Deviant Prince: A Forbidden bad boy Mafia Romance. (Born to Darkness Duet Book 1)

by Claire C. Riley

  The butler was still waiting for me when I exited the bathroom, and I couldn’t even look him in the eyes. We were almost to the door, when someone called out the butler’s name to stop him.

  “Dusan, please tell the Zolotovs that since Father cannot host them for dinner this evening, that we will find a time to reschedule with the full complement of Vasiliev hospitality.”

  I felt frozen, staring out the crystal-clear glass of the ornate front entrance. Ivan was standing on the stoop, the limo idling in front of him. He glanced back at the house, and I saw the rage written across his expression. I did not want to step out of this house and get in a vehicle with him right now. I wished to be walking back to Alexander, that we might have dinner now, without his father, so as to delay what would likely be a brutal ride home with Ivan.

  But, also, a thrill shot through me. Alexander’s words meant that we would see each other again, and hopefully soon.

  Not able to suppress a soft smile, I turned from the door to face the son of the man who’d killed my parents. When I looked at him, though, I knew in my mind I could separate him from that, because now he wasn’t just the child of a murderer, he was a man who’d given me some of the best minutes of my life. I didn’t want this to be an ‘after’, one in which he’d gotten what he’d wanted, and we would move forward to be polite strangers.

  “Rescheduling dinner would be lovely, Mr. Vasiliev. Thank you.” I spoke softly, dipping my head demurely.

  “We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Zolotov. I look forward to speaking with you again. Our conversation tonight was… insightful,” Alexander’s voice lowered as he spoke, and promises swirled around his words.

  When the butler opened the door, Ivan angrily told me to hurry up. I hated walking out of the door and hated leaving Alexander. Ivan’s rage made my stomach hurt.

  Every step felt like the long hand of a clock ticking, counting down the seconds until I could touch Alexander again. Until then, I’d have to endure my husband.

  Ivan’s anger lessened some when the butler passed along Alexander’s promise of dinner later with the entire Vasliev family. But he still wasn’t happy.

  For once, and to my surprise, he didn’t touch me on the way home. And then he went directly to his study, leaving me to my own devices.

  Images of Alexander kept swimming through my head, and though he’d taken every ounce of pleasure I could muster, I still found myself touching, tasting myself, and remembering.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alexander

  She was right.

  I was playing with fire and if I wasn’t careful, I would get burned, but I couldn’t stop myself. Watching from the shadows as Marisha left the bathroom on still unsteady legs, her red hair wild on top of her head as she made her way towards a furious looking Ivan had pissed me off. He didn’t deserve such a woman and I despised him more in that moment than I ever had anyone before.

  He had what I wanted, and he wasn’t even appreciative of her.

  But I’d already planted the seed of seeing Marisha again. That would have to be enough for now. I frowned, realizing that convincing my father and mother was going to be harder than making empty promises of a future engagement.

  Dragging a hand down my face I turned and left the foyer, heading to my father’s study to go over the meeting he’d just had. It must have gone badly, for Father to cancel dinner and send Ivan away. I wanted to know every last detail of what was said and what my father planned next. Because one way or another, I was having that woman again.

  Good thing I was goddamn persuasive when I put my mind, and charm, to it. A dinner raincheck was happening. Period.

  *

  The wait had grated on my nerves. I’d never had to hit pause on a conquest. If I wanted a woman a second time, I made it happen in my own timing.

  But this situation made my normal behavior impossible. Bratva prince or not.

  The restaurant was busy and bustling with life, though we were led towards our usual private VIP area. As always, the atmosphere was electric in The Willow Tree. It was a favorite place of my mothers and my father had coerced her into allowing Ivan and Marisha to come and eat with us since we were all trying to play happy families for now. Of course, I’d been the one to originally convince Father. He’d been set on cutting Ivan out of the picture, business losses be damned. It had taken making him see the entire financial picture for him to agree to a rescheduled dinner. He’d been a phone call away from pulling our loyal men from Ivan’s various operations. The week’s fallout with the Semenov family hadn’t helped. Father held Ivan responsible for the arrest, though everyone knew Stefan couldn’t think his way out of a paper sack. The minute Ivan had pushed back, blaming his failure on the Semenov’s was the minute the meeting had crashed and burned.

  It had taken every ounce of my wit to make Father reconsider and have this joint outing to the restaurant.

  Of course, I hadn’t told him that I’d already promised said dinner. My father, as did all men, did best when he thought everything was his own idea.

  Attempted water under the bridge or not, my mother did not like Ivan and I had a feeling that I might have thoroughly pissed her off by suggesting we let the slight towards our family from Ivan marrying Marisha be dismissed. Mother had to really dislike a person to not consider a second chance. But, honestly, Mother had never been overly found of Ivan. His many years of loyalty had done nothing to soften her feelings towards him. I’d overheard her once telling Father that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she would not be swayed from her assessment no matter how much money Ivan brought the family.

  Father, on the other hand, agreed with my suggestion of a second chance at dinner once I’d reminded him of how much money was to be lost in severing ties with the Zolotovs. He was even happy in fact, because the next day he and Ivan had already struck a deal on a new business venture that was set to make us all a lot of money and, as far as my father was concerned, he was forgiven. The marriage issue, and the Semenov issue, were brushed beneath the carpet.

