Dirty Obsessions: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse Book 5.5)

by Kenya Wright

  My cock jerked to life. What could be better than this moment? Ava danced right in front of me. Only a few feet rested between us. No one else could see her—not the audience or her devoted fans. This moment would be all mine. And in any second, I could rush onto the floor and capture her. Take her away. Gather her in my arms. Peel that leotard off and pierce her with my cock.

  A horny beast woke within my core. He’d been in a deep sleep. I’d gone out and killed for Ava. Stabbing and slicing men with no dread or sense of wrong. I would do anything for her. No one would harm her. And now she danced in front of me. I felt like a warrior that had just come home from war and she was the beautiful maiden performing only for me.

  Arms folded and on tiptoe, she dreamily twirled around in a circle. She glided and then leaped, flying above the floor. When she landed, she coasted in a swift forward-drifting motion. Then she spun around. The movement flowed. Excitement buzzed through my body. She leaped, landed, and spun again. In that moment, I realized that she had her eyes closed. My heart raced.

  And then the song and her merged. I did not know where the notes began and she ended. They united in one perfect motion. She rode melody, spinning, and skittering across the floor. This room had never known such magic in its life. This property would forever be better because of it.

  Opening her eyes, she slowly danced over to me, but not too close. Three feet lay between us. She did a slow bow, then rose, and spun around.

  I bit my lip.

  When she faced me again, she lifted her leg and balanced on one pointed toe. “Do you know where this song comes from?”

  Speechless, I only parted my lips. It was like an angel had come down from earth to speak to me.

  She widened her eyes. “Misha?”

  I cleared my throat. “I know the title, but that doesn’t matter. I call this Ava’s song.”

  A smile spread across her face. “This is from the ballet, The Red Shoes.”

  “Have you performed in it?”

  “No, but that’s a dream of mine.”

  “You would be amazing.”

  A blush hit her. “The story within the ballet is based on a Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale about a pair of enchanted crimson ballet slippers.”

  “And is there a princess? A queen or some form of royalty should be your next role.”

  Remaining on one toe, she lowered her leg and then flatted her feet. “She’s a young socialite who loves ballet.”

  I shrugged. “Not good enough for you.”

  She grinned. “It’s still a great role.”

  “You should have a crown on your head, Ava.”

  “This is why I can’t get enough of you. I feel like a queen around you.”

  “As you should. Always.” I left the wall and took two steps her way, unable to have so much distance between us. “But tell me more about this socialite.”

  “She gets the attention of a famous director who wants her to dance for him. However, he makes her promise to allow him to control everything.”

  “I don’t like the director.”

  “Me either.” She spun a little and then tiptoed to me. An inch of space rested between us. “The heroine rises in fame and becomes the prima ballerina. During that time, she falls in love with the director’s talented composer.”

  “Hmmm. So the director becomes enraged with jealousy?”

  “He does and tells her to either give up her love for the composer or stop dancing.”

  “She chooses ballet?”

  Ava shook her head. “She went for love.”

  I lifted my hand and brushed my fingertips along her chin. “That’s a sad choice to make.”

  “Maybe not.” She closed her eyes.

  I slipped my fingers along the curve of her neck. “Maybe not?”

  “She loved him more.”

  “But it wasn’t fair to make her choose.”

  Ava opened her eyes. “Sometimes we must.”

  “And what about the red shoes?”

  Ava smiled. “Later, the director returns to her while she is married to the composer. At this point, she missed her dancing so much. While her husband, the composer, is out of town, the director lures her into coming with him and dancing the ballet The Red Shoes.”

  “A ballet within a ballet.”

  “Yes. Like I said The Red Shoes story is based on Hans Christian Andersen and it’s a tragic story. In that story, a woman puts on enchanted shoes and discovers that she can never stop dancing. In the end, she gets a saw and cuts her feet off. The ballet shoes dance away with her feet inside of them.”

  “A tragic story indeed.” I slid my hand down to her waist and tried to wrap my arm around it.

  She slipped away. “But back to the original story.”

  “The torn ballerina, the angry husband, and the despicable director.” I closed the distance between us but didn’t touch her.

  “The husband is enraged when he returns to his empty home. He goes to where the ballet is happening, storms into her dressing room, and demands an answer. She explains that she has missed her dancing. It’s her passion. At that moment, the director steps in and appears victorious. The husband argues she must choose between ballet or their marriage.”

  “Another hard decision. It appears her husband didn’t love her at all either.”

  Ava quirked her eyebrows. “You don’t think so?”

  “Both men keep making her choose between her passions.” This time I captured Ava, drawing her body against mine. “What did she say to her husband?”

  “She cried.”

  I grimaced. “No. This isn’t your role. You’re too strong to play her.”

  Ava laughed. “So, the husband leaves. The director gloats and goes off to the stage to introduce her.”

  “And what does our tormented and crying ballerina do?”

  “She puts on those red shoes, steps onto the balcony outside of her dressing room, and jumps off it, falling onto the train her husband was planning to take.”

  “Suicide? I don’t know which ballet is more tragic—the one with the red shoes or the one about our heartbroken ballerina.”

