Dirty Kisses_Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

by Kenya Wright

  My gaze traveled down her body.

  And all my control rushed away.

  The first time I’d met her, she’d given me a professional feel mixed with artsy creative. The second time, she looked like one of those movie burglars, creeping into a laser-lined museum to steal a special diamond.

  In this moment, she was a femme fatale. I’d already had a hard time not bending her over last night and getting my cock wet. Today would be a battle.

  She wore a slim fit checkered dress—black, white, and red. Cinched at the waist. Hugging her curves—full breasts, amazing hips, plump ass. Chic and ultra-designer, as if she stole it off a New York Fashion Week runaway before the model could go out and show it. Rolex on the wrist, leather clutch in the other hand. Open-toed midnight black pumps finished the look.

  The top of her dress dipped into her full cleavage. It didn’t show enough. It was a merciless tease. Just a glimpse. Yesterday, I’d known she had a nice bosom. Today, my cock guaranteed it. In my head, I pictured my hands caressing those lush breasts. They were more than a handful. They would overflow and spill out between my fingers.

  My cock was harder than it had ever been in my life, and I hadn’t even touched her.

  Dangerous.

  I gripped the door hard and held it open. “Good morning, Emily.”

  With a neutral expression, she gazed at me through those dark glasses. “Good morning, Kazimir.”

  My name sounded like salted caramel on her tongue, and no matter how I tried to push the vision away, in that moment, I imagined her licking my balls as she whispered it. And also moaning my name as I pounded into her. Those perfectly painted candy red lips would be smeared from so much licking and sucking and groaning.

  This is why she’s so dangerous.

  The thought of her sucking me off had me tenting the front of my slacks. Annoyed that her simple words had caused the reaction, I didn’t hide my hardening cock.

  Let her see what she does to me. It doesn’t matter. I’m still the one in control.

  Silent, we stood in front of the other, almost trying to exert our dominance.

  Instead of climbing into the limo, her naughty eyes roamed down my suit to where my arousal displayed for all to see.

  You see what you’re doing to me?

  Her breath hitched. Inch by inch, she guided her gaze back to mine. Silence sat between us. What could I say to her in that moment but that I didn’t want her to climb into the limo anymore. Instead, I wanted her to climb onto my cock and bounce that sweet fat ass up and down on it.

  With her lips parted, she stared at me. Did she think she was safe, watching me through those sunglasses? Did she feel the intense sexual pull between us?

  I licked my lips, and her gaze went to my mouth, studying my tongue. I needed her to see my tongue and think about it between her thighs, lapping at that wet pussy. I wanted her moistness on my tongue.

  My voice came out as a growl. “What’s on your mind, mysh?”

  She widened her eyes and then got into the limo.

  I smiled.

  My little mysh is always full of surprises.

  I climbed in after her. My cock weighed heavy in my pants.

  We sped off minutes later.

  Smart, she didn’t ask where we were going, just gazed out of the window as if assessing for herself where we were heading.

  “How long have you lived in Harlem?” I asked.

  She continued to stare out of the window, her face hidden from me. “Born and raised.”

  “Have you ever wanted to go somewhere else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  You’re answering my questions, but not truly answering them. You’re so careful and always in control.

  I’d checked her video footage from last night. She hadn’t even gone to bed. Luka had sat on her living room couch. She’d been propped in a big recliner chair, under a blanket, binge-watching movies all night while she typed into her laptop. My tech guy had said that she’d been doing research online the whole time—not an email or any of her social media. For those hours she’d been researching skyscrapers for sale in Manhattan—doing her job, before I’d asked.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked, wondering how truthful she would be with me.

  “No, but I didn’t try to sleep.” She turned away from the window, opened her clutch, and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. “I found two buildings you might be interested in. The one on Madison Avenue is my favorite. It’s 1.2 million-square-foot property. Valued at 2.25 billion.”

  “I thought you weren’t comfortable with washing millions, now you would consider billions?”

  She looked at me. “I’m thinking that once you’ve signed over Rumi’s money to me—”

  “How did you know that was what we would be doing today?”

  “It would be the smartest move,” she said. “And I believe you are a smart man.”

  “Who told you Rumi died?”

  “Everyone in Harlem knew by the end of my art showing last night.”

  “That’s not an answer, Emily.”

  “A friend told me.”

  “And you put two and two together about why I needed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your thoughts on Rumi?” I asked.

  “The cops say it was a suicide.”

  For some reason, I told her. “He was murdered.”

  “I figured. But either way, if you’re able to get cops to lie about the cause of death, then you would be able to get lawyers and judges to approve a fake will, naming me as the head beneficiary for all of his millions. . .which are really all of your millions.”

  I drank in those sexy legs, unable to help myself. Nothing made me crazier than a gorgeous woman that could outwit me.

  “So. . .” Catching me look at her legs, she blushed.

  “Go ahead, little mysh. You were impressing me.”

