by Roxie Rivera
He smiled knowingly but didn't push the issue. We finished breakfast, and I started to clear away the table. When I began to load the dishwasher, he called out to stop me. "I'll do that after you're gone. Come here, Bianca."
Wondering what he was playing at, I nevertheless returned to the table. He clasped my hands and dragged me between his wide open thighs. The heat of his caressing hands seared right through the silky fabric of my robe and the thin cotton nightshirt I'd donned earlier. He captured my mouth in a slow, easy kiss. The taste of blueberries and the sugary sweetness of syrup teased me.
When his hand glided along my thigh and slid toward my panties, I gasped and pulled away from his mouth. "Sergei, what are you doing?"
"Sh." He gently hushed me while slipping his fingers under the cotton guarding my pussy. "Let me."
Even though I could think of a dozen reasons why we should stop, I slid my feet apart and welcomed his sensual touch. Sergei nibbled my earlobe while probing my folds. When he cupped my breast, I arched into him and groaned, encouraging his exploration.
With a needy growl, Sergei lifted me right up and placed me on the table. He swept the newspaper onto the floor and shoved aside the remaining dishes and breakfast items. A man on a mission, he opened my robe, pushed up my nightgown and jerked my panties down my thighs, throwing them over his shoulder and letting them land heaven only knew were. Before I recovered from the shock of being so hastily undressed, Sergei freed that massive cock of his and stroked it from the base to the tip and back down again.
Breathless, I reminded him of our lack of protection. "Sergei, we can't—"
"We aren't," he assured me. Leaning over me, the big, sexy Russian kissed me until I was dizzy. "I'm not going to make love to you on a table." His mouth curved impishly. "Well—not our first time, at least."
Still wondering what he had in mind, I gasped when he dragged the blunt crown of his fat cock between my labia. He gathered some of the wetness at my entrance and used it to ease the friction between our bodies. When he circled my throbbing clit with the head of his penis, I finally got it.
"Ah!" Falling back against the table, I brought my feet up to rest against the wooden edge. Sergei's free hand slid under my nightgown to torment and tease me. He continued to rub his cock between the petals of my sex and made sure to bump against my clit with every stroke.
I couldn't believe how good it felt. Unlike the pressure and firmness of his fingers, the tip of his cock was softer and yielding but so hot and smooth. The width of his thick shaft stimulated so much more of me. Wanting him closer, I hooked my feet against his backside and hauled him in a little tighter. He grinned down at me and sped up the pace of his thrusting cock.
Clutching his forearm, I was shocked by how close I was to coming. Somehow Sergei had figured out the combination to my orgasm lock. He swirled the head of his dick around my clit, and I came with a loud cry. The intense waves of pleasure rolled through me while he rubbed against me faster and harder.
Still shaking with joyful bursts, I wrapped my hand around his cock and started to caress him. Sergei gripped my thighs in those big hands of his and pumped against my palm. Sucking in air, he thrust toward me and climaxed. The first splash of his seed hit my lower belly, followed quickly by another and another.
Sergei slumped over me on the table and crashed his mouth to mine. Gathering me in his arms, he dropped down into the chair and hauled me onto his lap. He smoothed back my hair and whispered sweetly to me in between his erotic kisses, telling me I was beautiful and sexy. I could feel the pearly beads of his cum cooling on my skin and reached down to wipe them away with the hem of my nightgown.
"Don't," he chided softly. "I like the look of my cum on your skin."
I should have been offended by the remark but the possessive glint in his eyes made me quiver. With a quirked tilt to my mouth, I asked, "What? Are you marking your territory?"
"As pretty as you are, I probably need to," he replied with a husky laugh.
"That goes both ways," I murmured, thinking of how damn sexy he was and how many other women would kill to have him.
"You think I'm pretty?"
I rolled my eyes and pinched his arm. "You know what I meant."
"I do." Chuckling, he brushed our mouths together. "Even though I want to take you to bed, I know I have to let you go. You need to get moving if you're going to get to church on time."