  “The ballet ends with her husband holding her dead body and her ghost performing the ballet on stage in those enchanted red shoes.”

  “Why do you like this role?”

  “I feel bad for her.”

  “And you understand her too. The shoes. The inability to never stop dancing.”

  “Maybe.” She bit her lip.

  “But what about those choices?” I asked.

  “I hated that the director and even her husband always made her choose.”

  “It was wrong.”

  She whispered, “It was.”

  I ran my fingers through her hair. “I would never make you choose, Ava. Ballet is your passion.”

  “I know, but I didn’t bring this up for me.” She lifted her arms, rested them on my shoulder, and wrapped them around my neck. “I wouldn’t make you choose either.”

  I smirked. “Between my world and you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not necessary.” I picked her small frame up and carried her over to the mirrored wall with the barre.

  “That’s not necessary?”

  “There’s no contest. If it is you or the Brotherhood, I choose you. Always.”

  “But. . .this is who you are.”

  “And I still choose you.”

  “I won’t make you choose, Misha.”

  “Which makes me crave you even more.” I kissed her and then pulled back. “But my life. . .”

  “It scares me.”

  “I never want to lose you.”

  “We’ll figure out a way.”

  The next song came on. When I first heard the tune long ago, I recognized it immediately as the Dying Swan. Although I loved when Ava danced to this, I had other plans.

  I released her and stepped back. “Get on your toes.”

  With a devilish grin, she obeyed.


  “Does it hurt?”

  “In the beginning. Long ago. Now it feels normal.”

  I leaned forward. She raised her chin, probably believing my target was those lips. Instead, I captured the curve of her neck, sucked a little, and then nibbled.

  Gasping, she lowered onto her feet and tried to hold me.

  I stepped back. “Get back on your toes.”

  She panted and rose on those points. “I don’t want to dance anymore.”

  “But I do.” I grabbed her waist and gently turned her around. She put her hands onto the barre to probably maintain balance.

  I pressed against her back, pushing my cock against her ass and wishing I’d taken it out of my pants. I kept my grip on her waist, helping her remain on those toes and giving her my body to rest against.

  I watched her in the mirror. “Pull down the front of that leotard. I want to see your breasts.”

  Lust filled her eyes. “And if I refuse?”

  “You like to taunt me.”

  “I do.” Still on her toes and balancing against me, she yanked the top down. Her small breasts popped out. Her stiff nipples bobbed.

  “When you practice, you usually wear a bra. You wanted to tempt me this time?”

  Her response was a wicked smile.

  My voice went hoarse. “Lower onto your feet.”

  She did. “No more dancing?”

  “I want you to rest while I play.” I slipped my hands up from her waist and cupped both of her breasts.

  She leaned against me. With both hands, I tenderly pinched the nipples. A soft moan escaped her parted lips. Wondering about her response, I slowly twisted the sensitive points. She stirred and licked her lips.

  “I want more private dances.” I pinched her nipples again and rolled them between my fingers. “Will you give them to me?”

  “Anytime.”

  I moved my hands down past her waist and stopped at her exposed thighs. “You’ll find that I may request a dance every day.”

  “And I’ll always oblige.”

  I stepped back, took off my jacket, and slung it on the ground. Smart, she didn’t move away from the mirror or pull her leotard back up. Returning directly behind her, I lowered to the ground, balanced on my knees, and breathed in her ass. Her scent triggered an immediate erection.

  She giggled. “Misha, what are you doing?”

  Squeezing her ass, I brushed my lips against her hip and kissed her thigh. “Lift your leg like you did before when you were stretching.”

  All humor left her face. Slowly, she obeyed.

  I groaned at the view—Ava in a leotard with her legs open and above my face. I became delirious with all the possibilities. I kissed her inner thigh so close to her pussy, but not ready to taste the delicious warmth.

  Her legs shivered.

  I glanced at her in the mirror and saw I had all of her attention. Lust blazed in her eyes. Unable to control myself, I tugged the leotard material away from her pussy, exposing those warm folds to me.

  “And after your private dances, I will lick you while you stretch.” Without warning, I sealed my lips onto those folds, giving her pussy a kiss I hoped it will never forget.

  She gasped. “Misha.”

  “I love it when you say my name.” I returned to kissing that pussy, sucking little spots along her swollen clit and lapping circles until she stirred. I moved away. Her arousal smeared along my lips. “Play with your nipples.”

  She panted and touched her nipples.

  “Yes. Just like that. So sexy and all mine.” I noted how she gave feathered strokes to the points. I would do that in the future and enjoy the reaction. I slipped my hands up her legs and spread her pussy apart, revealing the sweet pink silk of that inviting tunnel. “How I wish I could live here.”

  She opened her mouth and paused from playing with her nipples.

  “Did I say you could stop, Ava?”

  She swallowed and returned to squeezing each tender point.

  Spreading her folds more, I softly blew into the hole. Immoral thoughts played in my head. My hard cock grew harder. Painfully stiff. Almost agonizing as it weighed heavy in my pants. But I wouldn’t touch or pull it out. “How does it feel, Ava?”

