Bratva Addiction

by Coco Miller

  I know she wants it too. I heard her in the shower when I delivered the box and I had to rush out before I entered the shower myself and had my way with her. When I got to my own room, I fucked my own fist, coming to the sound of her name falling off my lips.

  “You’re a vision,” I say, grasping her hand and lifting to my lips for a soft kiss. “Moya Dusha.”

  “You’re going to have to tell me what that means.”

  “In time, my sweet Alegra. In time.” I hold out my arm for her to take and she loops her arm through mine and we begin walking down the corridor in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable but peaceful. There isn’t a strain to make sure conversation is flowing. There’s just us.

  “You look very handsome as well, Kazimir.”

  I’m a man that has received many compliments, but none of them mean as much as the one she just granted me.

  “Thank you, Alegra.”

  She blushes and stares at the floor as we walk, her heels a whisper of a kiss on the floor. “So where are we going?”

  “My favorite place in the world. I’m going to surprise you.”

  “Oh, please tell me. Surprises and I don’t get along very well.”

  She pouts and that bottom lip causes me to take my eyes off the hallway and I almost trip over myself.

  Almost.

  “We are going to Feu’s. My favorite French restaurant in the city.”

  Her perfectly sculpted brows worry and a slight wrinkle appears between them.

  “But that place has a waiting list of six months. No one can ever get in.”

  “I can get whatever I want, Alegra. My family and I run more than half this city. The owner wouldn’t have that restaurant if it wasn’t for me, so he always has one table reserved. Always. He leaves it open, no matter what.”

  “What do you mean he wouldn’t have the restaurant if it wasn’t for you?” she asks suspiciously.

  The owner had a bad landlord once upon a time. I helped him secure better terms.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Totally legal. Just doing someone a favor. In return, I can eat there whenever I want.”

  “So a barter situation?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Ok, then,” she says, “I’m impressed.”

  Her approval makes me peacock a little. She may pretend this life doesn’t suit her, but she loves it. She’ll never live another way again. She loves the good things in life and I want to give them to her. As long as I live and breathe, Alegra will have whatever she wants.

  The doormen opens the door when we get down the steps. A long limo waits for us and my usual driver is waiting beside the back door. His hands are crossed in front of him as he waits patiently.

  The night sky is young with a few warm colors of the sun still lingering behind as the blues and blacks of the dark creep through. The stars are out by the millions and there’s not a cloud is in the sky. The white moon is a sliver tonight, a half−crescent. I pluck a thornless white rose from the bushes next to the door and place it behind Alegra’s here.

  “Krasivaya,” I whisper, kissing the back of her hand.

  “Will you tell me what that means?” She reaches up and gently touches the soft petals of the flower, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Beautiful,” I tell her as the driver opens the door for us. I help her inside the car as she claps my hand with a bit more force so she does not fall over in the high heels.

  I slide in the car next to her and the driver shuts the door. There is a full bar in front of us and I start making her my favorite drink. It’s simple. A dirty martini, shaken, with extra olives.

  “It sounds better in Russian.” Her voice is breathy and quiet.

  “I can speak to you in Russian for the rest of the night if you like.”

  Her cheeks heat and my cock does that familiar twitch it always does when I look at her. I love that she gets turned on by my native tongue. There are so many filthy things I want to say to her, whisper in her ear as I plant my cock deep inside her. It will be erotic and unforgettable and I can do it over and over for the rest of her life if she likes.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Any woman would lose her mind over that,” she says, twisting her hands in her lap.

  “Maybe that is what I want.” I give her the first chilled martini glass, full of the finest vodka, imported from Russia of course. “To make you lose your mind so you don’t think so hard.”

  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d be a fool if I said no, Alegra.”

  I lean back and sip my own martini, watching the tress pass us by in a blur as we make our way toward the city. Everything looks different in the dark. It’s why men like me and my father prefer to do our business at night. It’s harder to see what is right and what is wrong with there isn’t a light on.

  It isn’t long before we are pulling up to Feu’s. The driver opens the door and I get out first only to help Alegra out by offering my hand for her to take. When she climbs out, a few people take pictures. I’m not a celebrity, but local press likes to see a member of the mafia out with a beautiful woman.

  Press photos cause a ruckus in my business, and I’m sure women who have been with me sexually will start coming out of the woodwork when they see I have brought a woman out in public. I never do that, ever. It is never worth the drama, but Alegra is worth everything.

  “Mr. Volkov,” Chef Marchand greets us at the door, holding out his hand for a friendly shake.

  “Chef, it is good to see you.” My accent is harsher than his. The French sound so elegant while the Russians tend to sound mean. I’m alright with that though, it makes me more efficient at my job. Everyone’s scared of the accent.

  “Oh, the pleasure is mine, oui,” he says. “Who is this lovely lady on your arm? She makes you look like you have just climbed out of the gutter, Mr. Volkov.”

  A deep chuckle escapes me and I wrap my arms around her waist. “Don’t I know it? She is more beautiful than the stars, Chef Marchand. This is my fiancé, Alegra.”

