore the question. It’s obvious to me that his lack of answer means that everything is not all right. I wish he would just talk to me. I want to know. The weight of whatever this thing that is wrong is keeping me down.
“You going anywhere this afternoon?” he asks me, his lips brushing right behind my ear.
“No,” I whisper as I try to keep from shivering in his arms.
“Come to bed,” he says, nipping the skin on my neck.
“I think we should talk,” I offer.
“Probably, but I’m going to fuck my wife first,” he says with a shrug before he steps back and then turns and walks toward the bedroom.
I follow him, still intent on talking before we do anything, especially since we’ve hardly talked at all the past week. Sex comes easily to us, but verbal communication is something we struggle with. I aim to see that rectified, for the moment, at least.
Walking into the bedroom, I arrive just in time to see Mika shove his boxers down and step out of them. He turns around and faces me, his cock in his palm as he starts to stroke himself, his eyes roaming over my body.
“Take your clothes off, lapochka,” he rumbles.
“We should talk,” I repeat, my eyes focused on his hardening cock. I lick my lips and press my thighs together.
“We can talk after, or while I’m inside you, but those are your only options,” he murmurs.
“Mikhail,” I breathe.
“Strip,” he demands.
I do as he asks. I take my clothes off until I’m completely exposed for him. He closes the distance between us and wraps his hand around mine before he walks back toward the bed, tugging me behind him.
He sits down on the bed, his cock in one hand, and his other hand sliding around the front of my throat. He caresses down to gently trace each of my breasts, causing me to shiver before he slides it over my belly. Slipping his fingers through my center, he finds that I’m wet for him, as always.
Mika slips two fingers inside of me, moving them in a come-hither motion, which almost knocks me off balance. I lift my hand and hold onto his shoulder while he finger-fucks me, slow and with purpose, his eyes focused on mine.
“Talk,” he offers with a grin.
“What’s—what’s been going on,” I moan the last word as I roll my hips, searching for more.
“I’m taking care of it. You’ll have to put your trust in me,” he murmurs as he presses his thumb to my clit.
“Mikhail,” I gasp as I squeeze his shoulder.
“Mmm?”
“I need more than that,” I say.
“I’ll give you what you need,” he growls, misunderstanding—or, at least, pretending to misunderstand what I’m saying.
“Not this. I need to know what exactly you’re taking care of. I know it has something to do with my father,” I state.
I whimper when he removes his fingers from inside of me. He wraps his hands underneath my arms and drags me with him to the top of the bed. He positions me so that I’m straddling his thighs, and then he aligns his cock with my entrance. His hands wrap around my waist as he slams me down until I’m completely full of him. I throw back my head with a long moan.
“What do you know?” he asks as he guides my hips, rolling them while I collect myself.
Once I have my faculties again, I start to move in my own slow rhythm, removing his hands from my hips and guiding them to cup my breasts. I’m surprised when he does exactly what I want, since I’m used to him completely taking over during sex, his need for control beyond anything I’ve experienced before.
“Not much,” I pant as I ride him, his cock filling me as I grind down against his pelvis. “Just that papa has been asking Aleksandra’s husband if she’s been in contact with me. And apparently, he’s behaving even more paranoid than usual,” I mutter as I reach for the headboard for stability.
Mika thrusts his hips up, his fingers pinching and tugging on my nipples hard, the action making me moan with pleasure. I’ve missed his touch of pain. I suck in a breath when he sits up and wraps his lips around my nipple, sucking my breast deep into his mouth.
I roll my hips, arching and pressing my breast closer, needing more from him. He grunts before he bites down on my nipple, and my entire body convulses around him, my pussy squeezing his cock. Mika groans against my skin before he moves to my other breast to repeat the motion. I whimper as I climb closer toward my release.
“Make yourself come,” he mutters against the hardened bud of my nipple.
I move one of my hands from the headboard and slip it between our bodies before I start to rub my clit. I teeter, so close to falling over the edge. I only tip over when Mika bites down against my nipple—hard.
Throwing back my head, I come on a long moan as Mika wraps both of his hands around my hips and thrusts up inside of me, coming on his own moan before he lies back against the pillows.
“You didn’t really talk to me,” I whisper as I try to catch my breath.
“Don’t get in contact with your father. Not until I finish what I’m working on, yeah?” he rumbles.
“I think I deserve to know why. I’ve given you a few weeks, and you’re not telling me anything, Mika,” I demand.
Mika wraps his hand around the side of my neck. His thumb traces my lips while his eyes follow the movement, and then he smiles sadly.
“Have you any more names you wish to discuss?” he asks, changing the subject.
It pisses me off. As much as I want to scream and yell at him about it, the entire mood in the room shifts, and it’s as if the space is covered in a blanket of sadness. It almost suffocates me, and that sadness radiates in his gaze.
Maybe I don’t want to know what’s going on. Seeing him so sad, feeling it to a point where it’s palpable, it makes me scared and wary all at the same time.
“What about Misha?” I ask, looking down at him. He gives me a sad smile before he speaks.
“You don’t have to name him after me. Give him his own name, lapochka.”