  “Warm. Good. Like. . .nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

  I blew again and then slid two fingers inside. What more could I ask for in this lifetime? Her pussy was above me—wet and hungry. Looking so tasty. So delicious. The view had me spellbound. After all, men were visual creatures. And what could entice us more than the image of wet, inviting pussy close to our lips.

  Unbearably patient, I stroked her with my hands and watched her face. Her eyelids sensually dropped down at the corners. Those eyes softened as her pupils dilated.

  “Misha, please.”

  I lapped at her clit. “Please what?”

  “Fuck me.”

  “With what?”

  The leg balanced on the barre shivered. “Misha.”

  “My hand. My cock. My tongue. Which one do you want?”

  “Your cock.”

  I rose from my knees and unzipped my pants. I didn’t yank out my shirt or undress. I had no time.

  She watched me in the mirror’s reflection. “Hurry.”

  My cock twitched, loving how she begged. Right behind her, I pulled my cock out between the unzipped hole. “Hurry?”

  She blinked. “Yes.”

  I smirked. “Not please or Master?”

  “Master? Really, Misha?”

  I slid my hands down the hungry length and squeezed the mushroomed tip. It had tinted red in agitation, so ready to be inside of her. “Rise.”

  With the one foot still on the ground, she went to the point of her toe, positioning her pussy perfectly for me. “Come on, Misha. Give it to me.”

  I grunted. “Say please.”

  Usually, she would test me some more, but this time she moaned. “Please.”

  I licked my lips. “Please, what?”

  “Fuck you, Misha.”

  An evil chuckle left me as I pierced her with my cock, but didn’t move. I just stayed right inside of her. She tried to inch back and forth on the length.

  I gripped her waist hard. “You’re mine and no one else’s.”

  Her words came out in pants. “I thought we already established that.”

  “As long as we both agree.” And then I went to the seductive business of fucking her. How long had I imagined Ava naked and in this position? Her breasts bobbed in the mirror’s reflection. I held her up so she wouldn’t have to balance all her weight on that toe. I needed her to focus on my cock and the way I made her feel as I pumped into her.

  “Oh!” She trembled against me.

  Lifting her higher so that her toe was no longer touching the ground, I pounded into her. She held onto the bar, moaning and shrieking.

  Some other song came on, but I couldn’t gather the melody. Only Ava had my attention. The room darkened around us. The weight of the world left my shoulders. This moment was the only thing that mattered. It was only her and I, making love underground. She climaxed, rocking back into me and pressing her face against the mirror. The glass fogged around her lips. I rammed my cock deep into her, knowing that the visual would make me cum.

  “Oh!”

  “That’s right, Ava.”

  “Oh!”

  Holding her close to me so that I was super deep, I shot inside of her. My cock vibrated from the force. Groaning loud, I pumped some more, spilling every drop.

  “Oh!”

  “Take it!” I rammed my cock in some more. “Fucking take it!”

  My chest heated. My heart raced. Sweat dripped down my face. Only Ava could transform me from calm and collect to a deranged horny mad man.

  When we finished orgasming, I helped her down and pulled my cock away. She lowered her leg from the barre, turned around, and stumbled to the side. I caught my disheveled ballerina—leotard wrenched from here to there. Hair sticking to her forehead. Wild satisfactio
n in her eyes.

  She raised her hand to my face and touched my lips with her fingertips. “I love you.”

  My body froze, yet the words escaped from my mouth. “I love you too.”

  I gazed at her, more surprised. Of course I loved her, but to say it aloud? To truly admit it to her and myself…

  Shock filled me.

  She slipped her fingertips along my lips as if gathering up those words. “I meant what I said. I won’t make you choose between your world and me. Somehow I’ll figure out a way to accept it all.”

  I searched her face and witnessed the honesty. “And I meant what I said. If you can’t accept it, then the choice is yours. I’ll leave it all behind. I won’t lose you.”

  Chapter 18

  Ava

  Days passed.

  Most mornings, Circuit and Misha labored and supervised the Rainbow Hats in searching desperately for Leonid’s location. Every time they found a possible spot, Misha and his men rushed off. Yet they never found him.

  One time, I overheard Naveen and Misha arguing over a location Misha’s men were watching. The name Taya Turgenev kept coming up. Naveen thought they should do something to this woman to get Leonid out of his hiding. Misha disagreed.

  I searched her name myself and discovered it was Leonid’s sister.

  Misha has limits to what he would do. Thank God.

  Meanwhile, no further communication came from the Xecutioners.

  After a few days, I began dancing in my practice room in the morning. Soon, Misha’s men moved a desk into my room and placed three laptops on top of it. As I twirled and spun, Misha sat at the desk, typed on those laptops, and spoke on the phone. Every few minutes, I would catch him intensely gazing at me. I became addicted to those moments, needing him to always be around while I danced.

  In the afternoons, Misha and I ate lunch with Maxwell. I enjoyed the funny man from New York and loved his accent. He reminded me so much of home.

  In the evenings, I played 3D chess with Circuit while Misha met with Naveen and Maxwell. Only God knew what those three plotted as I played. Circuit had no patience with my trying to learn this new game. Still, he took his time, teaching each move to me.