I Married a Mob Boss

by Shandi Boyes

  A familiar tightening rapidly builds deep in my core, but I fight against it, not believing it's possible to have two earth-shattering climaxes so close together.

  “Stop fighting me, Kitten,” he mutters against my drenched lips.

  The deep timbre of his voice pushes me over the edge for the second time. I close my eyes and yield to the brilliance of ecstasy, shouting Rico's name in a long, guttural groan as I take everything he's willing to give me. My fall is blessed and long.

  I've only just finished riding the crest of orgasmic bliss when a packet being torn open sounds through my ears. I watch him roll a condom down his thick cock as a shiver of excitement courses through me. Even stuck in a trance only two mind-blowing orgasms can incite, nothing can dampen my readiness of being claimed by him… again.

  Rico runs his hand down my flushed cheeks. "Fuck… I love seeing you flushed… You're so beautiful. So, so beautiful."

  I have no chance of holding in my smile, so I set it free.

  Mimicking my giddy expression, his hands slide over the wetness slicking my skin when he curls his arms around my back and draws me to his overheated body. Warmth blooms across my chest when he rests his sweat-drenched forehead against mine and stares into my eyes. I feel the heat of his thickened rod sitting hard and ready between us, but it isn't the only reason blatant lust is sparking through every inch of my body. It's the look of content in his beautiful dark eyes.

  “Are you sure, Blaire?” he mutters again, his warm breath fluttering my hungry lips.

  My heart swells as I cup the edge of his jaw. "I'm sure, Enrique. I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I quote, speaking directly from my heart. The rest of the sentence I quoted to him the night we married is sitting on the edge of my tongue, but my mouth refuses to relinquish the words. One step at a time, Blaire, my brain mutters to my heart.

  His thumbs clear away my sentimental tears before he adjusts our position, so the tip of his engorged penis rests against the entrance of my soaked sex. With his eyes arrested on mine, he sheaths me one glorious inch at a time.

  “Ah, Jesus, Kitten, so tight.”

  I swivel my hips, my body naturally trying to ease the uncomfortable intrusion. More tears topple from my eyes; these come from the sting of pain rocketing through my core from taking a man as well-endowed as Rico all the way to the root.

  He keeps his movements still, giving my body the chance to adjust to his girth as his lips kiss away my tears. Once every teardrop has been lapped up, he seals his mouth over mine. I can taste myself on his lips as he strokes his tongue inside my mouth in slow, dedicated licks. My pussy grows wetter with every caress of his tongue.

  Once the sting of invasion has eased, I squeeze the walls of my vagina around him, advising I'm ready for him to move.

  “I’ll go slow for as long as I can—”

  “Don’t hold back, Enrique. Take what you need. Give me your all.”

  “I won’t hurt you, Kitten. I can’t.”

  I stare straight into his eyes. “I know. You’ll never hurt me, so there's no reason to hold back.”

  The words I couldn’t force out earlier nearly topple from my mouth when the most heartfelt smile I’ve ever seen graces Rico’s sinfully handsome face. I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing down my absurd declaration of love for a man I’m only starting to know. Any ludicrous thoughts in my mind vanish when Rico thrusts in and out of me. His movements start at a slow and controlled pace, but with every stroke, he slowly increases his speed.

  I sling my arms around his sweat-slicked neck and hold on for the ride of my life when his pounds become unforgiving. His cock pummels into my soaked pussy, thrusting another climax to the forefront of my mind. He spreads his knees wider, opening my hips more. I purr an erotic moan when he takes me even deeper, pumping every glorious inch of his thickened shaft into me.

  The veins in his neck throb nearly as furiously as the one in his cock as he pounds into me in a frenzied, yet precise pace. My coil tightens as my sprint to climax gains momentum. The build up is frantic—almost blinding.

  “Give it to me, Kitten,” Rico growls, his voice vibrating all the way through my drenched sex. “You’re fighting a battle you’ll never win.”

  Sweat rolls down the side of his cheek as he strengthens his pumps, ensuring every stroke hits the tender spot inside me. He fucks me like an out-of-control animal, not willing to give me an inch of leniency until I give him my all—until I give him everything.