I looked up Misha, and it’s a nickname for Michael, which is Mikhail’s name. I fell in love with it instantly, wanting it to match Mika’s but still be on its own. I like how the other Bratva women I know have done the same thing over the years.
Haleigh named her son with Maxim, Maksimilyan. Emiliya named her first son with Radmir, Radoslav, and each boy’s name has started with an R since. I could list the women who have done the same, one by one, but there are so many. Why Mika doesn’t wish for me to do the same, I’m unsure.
“I want to, Mikhail,” I whisper, feeling hurt.
Mika notices, and I watch as his face softens. Then he nods, as if he’s made a decision, and he grins.
“Misha Rybin. It’s got a good ring, yeah?”
“I thought so,” I nod.
“Then that’s what his name will be,” he murmurs as he places both of his palms on my stomach.
“Misha Rybin,” he grunts. “Yeah.”
I watch her sleep, knowing my end draws near. It’s as if I can feel my life slipping away from me. The trigger hasn’t been pulled, and yet, I can feel death on the horizon. Though, as a man of the Bratva, aren’t I already half-dead anyway?
“Speak,” I growl into the phone, trying not to wake her.
“I have news. We need to talk on a secure line,” Konstantin says, his voice just a whisper on the other end.
“Call me on my office line in five minutes,” I state before I end the call.
Sliding from the bed, I find a pair of exercise shorts and slip from the room, giving my Oksana one last glance. I find it’s becoming a habit more and more to make sure I look at her before I leave a room. I take all of her in, as it could be my last time; as though
my soul will have her memory after I’m dead and thrust into hell. I know damn well I won’t be awarded a seat in heaven with my Oksana.
“Tell me,” I demand, picking my phone up on the first ring.
“He left his computer up and logged in. He’s passed out, drunk as shit. I had to take him to bed. The staff has cleared out for the night, as well. I don’t know how much time I have,” he murmurs into the phone.
I hear him clicking on the keyboard and then he curses.
“What?”
“He made a deal with an Irish hitman. They think you’re a traitor,” he explains. “There’s communication back and forth in his email. I don’t know why he’s left a trail. Fuck, this shit is bad. But Mika, there’s no name here, just this email address.”
“Give me the address,” I demand as I take out a piece of paper and a pen. Konstantin gives it to me.
“Now erase everything you looked for, get out of everything and leave. I’ll let you know when I find out more,” I order.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
“Konstantin?” I say before he can hang up.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you, brother,” I rumble.
“Anything to keep Oksana happy,” he states.
I don’t read into that. I refuse to even try. If I do, I might feel the urge to kill both Pasha and Konstantin, and I don’t want to kill Konstantin. I think that he’s a nice guy. Plus, he took a bullet for Inessa a few months back, and Dominik trusts him.
“You’re up late,” the voice on the other end of the line rumbles.
“You sound grumpy for it being not-so late in Cali,” I chuckle.
“What did you find for me?”
“An email address,” I state before I read it over to Oliver.
“This all seems so easy. He’s Irish, in the Irish organization; he’s been a hitman for them since he was sixteen. Technically, he works for them, but he only does hits, nothing else. He gives them a percentage of his money from each hit as his dues. His name is Ewan Murphy. Give me a few more hours and I might be able to get more on him, see if he’s been using his credit card anywhere that would put him near you,” he offers.
“I’m going to make a visit to Timofei. Call my cell if you have anything any time soon,” I rumble before he agrees and I end the call.
I walk back to the bedroom to grab a shirt and shoes, checking on Oksana one last time. Not long after, I’m out the door, jogging through the staircase to get to Timofei’s condo. I rap on the door, wishing it were earlier in the evening so that I didn’t have to disturb him, but not giving much of a fuck either. He’s the only one that might be able to get this shit handled with a little finesse.
“Is Sana okay?” he asks as soon as he opens the door.
“She’s fine,” I announce, walking right through his entryway and into the living area.
His condo is the exact replica of mine, except everything is flipped. I place my hands on my hips and look up to him.
“Mika?”
“Konstantin called me,” I murmur.
“And?”
“Pasha hired an Irishman, connected to the Irish mob, to do the hit. His name is Ewan Murphy,” I blurt. “Oliver is checking credit card bills and anything else he can to see if he’s even in the city,” I explain.
“Holy shit,” Timofei exhales as he runs his hand over his face.
“They think they’re doing him a favor, Timofei. They think they’re getting rid of a traitor,” I add.
“Christ,” he hisses. “He’s gone completely off his rocker. He got this idea from that Larisa bitch who hired the Cartel to off Inessa,” Timofei spits.
“No shit,” I grunt. “Do you have any way to contact someone in that group?” I ask hopefully.
“Everything with them was set up through papa. I don’t even have a way to contact my fiancée,” he says as he runs his hand through his hair.
“Fuck,” I bite out.
“No fucking shit,” he agrees.
“So we wait for Oliver to get back to us and hope,” I state.
“Unless you think Yakov has any way to get into contact? He was at the same meetings I was when I signed my marriage contract,” Timofei says with a snap of his fingers.
I don’t bother waiting even a breath before I pull out my phone and find Yakov in my directory, pressing send. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt about the time, even considering the fact that he has an infant.