  She trips over her next step from my words, and I barely have time to catch her before she falls but I manage. Alegra turns in my arms, a confused twinkle in her warm eyes.

  “I had no idea. Oh, this is marvelous. I am so glad you are here to celebrate!” He claps his hands. “My favorite customer. On the house. Anything you want. Any bottle of champagne. Let me treat you.”

  “We would love that. Thank you, Chef Marchand.”

  “Oh, the pleasure is mine. You are one lucky man, Mr. Volkov. She is absolutely stunning. Please, let my waiter show you to your table. I will be right with you. Your order is first above everyone elses.”

  I give him nod and the older man rushes back to his kitchen. The floors are original hardwood from the 1800s and the lights consist of small chandeliers and wall lamps to bring a soft glow to the room. The table clothes are a stark white with a single candle lit in the middle.

  When we get to our table, I pull out the chair for Alegra and push her in closer to the table. I place my hand in the middle of my suit and unbutton as I sit down. The waiter fills the water glasses with sparking water and Alegra lays the napkin in her lap.

  “Would you like to start with a bottle of wine, Mr. Volkov?” the waiter asks, smiling and eyeing Alegra too much for my liking.

  He’s young and tall with deep ebony skin and a wide smile. He reminds me of the type of college-aged boy that Alegra would probably be with if it weren’t for the likes of me.

  “Yes,” I say flatly. “I’d like a bottle of Chateau Mouton, the Bordeaux Blend of 1945.”

  And I’d like another fucking waiter.

  His eyes widen with shock when I say it. It’s one of the most expensive bottles of wine there is, and I’m sure he’s already calculating his tip for the night.

  “Great choice, sir. I’ll be right back with it.”

  I watch Alegra closely.

  “You like him?”

  “Who, the waiter
?”

  “Yeah, the waiter.”

  “He seems good at his job.”

  “He was staring at you.”

  “He was acknowledging my presence at the table even though he knows you are some sort of VIP customer whose ass he has to kiss all night.”

  “He better know.”

  “Pffft.”

  I watch Alegra look at the menu, but my eyes keep lingering to the skin of her shoulder. The low light of the restaurant gives it a hypnotic glow. That’s all she seems to do, glow, and she has no idea. She glows when she comes. She glows when she’s about to come. Fuck, I’m addicted to her ass. That’s probably why I’m acting so possessive. All I want to do is worship it, taste it, and adore it like it was made for me.

  She purses her lips, the gloss sparkling in the light and I think about sliding my cock between those perky pouts, ruining it a bit, making her look a little less perfect.

  “I can’t read this, Kazimir.” She throws down the menu frustrated. “I understand you wanted to take me to a sophisticated place, but I’m not used to places like this. I can’t speak French. I feel…I feel out of place here,” she leans in and whispers to me. I see the question in her eyes.

  Alegra believes that we are not equals.

  “Alegra, my sweet, I do not know how to speak or read French either. I do not ever look at the menu.”

  “You don’t? but—”

  “I always have Chef Marchand make me the specials. He will send appetizers and such but I trust him. If I read the menu, we would be here all night. I’d need to use google translate.”

  She laughs and the sound is warm, like a bright sunny days casting over me. She seems relieved. Good, that’s what I wanted. Our lives might be completely different, but our upbringing, setting aside money, I believe is similar. We are both from down to earth hard working folks. We are cut from the same cloth.

  The waiter comes back with the wine, opening it and letting it air for a moment before pouring a taste for Alegra. She grabs the stem of the glass with her slender fingers and leans over to whisper in my ear.

  “I’ve only ever seen this done in movies.”

  I smile, loving that she is honest with me.

  “Just do what they do.”

  I place a kiss on her temple, watch her take a swig, swirl it around her mouth and swallow.

  “It’s good.”

  Alegra gives me a funny look with big eyes and shoulder shrug.

  “Excellent, it is our best.”

  The waiter pours us each a glass, careful not to leave any droplets on the tablecloth and leaves the bottle for us to finish.

  I pick up my glass and make a toast, “To us, Alegra.”

  She clinks my glass with a smile and the small sound is symbolic, giving me hope that we are stronger than the difference we were born into and the circumstances that brought us here.

  11

  Alegra

  Both of us are laughing as we get back into the car, a bit buzzed off the bottle of wine we ended up drinking. I don’t even want to know how much it cost because I’ll probably throw it up if I find out. I have a feeling it was way too expensive. He even tipped the waiter a hundred bucks.

  “Tell me about you,” he says. “I want to know everything.”

  His hand lands on my leg, his thumb caressing my inner thigh leaving a slight tickle with every simple stroke.

  “I think you know everything.”

  “No, just basic stuff like what you like in your coffee. Tell me more.”

  “There’s not much to know.”

  “Oh, that I do not believe. I’ve watched you. I find you fascinating.”

  “I should be really creeped out that you’ve been watching me for a year,” I say, leaning my head back against the seat and rolling to the left to look at him. “I mean, who does that?”

  “I do. When something catches my interest, I want to know everything about it.”