  I become lost in the blessedness of an orgasm for the third time when Rico runs his thumb over the erogenous zone of my collarbone. I choke his name out of my mouth in a string of incoherent garbage as a surge of passion sparks through my exhausted body. I'm barely lucid from the devastating effects of three life-altering orgasms, but there's one statement during my blinded-by-lust rant I hear loud and clear: my declaration of love.

  His dark eyes blaze into mine as the thickness of his cock increases. Not removing his beautiful eyes from mine, he slows the brutal pounds of his cock, slowly bringing me down from the haze of climax. When every pleasurable shudder shimmering through my body has been exhausted, Rico locks his heavy-hooded gaze with me. All the indecisiveness in his eyes has vanished, replaced with nothing but optimism.

  “Say it again.” His deep voice is husky with his arousal is strangling it.

  My nose tingles when I mutter, “I love you, Enrique,” in the faintest whisper.

  A throaty purr rumbles through my lips when Rico’s cock throbs inside me, my declaration of love alone enough to make him come.

  Chapter 24

  My lazy steps to the bathroom stop when a small knock rattles through the wooden door of my bedroom. I freeze, mindful of Rico’s regular warnings about not opening my door for anyone but Maya. Considering Maya only left here ten minutes ago, I'm doubtful it's her.

  My assumptions are left for dust when Maya’s small voice projects through the thick door. My steps are slow as my body is still reveling in the orgasms Rico awarded me with last night. Shockingly, I’ve been on a high the past five days. I thought once the aftershocks of our intimacy gathering wore off, I'd be backpedaling on my declaration of love, using my blurry state as a plausible defense, but not once has uncertainty entered my mind the past five days. I feel the most content I’ve ever felt, in the midst of a loved-up haze.

  Rico and I have spent the last five nights in bed kissing and fondling each other for hours before our lightning-paced union joins in the most earth-shattering way. I never thought sexual contact would be a way I'd feel comfortable expressing myself, but everything about me is different with Rico. He brings out sides of me I didn't even know existed. He truly does make me wild with desire.

  There isn't a shadow of doubt in my mind that the man I wake up with every morning is the same man I married nearly three weeks ago. Rico is attentive and sweet – a man I wouldn’t hesitate to marry on sight. And thankfully, as our oddly compelling union grows strong, the blackness in Rico's eyes is receding. I never thought I'd be strong enough to guide him through the darkness plaguing his life like I promised in our wedding vows. Now, I'm thinking differently. If things keep following this path, I have no doubt I'll always be the light in his life.

  Ignoring the sentimental butterflies taking flight in my stomach, I pull open the heavily weighted door and greet Maya with a smile. Although Maya barely speaks a word of English, we’ve become close friends since I arrived here over ten days ago. She's the only female confidante I have in this house, so I relish the hours we spend together.

  The happiness making my stomach a jittery mess eases when I notice a cloud of concern filtering over her usually expressive eyes. “Maya, are you okay?”

  I run my hand along her forearm. My concern grows when I feel the clamminess of her skin. Maya is a small framed lady, but she has the heart of a dragon. Normally, nothing frightens her.

  Keeping quiet, she hands me a slip of paper I didn’t realize she was holding until
now. After bouncing my eyes between her evocative gaze, I drop them to the folded-up piece of paper. The tremble of my hand rattles the cream-colored document when I unfold it. Since there's only a one line sentence on the paper, it doesn’t take me long to recite the message.

  Kitten, meet me in the servants’ quarters. Rico.

  My heart rate soars. Rico mentioned earlier today that he had a surprise for me, but no matter how much I pleaded with him for a hint, he remained tight-lipped, only disclosing that I'd find out more when he returned later this evening. This is obviously part of his surprise.

  I return my eyes to Maya. "Where are the servants’ quarters located?”

  My head slings to the side when she outstretches her arm and points to a door marked with ‘sluzhashchiy’ halfway down the hall.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Maya bows her head, then spins on her heels and walks down the hall. Her head flings back to me when I ask, “Did Rico say what time?”