  “Mysh?”

  “Mouse in Russian.”

  A smile broke across her face, before she shook it away.

  “You find the nickname humorous?”

  “Yes. My favorite English teacher used to call me Mouse. She would say, ‘that girl is as sneaky and crafty like a mouse. Watch out for her. She disappears through the walls, and you can’t find the damn girl until the food comes out for lunch.’” And then she stopped herself as if she hadn’t wanted to give me too much information about her.

  “Anyway.” She sighed. “With my new inheritance from Rumi, I would have enough capital to make a bank interested enough with loaning the money to purchase the building on Madison Ave.”

  “We won’t have to try too hard to get a bank interested. Many will do business with me. They just want a squeaky-clean name on the documents.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes.”

  She let out a long breath. “So. . .about my name being on the documents.”

  “You’re my washer.”

  “Yes.” She tapped her fingers on her thigh. “I was just wondering how long I would be your washer.”

  “You think this is just a temporary deal?”

  “I was thinking I could wash for you until you’ve dealt with this Rumi situation and found a new person. Of course, my brother would be released safely to me by then.”

  I smirked. “Of course.”

  She took off her sunglasses and hit me with those dazzling brown eyes that made me think of chocolate on my tongue.

  “Could we work out a temporary arrangement?” she asked. “Six months. A year.”

  “You don’t like the idea of being in bed with me forever?”

  At the mention of the word bed, she blinked, but grabbed control of her reaction. “I don’t like to be in bed with anyone forever.”

  Interesting.

  I raised my eyebrows. “No dreams of marriage and kids?”

  “I. . .I thought we were talking about business.”

  “We are. I’m just wonderin
g.”

  “Correct. No dreams of marriage and kids. And no dreams of a full-time. . .employer either.”

  “Have I offended you?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Do I smell? Am I unpleasing to look at?”

  Her breath hitched in her throat as she cleared her throat and answered, “No. You smell. . .good, and you’re handsome.”

  My entire life, women told me I was handsome. But women tended to say those things when one was the most powerful man in the room. Never did I truly believe their compliments.

  Yet, hearing Emily say it made me feel different.

  “You like to be the boss of yourself?”

  “Yes.” She nodded as if excited that I understood.

  I reached out my hand and touched one of the thousands of little spiral curls. I couldn’t help myself. I’d been wanting to run my fingers through them since I’d first spotted her.

  Is this another disguise, mysh?

  Against all sanity, I pulled a curl close to me, wanting to reveal what she was hiding underneath the wig.

  Her head went with my hand. “Ouch.”

  I let go. “Sorry.”

  “What. . .?” She opened her mouth, gave me a crazy look, and then laughed. “No disrespect, but what were you doing?”

  I pointed at her hair. “This isn’t a wig?”

  “No.” Her cheeks rose with humor as if she was keeping more laughter back and doing a bad job of it. “This is my hair.”

  “You took it out of the braids?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that was a lot of work.”

  “It doesn’t matter. My hook-up braids fast.”

  “So, she’ll do another design again?”

  “Maybe.” She quirked her eyebrows. “Do you really like hair?”

  “No. I really like uniqueness. It always traps my attention, and so far, you’ve intrigued me.”

  Her smile fell away. She was smart enough to know that my attention would not be one of a regular man. Men like me collected things that we liked. We held onto them, never letting go, never giving them their freedom.

  “So, that is why you didn’t sleep last night? You stayed up doing research, thinking this through and trying to find the best way to get rid of me, without pissing me off,” I said. “You wanted to wash a huge amount of money for me fast. You figured billions would do the job. How could I say no? And then I would give you Darryl and set you free, having another washer to simply watch the building.”

  She put those glasses back on, turned away, and stared out of the window. “And your thoughts on my plan? Was it foolish or am I getting warm?”

  “Yes. You’re getting very warm, mysh. So close, it’ll be hot soon. But it’s not going in the direction you’re hoping for.”

  She continued to gaze out the window, never giving me a reaction.

  She’s back to hiding. At least, I’ve got to see a little of her today.

  The limo stopped in front of a five-level building right at the center of the Financial District. It was a neighborhood located at the southern tip of Manhattan stacked with corporate offices and the headquarters of many major financial institutions. But the district’s namedroppers were the New York Stock Exchange, the Federal Reserve, and Wall Street. It was where Rumi’s lawyer’s office was located.

  Emily had been right. We were going to sign over his money to her and begin the process of her washing my money.

  We sat there in silence.

  I wouldn’t let us leave until she’d said something. I had to know her level of commitment. It didn’t matter if she wanted to work with me or not. What mattered was if she was so desperate to be free of my hold that she tried to escape—or even worse—went to authorities.

  After a few minutes, she turned my way and broke the silence. “I understand your position. I’m wondering, if you would be open to a compromise in the future. . .when things are less stressful.”

  “Compromise?”

  “There could be something that I could do for you that could be more valuable than my washing.”