  He gives me a look so clear and focused, it’s slightly scary how intense his gaze is as he looks at me. It’s the type of look that creates warm pools between my legs. I love how he looks at me. No one ever has looked at me in this way. Like there is only me.

  “My favorite color is—”

  “Red. I know that. I want to know the things in here.” He taps my chest with his index finger.

  “How did you know—”

  “Everything you gravitate toward is red, Moya Dusha. Everything. Tell me about you.”

  I blow out a breath and my body jostles when the limo hits a pothole.

  “Well, I love animals and I wanted to be a vet like my father, but it seems I won’t be doing that anymore.”

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “I’m here,” I point out. “My freedoms are not as free as they used to be.”

  “Alegra,” he takes my hand. “You can do whatever you want. I just want you with me, that is all. You can still be a vet. You can be anything you want. I’ll buy you your own clinic if that is what you want. Anything you want, it is yours.”

  “And my dad?”

  “Still has his practice and doesn’t owe us any money. He also doesn’t have to pay for your school loans. He should be fine moving forward.”

  “Oh,” is all I say. I’m not sure what else to say. I mean, everything I thought he was, he isn’t. He keeps surprising me.

  “Are you the only child?” he asks.

  “Like you don’t know that,” I scoff. “Yes, I am. I don’t know much about my mother. She left when I was young, and I’m not too sure where she went. My father said she died, but I don’t know what to believe. He never talks about her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Alegra. If it makes you feel any better, I do not know my mother either. She died giving birth to me. My father didn’t love her or anything. She was just a whore—”

  The harsh words make me gasp.

  “Sorry, my love. Those are his words not mine. I’m just so used to hearing them and sometimes saying them.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, taking his hand in mine. “I’m sorry that you didn’t know her. Are you the only child? What’s your favorite color?” I say cheekily and nudge his shoulder.

  He tilts his lips in a sexy smirk. “I love the color black.”

  “Black? That’s not a color. What’s your second favorite?”

  “Grey,” he says with a mirth shining in his eyes.

  I slap his chest. “Now you’re just being difficult.”

  “Honestly–” He strokes the skin on my arm, his eyes darting from mine to my collarbone as he skims his way up to caress it. “My favorite color is the color of your skin. A shimmering bronze.”

  His voice deepens as he admires me. I’ve never had someone be so obsessed with something as simple as my skin. It’s strange yet…really nice.

  “Um,” I lose my train of thought.

  Stay on track, Alegra. We are getting to know each other. Colors, mothers, siblings, right!

  “Are you the only child?” I repeat. How I remembered the question when my mind is a fog of lust, I’ll never know.

  He kisses the soft space in the crook of my neck, still stroking me with his fingers.

  “The only one which was tough with a father like mine. It’s why when I have kids, I want a houseful.”

  “A houseful?” My pussy tightens and expands, visualizing the thought of giving him exactly that.

  “Five, ten, however many you are willing to give me.”

  “Me?” I groan when the hand on my thigh dips in the slit of my dress, pushing the material to the side.

  He inches his way up my thigh, moving slow as a sloth. Kazimir isn’t in a rush. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man to rush things anyway. He likes to taste, to savor, devour, and appreciate. And right now I’m the object he wants to eat.

  I’m on his menu.

  “You, who else? I’ve never imagined a future with a family of my own,” he mumbles into my neck and inhales. “But the moment I saw you, I knew.”
r />   “Knew?” Why do I keep repeating what he is saying?

  “I knew you were meant to be mine. I knew we were forever.”

  Kazimir traces over the swell of my breasts, dipping his fingers between the cleavage. A guttural rumble shakes his chest and tingles my ear as he explores me.

  I’m wet, sopping between my legs, the more his hands are on me, the more I want to give him everything he wants.

  “Can you see a life with me?” He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth, nibbling. “Can you see yourself being treated like a queen? I would, treat you like a queen because that is what you are.”

  His wide palm cups my throat, delicately so he doesn’t hurt me and turns my head toward him.

  “Let me be yours, Alegra. Let me show you that I’m not all bad. I truly believe that any good I have inside of me was meant for you. My rodstvennyye dushi.”

  I don’t understand everything he is saying. His English words are thick with his Russian accent and his Russian words are well…Russian.

  But I can tell that he means them and my heart flies and sways in my chest from the poetic words. It’s hard to say no to such adoration and such honesty, something I have never had much of in my life.

  This is my chance to take it, to be wanted more than I ever dreamed about. Can I live with a man like Kazimir though? Can someone like me be a part of this world? The Russian Bratva. Living in constant danger?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  “Can the driver hear us?”

  “Nyet, the partition gives us total privacy.”

  I lean forward and brush my lips against his, answering him in the only way I know how. I run my hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath me and all I want to do is peel him out of this tailored suit and see the beauty that lies beneath.

  “Alegra.”

  My name is said with a reverent, deep tone, breezing against my lips before he invades my mouth with his tongue.

  It’s a slow dance as we kiss. Like everything else with me, he takes his time. And since I know that he will allow me to control the tempo, I grow braver.