  Her pupils widen before she shakes her head. I wait until she reaches the crest of the stairs before shutting the door. Although I’m concerned about Maya’s odd reaction, I can’t hold in my excitement about Rico’s note.

  I rush to the mirror to check my hair and makeup. My cheeks are rosy from the stifling Las Vegas heat that graced my face when I sat in the window seat for hours reading this afternoon, and my eyes are full and bright. Deciding to wear my aroused look with pride, I place Rico's note on the dressing table before exiting the room.

  My knees clash together with every step I take down the long hall. I’ve only walked this corridor once since arriving here: five days ago when I attended my disastrous brunch with Rico. It's amazing to think how much has changed between us in so little time. But, I guess, time has no place when I'm with Rico. It just stands still.

  My heart rate speeds the further I move away from my room. Although this side of the Popov compound is elaborately decorated, nothing can take away the ghastliness plaguing the air. Just like a cemetery, no amount of potted color can hide the ugliness of death.

  I stop frozen halfway down the hall and gasp in a quick breath when I spot the same two men from last week guarding the stairwell. Since they are engaged in a deep conversation, they fail to notice my quiet approach. Not wanting to place myself on their radar, I carefully open the servants’ quarters door and slip inside the narrow stairwell.

  The muggy Las Vegas air adds to the giddiness swishing in my stomach as I wind down a set of rickety spiral stairs. My eyes shoot in all directions, taking in what would have been a servants’ quarters back in the day. White and yellow wallpaper covers the antique corniced walls, and gorgeous cedar hardwood lines the floors. I'm so immersed in staring at an old set of service bells hanging in the middle of the room; I don't notice another presence sneaking up on me until it's too late.

  Pain sears across my cheek when a man backhands me with so much force, my head flings to the side. The taste of copper engulfs my taste buds as I fall to the ground with a sickening thud, my wrist jarring painfully when it hits the hardwood floor. Blood trickles from the side of my mouth as I lift my frightened eyes to my attacker. A large brute of a man who would easily be the height of Rico and two times wider sneers an abhorrent grin as he takes a step towards me. I shake my head, then scramble backward, ignoring the screaming protests of my limp wrist. Pleas for help are sitting on the tip of my tongue, but my frightened composure has once again frozen me into stiffness.

  My temples scream when the tall stranger fists my hair and yanks me off the ground, his roughness causing the roots of my hair to pull away from my scalp. Gritting my teeth to ignore the tortuous pain rocketing through my skull, my hands dart up to claw him. I dig my nails into the skin on his hands and scratch him hard enough I draw blood.

  My battle angers him more. He pushes me backward until my back is splayed against the wallpaper I was admiring minutes ago. He glares at me with a set of malevolent, morally bankrupt eyes as he lowers one of his hands to clutch my throat. My mind spirals, unable to seperate the past from the present. When images of my attack in the alleyway flash before my eyes, I shift my gaze sideways, expecting to see my savior running towards me. The frantic beat of my heart kicks into overdrive when I discover no one within eyesight.

  I drift my frightened gaze back to the man pinning me to the wall. He keeps one of his hands wrapped around my throat while the other one painfully squeezes my breast through my dress. My lungs heave as violently as my stomach, sickened at the glint of lust forming in his eyes. Not willing to lay down without a fight, I kick my legs out wildly, fighting with all my might.

  I suck in lung-filling gulps of air when one of my kicks hits him with enough force to loosen his grip around my neck. Using his stumbling composure to my advantage, I crash my knee into his groin, then push him hard in the chest. His hand darts down to protect his crotch from another vicious attack as he takes a fumbling step backward.

  "You fucking bitch," he sneers in a thick Russian accent.

  I slip under his arm and race to the rickety stairwell on my right. Tears flood my cheeks as I fight to keep my hidden memories from ten years ago buried in the back of my mind.

  My fast speed to the stairs comes to a halt when my ankle is snagged, and I'm yanked backward. I land on my knees, a harsh puff of air parting my lips. My mind is frantic, drifting me between the present and future. Kicking my way out of my attacker's grasp, I scamper across the wooden floor. I put up a similar fight the last time I was attacked, but this time is different. This time, I'm not at the mercy of a dark-eyed stranger.