  Money made the fucking world go round. Anyone who said different, simply didn’t have money and were the kind of people who convinced themselves that true happiness came from other things.

  The chandelier over our VIP table was heavy and ornate, with crystals hanging swollen from its branches like blossoms. The lighting reflected the mood as Marisha and Ivan made their way to our table and we all stood to greet them.

  It took all of my willpower to keep my eyes on Ivan and off Marisha and her plunging neckline, though a length of sheer material covered her actual skin. She wore true red tonight, a color that suited her. On her, the sleek silk looked like a waterfall of blood and it made her pale skin glow. The curve of her freckled breasts seemed barely contained at the sides, threatening to peek out at any moment, and this dress had a slit like the cream one from the other night. Though this one was not as severe. The top of the slit skimmed mid-thigh and rose higher when she sat down.

  Her thick hair was pushed back behind her ears, but curled strands teased around her cheeks. Teardrop earrings delicately brushed her shoulders. She was queenly, the kind of woman that should marry into Bratva royalty. Not be married to a bastard like Ivan.

  “Alexander,” Ivan said, with a faint nod of his head as he shook my hand.

  It was clear as he moved his attention back to my father that he still saw me as a little boy and not a man ready to take over this family. I wondered briefly, how he would feel knowing that I’d fucked his wife and made her come so hard she’d almost fallen over when she’d stood back up.

  Would I still be deemed the little boy then?

  My jaw twitched with annoyance. Mother made small talk with Marisha, and Father and Ivan talked quietly, and despite my father trying to keep me in on the conversation, Ivan kept his attention solely on my father. Prick.

  Our entrees arrived and mother and Marisha lapsed into silence as they ate, though Ivan continued to talk through the entire thing like
he’d lost his manners in his year away from our family. The man had no fucking class, and as the evening wore on, I became more and more agitated with him, though you would never think so from my exterior.

  My eyes kept straying to Marisha. I loved watching women eat. Loved the way their lips wrapped around silverware, how they chewed, how they… swallowed.

  Mother's cell phone rang inside her purse and my father threw her a scowl. “Apologies, it’s probably Katya. She’s at a yacht party tonight and I told her to phone me when they left the port.” My father nodded in acceptance and she answered the phone, turning to one side so as not to interrupt the table too much. If it had been anyone else calling, mother wouldn’t have risked Father’s displeasure. But Katya was their princess.

  Marisha placed her napkin down in front of her, her meal of rabbit in red wine sauce half finished, and she pushed back from the table.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured politely. Mother nodded and smiled, her attention on the phone call as Marisha left the table.

  “I need to make a phone call too. I’ll be right back,” I said shortly after she’d left, and my father nodded, ignoring Ivan’s scowl. I stood and left the table, feeling Ivan’s stare on my back all the way across the restaurant.

  He didn’t trust me, and that was good because he shouldn’t. I was about to go and do dirty things to his wife. I’d teach him to treat me so indifferently.

  I could tell myself that wanting to touch Marisha again was only because Ivan was an asshole and I wanted to teach him a lesson. But I knew the truth. I wanted her, period. I wanted all of her. To be mine.

  Marisha was ahead of me, but my stride was bigger, and I caught up to her as we left the main hall. The restaurant was a particular favorite of mothers because it used to be an art gallery many years ago. Though mother still cultivated the top two floors on occasion when she held charity auctions and such. It was a win-win in her eyes. She got to do something good for a charity of her choosing, and Father got to meet some of the most wealthy of society and use them for his own devices when he saw fit.

  It was to these higher floors that I took Marisha now. Gripping the top of her arm and pulling her through a side door which led to a narrow staircase. She yelped a little as I pushed the door shut before slamming my mouth to hers. She didn’t fight me though. She opened up to me, allowing me entry, her hands finding their way to the back of my neck automatically.

  I kissed her hard, my tongue moving over hers, my teeth nipping at her lips. My hands found their way to her throat and I held her head still as I inhaled her from collarbone to earlobe.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” I said, my voice coming out thick with need.

  The space was dark, and all I could make out was the lights from her eyes and the soft form of her lips. I released her neck and took her hand, guiding her up the narrow staircase. At the top I pulled us left towards what used to be the Early Renaissance room, but was now nothing more than a square room with blank walls.

  The light in here was wonderful, shining in through stained-glass windows that filled one side of the wall. It used to be boarded up and used as more wall space for artwork, but when the paintings had gone, Mother had pulled it down and had the glass refitted. It was my favorite room in this place, and one I had brought many women to. Yet bringing Marisha here felt different. More intimate. And I bizarrely felt like I’d betrayed her for ever bringing another woman to this place.

  I guided her over to the windows and we looked out at the bustling world below. The window was set inside a bay, and the seating below was padded with cushions that I’d lain many women down on, but again, this felt different.

  “We don’t have much time,” Marisha said, turning to me, her pupils dilated, and her lips parted.

  “You read my mind,” I said, reaching for the back of her neck and slamming my mouth to hers again.