"Considering the sinful things we've been doing, I definitely need my dose of the gospel this morning."
Sergei gestured toward the ceiling. "I hear he's rather forgiving."
Sliding off his lap, I pecked his cheek. "For our sakes, let's hope so."
Laughing, he popped my bottom before I moved out of reach. "I'll have that door fixed in a few hours."
"I won't be home until the early evening. Mama and I go out for a nice lunch after church and then she likes to go over to the shop for a few hours."
"I'll take care of dinner."
My heart raced at the idea of spending another night with him. Was I ready for that? We had agreed to try dating but this didn't feel exactly like dating. We were charting new territory for me. I'd never allowed a man to stay over at my place, and this breakfast thing was a first, too. Now he wanted to make me dinner?
"Unless you'd rather I give you some space tonight?" he asked carefully.
"No." The word was out of my mouth before I had a chance to overthink the situation. I decided to go with my instincts on this one—and my instincts urged me to keep him close. "I'd like to spend time with you tonight."
Still seated, he grasped my hand and tugged me back to his side. Cupping my nape, he peered into my eyes. "You're afraid."
I swallowed and nodded. "I blew off all that talk of my prowler during the reception but honestly? It scared me to hear something—someone—walking around my yard in the dark. I liked having you here with me last night. It made me feel secure."
As if making a vow, he pressed his lips to my bared neck. "I'll keep you safe, Bianca."
Embracing him, I inhaled his masculine scent and relished his heat. "I know you will."
Chapter Five
"Well, what do you think?" George wiped his hands on a rag and gestured to the beautiful wooden door they had just finished installing.
Sergei stepped back to admire the stained glass inset in the polished and richly stained wood. "It's perfect. She's going to love it."
"It's damn close to the picture you brought down to my warehouse."
Eerily so, Sergei thought to himself. He had gone to see George hoping the master carpenter would have something left over from one of those multi-million dollar builds that might fit Bianca's house. He had been fully prepared to walk away empty handed and in need of a temporary door from a hardware store. The second George had taken a look at the photo Sergei had borrowed from Bianca's inspiration board, the older man had simply laughed and beckoned Sergei to join him in that massive workshop of his.
"You know," George leaned his shoulder against the house, "I actually put in a job bid here a few months ago."
"For what?"
"Full bathroom and kitchen remodel and the carriage house out back. I got the feeling she wasn't expecting numbers that high. She was really sweet about it but declined to hire us. It's a shame." George ran an appreciative hand along the side of the house. "It's a beautiful old place. I still can't believe she got it for a song at that tax sale."
Sergei suppressed the annoyance that flared within him at the discovery that Bianca had probably gone to every single contractor in the damned city except him for help. "Do you still have a copy of that bid?"
"Sure. You want it?"
"Yes."
George's brow lifted. "You thinking of taking on the work? I thought your guys only did retail."
"They do. It wouldn't be my guys. It would be me alone on some projects and hiring out for others."
After settling up with George for the cost of the door, he tidied up the front p
orch and entryway before washing his hands. The lukewarm water pouring over his hands reminded him that he needed to get a plumber out here to look into replacing that water heater. There were certain jobs Sergei didn't mind tackling on his own but plumbing wasn't one of them.
His phone began to ring so he dug it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. The number he recognized as Kostya's made his chest tighten. A call from the cleaner on a Sunday? That was never a good thing. "Yes?"
"Meet me at Sugar's. We have a problem."
The call ended just as abruptly as it began. The very last place he wanted to visit on a Sunday afternoon was one of Kostya's strip clubs, but he didn't question the order. With a tired sigh, Sergei pocketed his phone and left Bianca's house. It wasn't until he'd been driving for nearly ten minutes that he remembered the new keys to the front door were both in his pocket. Thankfully, Bianca could still get in the side or back entrances. He hoped to beat her home because he wanted to see her face when she first noticed the new door.