  I throw out my leg, kicking my assailant in his despicable face. I may not weigh half what he weighs, but I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl unable to defend myself anymore, I’m a strong woman who refuses to lie down willingly.

  Any life left in my assailant’s hollow eyes vanishes the instant the heel of my sandal smashes into his crooked nose. Red hot anger lines his face when a trickle of blood dribbles out of his nose.

  “Now you will pay,” he snarls viciously.

  The back of my head hits the bottom step of the stairwell hard, temporarily dazing me when my legs are pulled out from underneath me. My vision blurs, melting the images that frequently haunt my nights with my newest nightmare. My confused state only lasts as long as it takes for my brain to register my attacker's filthy hands roaming over my body.

  “No!” I scream, grateful my scared state has finally lifted when his hand slides under the hem of my skirt and inches towards my panty-covered core.

  My head rockets to the side when the faintest, “Blaire,” comes sounding from the top of the stairs.

  Before I have the chance to respond, just like in my memories, my attacker is brutally hit from the side. I crawl backward, pushing down the hem of my shirt as Rico and my attacker slam into the wooden floor with bone-crunching force. The hard impact does nothing to lessen Rico's fury; he pummels his fists into my attacker’s face repeatedly until his knuckles are covered in the same vibrant red coloring lining his face.

  “Stop, Rico,” I mumble when the man he's attacking stops fighting against him.

  I scramble onto my knees and crawl across the floor when his manic onslaught continues on the lifeless man. Just like in the bedroom, he's a machine, frighteningly unstoppable, designed to issue punishment.

  Unable to inflict any more damage to the man’s bloody face, Rico’s lowers his fists to his body where he strikes him with blow after devastating blow.

  I squeal and stumble backward when my hand touching his shoulder causes him to yank away from me violently. Like he can recognize my touch, he stops swinging his fists and cranks his neck to the side. The fury in his eyes vanishes the instant he sees me cowering on the floor beside him. His eyes roam around the room; he looks frightened and confused. He runs his hand down his face, removing a stream of sweat pouring down his cheek.

  When he returns his eyes to me, the swirling of my stomach gains intensity. The same pair of eye
s from my nightmares are staring back at me.

  I stagger backward, my whole body shaking. "You're. . . you're. . .”

  Panicked shock overwhelms me when Rico dismounts the man he has beaten into unconsciousness and slowly moves towards me. Blood drips from his hands more quickly than remorse fills his eyes. I stare at him, more confused than ever.

  "Shh, Kitten, shh," he croons, his voice cracking with emotion.

  Speaking through the sob in the back of my throat, I stutter, "Y-you're the man. . . T-t-the man from the alley.”

  Rico’s eyes blaze into me, full of emotion and turmoil as he mutters, “Yes, Kitten. That was me.”

  My entire world crumbles.

  Chapter 25

  Enrique

  Blaire stares at me in shock, her pupils wide, her beautiful light green eyes glossed over. Her whole body is shaking, mimicking mine to a T. I'm generally fearless, but seeing the way Blaire is looking at me now, frightened and timid, I'm truly scared. I've once again become the four-year-old boy lying next to my deceased mother for three days waiting for my “uncle” to discover her death.

  When I reach out to touch her, my heart stops, praying she doesn’t pull away from me. My prayers remain unanswered when she shakes her head, begging for me not to touch her. I can’t, though. I’ll never stop. I love her. I have from the moment I laid my eyes on her.

  I've lived my life at a speed double the rate of everyone surrounding me. After the death of my mother, I lost contact with my sister, and was thrown into a makeshift family of servants and Popov whores. Everyone in the Popov compound hated me. At first, I thought it was because I'd shown weakness by crying when they laid my mother's body to rest with only three people by her graveside. Me, the priest, and my father, who stood three paces back from the unmarked grave her coffin was being lowered in. But as the years moved on, I realized my assumptions were wrong.