  She kissed like she’d been starved for years. She was hungry for more. With every kiss I gave, she sought to deepen it. With every flick of my tongue, she matched it with her own. Finally, she reached down and began to undo the zipper on my pants, her hands shaking.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, coaxing her hands away to do it myself.

  Marisha shook her head, her tongue darting out across her lips. “No, I want to.” She carefully lowered herself to her knees, the silky red dress rising to reveal the tops of her thighs and showing me the promise of what was still hidden, and she reached for my zipper again, and I realized she meant to let me fuck her mouth. I shuddered in anticipation.

  My pants dropped to my ankles, as did my underwear, and then her hand was sliding over my length as she teased the end of my cock with her tongue before slowly sliding me into the warmth of her mouth.

  A little teeth.

  A little tongue.

  A tightening of her grip.

  Fuck, I groaned as I gripped the back of her head with both hands, pushing myself further into her mouth. She looked up at me with big innocent doe eyes, her red painted lips tightening around my shaft and making a vacuum as I dipped my cock into the base of her throat. My balls tightened and she moaned and slid me out before taking me all the way back in again.

  I hissed, desire and need flooding every nerve. I wanted her to continue, but I wanted to fuck her too. I needed to be inside of her, taking what was rightfully mine and imprinting my cock inside of her so that later when Ivan fucked her she would only think of me. I wanted her to only ever think of me, and I always got my way.

  My cock swelled in her mouth at the prospect of being deep inside her and I gripped a handful of her thick hair using it as reigns as I impaled her mouth with my swollen cock. I sunk further into her depths as she lapped at the head of my dick, her fingers wrapping tighter around my length as I continued to fuck her mouth.

  I came all too soon. Hot spurts landing across her greedy tongue and dripping down her throat as we both groaned. I finally pulled out of her mouth and she looked up at me with those innocent eyes of hers, breasts now barely contained by the bodice of the dress and her chest rising and falling fast. A thousand thoughts flitted through my mind. Wonder and desire, and all-consuming hunger for her making my cock begin to harden again.

  “Is it my turn now?” she pleaded, her tongue swiping across her bottom lip again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marisha

  Alexander nodded hungrily, lifting me from the ground and jerking the red dress up to reveal my nakedness beneath.

  “You’re not wearing any underwear.” His voice was a growl as his fingers reached to curve around my ass and squeeze. I yelped, my already swollen, wet body clenching tightly in anticipation.

  “Last time we were together,” I moaned, “my panties went missing. They’re not cheap you know.” I teased, though I could barely push the words out through the weight of my need for him.

  He leaned in, pressing his lips to my cheek. “Every time you’re with Ivan, you’re going to think of me, Marisha. When he sinks his dick into you, it’ll be my face you see. I’m going to stretch you, ruin you for him, make you never forget me.”

  “You’ve already done that,” I whispered, heart pounding and voice pitched low with desire.

  He pulled away from me, a flash of something new in his eyes, but then it was gone again, as quickly as it had appeared. And he kissed me hard and deep, his tongue in a waltz with mine for so long that I came away from it gasping for air, yet desperate to suffocate again.

  He turned our bodies, switching positions with me until my back was to the cushioned bench, before pushing me back gently so my body bounced against the houndstooth patterned pillows. We were too high for the world to see us through the stained-glass windows and the light danced a rainbow across my skin as he pulled the dress straps down my shoulders to release my breasts. The silky material pooled around my waist and his mouth found my right nipple, sucking it in between his lips and working it feverishly. His other hand kneaded my left breast and then pinched its
nipple between two fingers to squeeze so hard I cried out and bucked against his body atop me.

  His lips kissed down, across every inch of skin exposed by the revealing dress; he made his way to my more intimate parts, dipping fingers between my lips and spreading them before ducking his head against me to lick in circular motions across my clit. I shuddered, a surge of wetness releasing as he worked me into a frenzy. He pushed two fingers into me as he continued licking and sucking, the teasing of an orgasm beginning to wave over and over again yet refusing to crest into the satisfaction I’d come to expect from him.

  He knew just when to slow down, just when to pull away enough to keep me from coming. He held me on a knife's edge; I was frantic with need and desperate to tip over to the other side.

  “God, don’t stop. I’m so close,” I begged as he slowed his movements again. I reached down, gripping his hair and pushing his mouth harder against me, urging him to lap at me more deeply, needing the friction of his skillful tongue and fingers.

  “You’ll come when I want you to,” he replied with authority, his warm breath pulsing against my clit.

  His fingers pumped in and out of me and his tongue flicked and taunted my body, teasing me for control.

  When he rocked back on his knees, he swiped his forearm across his damp mouth, hooded eyes glued to my face. He rubbed up and down his shaft, his cock hard and ready again. His hand dipped into his pants pocket and came back into view with a metallic square; he ripped it open and rolled the condom over himself.

  “You want this?” He stood up fingers curved around his dick as he watched me carefully.

  I nodded, licking my lips in anticipation of him pushing into me. Not with fingers or tongue anymore, but with his thick, long cock. He’d stretch me wide and set my body on fire as he controlled me, owning me, claiming my body for his needs.