By the time he made it to the strip club, Sergei had the emotionless mask that he wore at work firmly in place. Whatever Kostya had called him here to see was probably going to be terrible. After his amazing night and morning with Bianca, Sergei began to understand how difficult it was for Nikolai to separate the two halves of his life—and why their boss wanted to move the family into cleaner, easier earning.
Parking his SUV in the rear of the joint, he made sure to lock the doors. Unlike some of the higher-end clubs Kostya partly owned, Sugar's was in a seedier area and served a low-rent clientele. At the back door, he banged twice on the dented metal with his balled-up fist and waited for an answer. A scrawny kid who looked to be maybe twenty opened the door and waved him inside.
Sergei stepped by the kid and headed down the narrow hallway. The heavy hip-hop beats from the stage area and main floor reverberated through the thin walls of the backstage section of the building. A couple of women in bikinis two sizes too small strutted by him, their bodies dusted with glitter and their faces covered in a thick layer of makeup. Here, in close quarters, he was able to see what the makeup and onstage lighting camouflaged—the tired lines around their mouths and eyes, the subtle signs of aging and the deadness in their gazes.
Hugging the wall, he gave them a wide berth but smiled kindly. He understood only too well what it was like to be stuck in a job that seemed to suck the life right out of you. Until Nikolai had transitioned him to Vivian's keeper, Sergei had basically spent the last few years hurting or intimidating anyone who stepped out of line or threatened the family. It wore on him, tearing at his conscience and worse. In the end, his loyalty had been rewarded with a stake in the construction business and the cushier job protecting the boss' most precious possession—but he remained firmly under Nikolai's thumb.
Stripping for fat, groping fucks with handfuls of wrinkled dollar bills on a Sunday afternoon wasn't a dream job for these women. They weren't shaking their asses and rubbing their tits in the faces of men that soured their stomachs because they enjoyed it. No, they wanted to keep a roof over their heads or food in their children's bellies or buy medicine for their sick parents.
The blonde closest to him playfully rubbed his stomach as she passed. He didn't bat away her hand, though the urge was strong. In a world where flirtation went hand-in-hand with a paycheck, he couldn't blame her for trying, but his entire body rebelled at the alien sensation of another woman touching him. With her kisses and gentle caresses, Bianca had branded him as hers. As if already mated, it was only her scent and heat that he craved.
The women continued on their way, and Sergei's nose twitched at the smell of their cheap clashing perfumes. His brain conjured the pleasant scents that swirled around Bianca. Everything she chose, from her soap to her perfume and hair products, complemented one another so nicely. She just smelled so damned good.
Kostya stepped out of a door. The grim look on the man's face didn't bode well. Sergei joined the cleaner, glanced through the open doorway behind him and was surprised to find Nikolai crouched in front of a black couch where a couple of women were sobbing softly into their hands. The sight of his boss in a strip club knocked Sergei for a loop. As long as he had known the boss, he had never once seen him in a place like this.
Upon closer inspection of the women, he realized they had been beaten—or worse—overnight. After years of fighting for money, Sergei had come to recognize the color shifts in bruises that formed after a bout of violence. The maroon splotches and purple streaks marking their arms told him the oldest blows had happened sometime last night. Some of the newer, fresher marks on their necks and bellies were only a few hours old. Fury bubbled in the pit of his stomach when he began to count up the bruises.
Movement in the corner of the room caught Sergei's eye. He spotted Besian, the recently promoted head of the local Albanian outfit, leaning against the wall and looking murderous. Glancing back at the women, Sergei tried to figure out what the hell was happening here. He couldn't make the connection between Kostya's piece of action in Sugar's, the two strippers and the two bosses until Nikolai addressed one of the women in Russian, telling her that he was going to take care of everything. It occurred to him that the woman was one of them, part of their tight-knit community of immigrants and ex-pats. Whatever terrible thing had happened to her, Nikolai had taken it as a personal affront.
Rising tall, the boss glanced at him. The briefest hint of sadness flashed across the other man's face. Was he thinking of how nice and easy it was last night at Ivan's wedding and how messy things were probably going to turn? Did Nikolai feel some guilt at whatever he was going to ask of Sergei?