  “Something to give you your freedom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting.” I loved her line of thinking, but doubted she was envisioning what I was. “What comes to your mind now?”

  “I will wash as much money as you need—”

  “You’ll do that regardless. I want a kiss.”

  She opened her mouth in shock. “A kiss?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re. . .you’re playing around.”

  “I am, but you must agree that a kiss would help your negotiation.”

  “I. . .I don’t kiss. . .the people I work for.”

  “I’ve heard about the people you work for. That’s a smart rule.”

  Luka opened her side of the door.

  She stepped out, probably nervous I was going to kiss her. I’d been thinking about it. I climbed out after Emily. Luka waited on her side.

  I touched her arm before she could walk toward the building.

  She faced me.

  “You brought up some good points,” I said. “And you’ve impressed me with your research on the building purchases last night.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll think about what you said in the limo.”

  She sighed. “Thank you.”

  I gestured to Luka. “Let’s go.”

  And then she turned around, studied the building, and didn’t move. “No.”

  Through her sunglasses, I caught her eyes darting from side to side as if counting something or someone.

  “Umm. . .we should really get back into the limo—”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Too many Jamaicans.” She backed away with a big smile and opened the door. “I’ll explain. . .and if you could not make a big thing about it. . .that would be really good. . .”

  Luka scowled, still pissed with her from disappearing last night. “You don’t give out orders, only—”

  “No,” I said in Russian. I didn’t even look across the street, following what she’d said. “Let’s get in the limo, but like Emily said, don’t make it a big deal.”

  Luka grumbled, but walked forward.

  I let her get in first and climbed in afterwards.

  She blew out a long breath. “Can he move the limo to the parking lot, so it won’t spook them? They’ll think we’re still going in.”

  “The Jamaicans?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned on my phone, called my driver, and gave him the orders.

  He started the limo and slowly drove us toward the back of the building. But as we journeyed there, I spotted what Emily did. There were twenty men sporadically scattered around the block. All had dreadlocks and wore gray or black suits. Most had them pulled back and placed in ponytails.

  “So, this is a Jamaican gang?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Shower Posse. Others say Jamaican posse. It’s a loose coalition of gangs, based predominantly in Kingston, London, New York City, and Toronto.” Still studying the figures outside, she took off her shades and put them in her clutch. “Drugs and arms trafficking. They’re big, but not on your level so they’ve probably never crossed your radar.”

  “And why should I be worried about them today?”

  “New York is cliquish with their crime. Very exclusive. Everyone stays in their place.” She looked over her shoulder at the cars parking behind us in the lot. Some were my men. Others were ones I didn’t recognize. “Shower Posse rocks hard in Harlem and Brooklyn. Their lawyer is in Chinatown. Their washer is in Little Italy. There’s no reason for them to be here in the financial district. It’s too many of them.”

  “They’ve come here to fight or kill.”

  “Exactly. . .and. . .” She leaned forward and gazed out of my window, counting under her breath. “Shit. . .fuck.”

  “What do you see?”

  “At least sixty fucking people with guns that aren’t Russian. They must be Shower Posse. Unl
ess there’s some sort of Rasta Gun Business conference I don’t know about.”

  I scanned the space. There were men in suits standing in front of the bank and they looked like they had guns. There was no doubt about that. I checked at the store across from the bank. Four other Jamaicans in suits stupidly held newspapers up in front of them as if they’d all come to that location to meet and read the paper.

  “I’ve only counted ten men,” I said.

  “The vans.”

  Pissed, I checked behind the limo and spotted six different vans parked in various parts of the lot. In all of them, a man with dreadlocks sat at the wheel. I was sure there were a bunch of men in each van.

  Emily’s right. It’s probably sixty.

  I frowned. “Good count.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “There’s some guys on the roof of the restaurant across the street too. They aren’t snipers or anything. Too stupid to not let me see them.”

  I grinned.

  She raised her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re good.”

  “Someone’s trying to kill you or me. . .or us both.”

  “This isn’t a new thing for me.” I shrugged. “And recently, someone has been murdering my employees.”

  “So, I picked a hell of a time to start working for you then.”

  “You did. Last night, I found one of my madams dead.”

  “The madam at that place I met you at last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “She knew something?” Emily asked.

  “She did.”

  “And the Shower Posse knows something too.”

  “Yes. They know who’s trying to kill me, because what else could this be?” I asked.

  “This is weird.” Emily shook her head. “It seems like this was all planned, but how would anyone know that you’d be in New York? Are you usually here?”

  “No, but the men close to me would’ve known that I would come to New York, if my washer was killed.”

  “So, whoever killed your washer is trying to get rid of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they’re close to you.”

  I clenched my jaw. “I hope not for their sake.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Are we going to leave?”

  “No.” I gestured at the parking lot’s exit where a van had coincidentally blocked the area as soon as we’d stopped. “They plan on keeping us in this parking lot.”