“What?” he barks into the phone.
It takes me a few minutes to explain. By the time I’m done, Yakov curses Pasha, and luckily, he’s less pissed at me. “He’s done,” Yakov announces.
“Yakov,” I warn, knowing damn well talking like that about a Pahkan alone is enough to get him killed.
“I can call Patrick O’Neil. Hopefully he’ll agree to meet with me in private, without Pasha knowing. I can’t promise anything past that,” Yakov explains. I thank him and promise to keep him updated before I end the call.
“Yakov won’t end my father,” Timofei announces.
“No?” I ask.
“Nyet,” he grunts. “The time has come for me to stop being a cunt,” he chuckles, using the words his father constantly used toward him. “I’m ending him. It’s time.”
“Timofei, he’s still your father,” I murmur.
“Is he? Sending Oksana off with Gavril, a traitor, then having her kidnapped away from you, when she was under Uncle Sergei’s protection? Then telling her he was going to force an abortion? Even without all of that shit against my sister, he’s not right. There was his vendetta against the Cartel, who had nothing to do with my mothers’ death, not really. He’s built an alliance with the Irish, who, let’s face it, are the reason she died. I know it was a rogue solider who was trying to overthrow them, but he was Irish. I would have never made that alliance with the Irish—but it’s made. No matter what, I will uphold the agreement. Regardless, Pasha is done.”
“Timofei, I can’t tell you what to do, but maybe someone else would be better to handle this,” I suggest.
“It has to be me. He’s sullying the Vetrov name, turning it into something it isn’t. This is not the man that he once was, this is not the man from my childhood. This man is self-serving, he’s not doing what he taught me—that is—put the Bratva first, always. It needs to end now. I’m the only one, and I want to do it.”
I nod, noticing his fierce determination, and close my eyes. I don’t know what having a father past the age of twelve is like, but I imagine that it would be extremely hurtful to watch a man you’d admired your whole life become a stranger—someone you don’t recognize.
“You going to The Church tonight?” Timofei asks, changing the subject.
“Nyet, going to stay home. I’ll go tomorrow,” I shrug.
“Let me know when you hear back from Oliver and Yakov,” Timofei murmurs.
I nod and leave him for the night. I feel a little lighter, but the black cloud that’s been hanging over me is still very much there. Although, now I feel as though there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, like maybe the only way out of this isn’t death.
“HOLY SHIT,” I GASP as I spread my legs wider to fit his shoulders a little better between them.
I was asleep just seconds ago, but now I’m fully awake. Mika’s face is buried between my thighs, and he’s sucking my clit into his mouth as he slides two fingers inside of me. My head pops up and my fingers fist in his hair as he starts to scissor those two fingers.
“Mika,” I breathe.
He doesn’t speak, his eyes glancing up to me. I swear, they’re smiling as he works between my legs.
It feels so good. The best wakeup call I’ve ever had—in my life.
I roll my hips and press closer to him, needing to feel more of him. He moans against me, and I feel it as a shiver up my spine. I fist the sheets at my side and cry out with my climax, coming all over his tongue and not feeling the least bit bad about it, hoping Mika tastes exactly how much he und
oes me.
“Goddamn. Keep your legs spread,” he orders. In the blink of an eye, he’s inside of me.
Mika doesn’t look at me. He keeps his head tipped down as he stays on his knees, his hands wrapped around the inside of my thighs, holding them open and watching his cock slide in and out of my body.
“You were made for me, lapochka,” he rasps. “This cunt was made for only me. Nobody else.”
“Nobody else,” I whisper, holding back a groan.
“This body is mine, mine to fill with babies, mine to fuck—just plain fucking mine,” he growls.
I don’t know what’s going on with him, but my body is too overwhelmed with sensations for my mind to even fully comprehend what he’s saying. I moan as my head falls to the side, and his movements pick up, thrusting harder and faster inside of me.
“Touch yourself, Oksana. Feel how wet you are for me,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.
I release one of my hands from the bedding and slide it between our bodies. We’re soaked, or I’m soaked, just as Mika promised I would be. I decide immediately that I can’t worry about my level of wetness, not when he’s thrusting so hard into me my breasts shake with each move. I’m on the edge of coming, but I just need a nudge to topple over, and I won’t get it if I don’t touch myself.
My fingers press against my clit, and I start to rub it in firm circles, bringing myself even closer toward my climax. Then, with a gasp, I arch my back and come all around him, my pussy squeezing and then pulsing.
“Fuck,” he growls as he fucks me harder a few more times before he stills.
“Mika,” I whisper, moments later.
He doesn’t say anything as he releases my thighs, sliding out of me. Pressing his lips to mine, he throws his legs over the bed and stalks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I don’t know what’s wrong—if he’s upset or what—but I suddenly feel like that wasn’t just about being in the mood first thing in the morning.
I grab the sheet and pull it over my body before Mika walks out of the bathroom. He’s wrapped in a towel, his hair wet from the shower. He doesn’t even glance at me, and I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done wrong. Yesterday, he seemed okay. He stayed all night and didn’t work.
Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7) Page 23