Besian stepped forward, laid a gentle hand on the other woman's shoulder and spoke to her in Albanian. The sound of ice rattling against plastic caught Sergei's attention. He leaned back for a better view of the hall and discovered the scrawny kid bringing a bucket of ice from the bar and a handful of plastic bags and towels.
With the women occupied nursing their injuries, Nikolai gestured to the hallway. Sergei fell into step behind the two bosses who followed Kostya to an office. When Besian dropped into the chair behind the desk and looked instantly comfortable, Sergei realized the Albanian owned part of the club. It wasn't the first time Kostya had crossed party lines to make a business deal, and Nikolai obviously didn't mind. Still, Sergei doubted their boss would have let anyone else in their crew get away with so bold a move.
Closing the door, Sergei took up a sentry's position inside the office, automatically putting his body between Nikolai and any danger that might come through the portal. After settling into a chair across from the desk, the boss rubbed his face between his tattooed hands and exhaled roughly. He'd seemed tenser lately and short-tempered. Sergei hadn't asked what was bothering Nikolai because questions like that were none of his business, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the man who had saved his life not so long ago.
"Last night, those women were picked up a by a couple of guys who turned out to be recruits for nochniye volki." Nikolai said the words with a disgusted sneer.
Night Wolves. It was the name of the local skinhead gang. They weren't major players in the Houston underworld, especially not after backing Grisha in his failed coup against Nikolai. Most of their gang had been rounded up on charges of murder and human trafficking. The men who had avoided the legal entanglements seemed to be on a recruiting drive for racist assholes, something that Houston sadly seemed to have in abundance these days.
"Apparently, the girls thought they were working a private bachelor party, but as you can see, it turned out to be anything but that. Those two got away and hid at a friend's house until this afternoon. There was another one who wasn't so lucky." Nikolai shook his head as he continued the gruesome tale. "This morning, they found her body behind Besian's social club."
Sergei inwardly winced but didn't allow a single change to his cool, collected façade. His gut roiled. What had those two women in the other room surviv
ed? What about the one who hadn't been able to get away? What had she endured? No doubt those racist bastards had been exceedingly cruel.
The boss spun his wedding ring around his finger. Was Nikolai thinking of the horrific ordeal Vivian had survived when she had been kidnapped and prepared for trafficking? Or was he thinking about the young girls—most of them underage—who had been held captive with Vivian and later rescued from the clutches of the Night Wolves gang that was selling them?
"I've got the police so far up my ass I can taste donuts." Frustration filled Besian's voice. "They know the woman worked here so they're convinced I had her taken out. It's so stupid. Shawntelle was one of my best earners! Why would I hurt her?"
Nikolai's irritated gaze slid to Kostya. "This is exactly why I keep us out of this line of work." He gestured around the office. "You sit here in this nice room and rake in all the money while other people have to degrade themselves." He let that cold, terrifying stare of his land on the two business partners. "I hope the thousand dollars they paid you upfront for that bachelor party was worth it."
Kostya visibly flinched but didn't utter a word in his defense. Even Besian squirmed a bit uncomfortably. Thinking about the women in the other room, Sergei decided to break the silence. "What are we going to do about the girls?"
Nikolai glanced at him. "Danny is on his way. Take them to see the doctor. I would have preferred for them to go the official route, through the emergency room and the police, but they're refusing so this is the best we can do for them."
Sergei didn't like the idea of covering this up, but the women couldn't be forced. They likely thought they would be safer relying on street justice for protection than the police or district attorney. Sergei wished their instincts were wrong—but he conceded they were probably right. Knowing what they had been through, he would be extra gentle with them. "I'll take care of them."
"I know you will." Clearly, Nikolai had handpicked him out of every man at his disposal for a reason. This was a task that required some sensitivity. "When they've been treated, take them to the apartment complex we just renovated. They had their wallets stolen so they're afraid trouble will follow them home. The manager is expecting them at the complex, and Danny will handle whatever moving arrangements need to be made."