Knocked Up by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Levushka Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  My face heats at the memory. How many people on the estate think I am sleeping with Aleksandr? What does my mother think?

  I’ve seen her since being back on Boris’ property, but she has done her best to avoid me. And considering Boris’s clear anger towards me, I haven’t wanted to risk her position in his house by letting him see us together. He knows we are mother and daughter, but he also knows we haven’t been on the best of terms. For now, it seems better to let him keep thinking that.

  Aleksandr lays his hand on my shoulder, and his touch is so gentle and unexpected that I just turn and look at his fingers draped over my shoulder. He is warm, like a personal space heater, and I want to press my face into his palm like a cat and purr.

  “What did he do?” he asks more seriously this time.

  “It isn’t important.” I pull away from his touch and shake my head, trying to clear my muddled thoughts. “He just made it known that I’m not wanted here.”

  “That isn’t true,” he says. “I want you here.”

  “But why?” I practically scream at him, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how aggressive they sound. I look down at the floor and repeat them, softer. “But why?”

  The silence between us stretches and grows uncomfortable. When I look up, Aleksandr is staring at me as though he is trying to peer straight through my skull and read my thoughts. He blinks when he realizes we are making eye contact and runs a hand along his jaw. He shrugs. “Because this is all my fault, anyway.”

  “How? Because you got me fired?” I ask. “Because honestly, I think I was kind of asking for it.”

  Aleksandr opens his mouth to say something, and then he pulls back and raises one eyebrow. “Excuse me? Did you just admit that our argument was kind of your fault?”

  “What? No!”

  The corners of his mouth are turned up in a smile he is trying to bite back, but he can’t hide the light dancing in his eyes. Aleksandr is emitting pure amusement. “Because I think that is what you just admitted.”

  “I admitted that I was having a bad day, and I may have taken it out on you.”

  Aleksandr takes a step back and claps, bowing his head to me. “That takes real courage to admit.”

  “But,” I add, stepping forward and jabbing him in the chest with my finger. “You were being a huge asshole. Call me Mr. Levushka.”

  My deep mocking voice and shrugged shoulders push Aleksandr over the edge, and he tips his head back and laughs.

  The sound is like thunder during a summer storm. It is deep and completely earth-shaking.

  As soon as he lets loose, allowing me to see this softer side of him, my foundations are rocked. Suddenly, I’m the teenage girl watching him come in from a run. I’m standing at the edge of the house, daydreaming about what it would be like to hold his attention, to be near him, to touch him.

  The emotions come flooding back too quickly, and I stumble away from him. He is still laughing too hard to notice, so I recover by sitting on the edge of his bed and tucking my hands in my lap lest they decide to go rogue and stroke the sharp cut of his cheekbone.

  Finally, he looks at me, and his smile is breathtaking. All pearly white and straight. He presses his hands onto his hips, looking handsome and rugged. “Fine. Maybe I was having a bad day, too.”

  “We were both having bad days,” I say. “That’s it.”

  “That’s it,” he agrees, nodding his head. As he does, his smile begins to fade. “One bad day, and I ruined your life.”

  He looks truly broken up about it, so I chuckle. “Hardly.”

  When he sits next to me on the bed, the mattress dips under his weight and gravity forces me closer to him. I have to actively fight to keep my shoulder from brushing his. He folds his hands in his lap, his thumbs circling around one another like boxers in the ring. “Your life was already ruined?”

  I shrug. “Not ruined, I guess. But not great.”

  “Why?”

  I bite my lip and then point at my stomach. “Pregnant and single, for starters. And on top of that, my mom isn’t exactly thrilled about the news, so she hasn’t been talking to me for the last few weeks.”

  “You just found out a few weeks ago?” he asks, looking down at my stomach. I can tell he is trying to decide how far along I am.

  “I’m not showing yet. I’m only nine weeks.” I stop, brow furrowed as I count back. “Or, I guess, ten weeks now.”

  Aleksandr’s shoulders stiffen, and he stands up, pacing away from the bed. He glances over towards the desk, and I follow his gaze. His laptop is still open, though the screen has gone dark.

  “I’m sorry.” The words are out before I’m entirely certain what I’m sorry for. Then, I remember Mikhail. I’m complaining about my life when his brother just died days ago.

  “For what?” he asks.

  I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to talk to him about what happened, how Mikhail died and how he is feeling, but it feels too heavy. So, I nod towards the desk. “For distracting you. It looked like you were working when I came in.”

  He shrugs. “I’m always working.”

  “Shouldn’t you have people below you to take care of that?”

  “You’d think.” He smirks and it hits me like a pure ray of sunshine. “But everyone else seems to pile everything on my desk for some reason.”

  “Hmmph.”

  Aleksandr pushes a strand of blonde hair off of his forehead. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, a smile bubbling up on my face, too. “I just never took you to be the kind of guy who would let other people tell him what he was supposed to do.”

  “I’m not,” he says quickly.

  “Sounds like you are,” I say, pointing to the desk.

  He looks over his shoulder at his desk, and then in the next instant, he stalks across the room and slams the laptop closed. For a moment, I think he is angry, but when he turns around, his face is split in a smile. “I do what I like. See?”

  “So, you like working, then?”

  He sits next to me on the bed again, his thigh brushing against mine. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious in the t-shirt and short cloth pajama shorts I’m wearing. Aleksandr had new clothes ordered for me to wear, and all of them are a little more on the sexy side than my normal clothes.

  “Is this a conversation or a therapy session?” he teases.

  I don’t answer, but instead just hold his gaze until he sighs.

  “I guess, I’ve always enjoyed the work. Having something to do and some way to contribute to the family feels good. Being busy gives life meaning.”

  I frown. “That is depressing.”

  “Having a purpose isn’t depressing.”

  “Yeah, but having no fun is,” I say. “Work is what you do so you can have enough money to have fun.”

  “I already have enough money.”

  I roll my eyes. “Exactly. Which is why it is even more sad that you think work for the sake of work gives life meaning.”

  “Not for the sake of work,” he says. “It isn’t like I’m digging a hole in the ground just to stay busy. My work is meaningful.”

  “Fine,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “Your work is meaningful and it gives you a purpose. But when you aren’t fulfilling your purpose, how do you relax at the end of the day?”

  “I sleep.”

  “Try again.”

  “What do you mean ‘try again’? You want me to change my answer?”

  I nod. “Absolutely.”

  He groans. “I go out. Have drinks. Meet people.”

  The thought of Aleksandr sitting at a bar with a drink in his hands revs something in me that I’d like to explore. “Where do you go out?”

  “The Mendeleev.”

  “There we go. That isn’t lame. I’ve been there,” I say. “But I’ve never seen you before.”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes, and I feel him assessing me. I wonder if he is imagining what it wo
uld be like to run into me in public. If he is thinking about what it would be like to see me outside of my capacity as his uncle’s maid.

  “I don’t go often.” He chews on his thumbnail for a second and then crosses his arms, his muscles bulging even more than normal. I have to look away so I won’t make a fool of myself and reach out to touch him. “And when I do, I don’t stay long.”

  I’m about to tell him he is lame again, but then I see the smug smile on his face, and I understand.

  “Ew.”

  “What?” He feigns shock.

  “You’re telling me that you have sex for fun?”

  He leans down, his excited whisper hot on my neck. “Well, isn’t it?”

  Goosebumps run down my arms and legs and heat builds between my legs.

  I wouldn’t know.

  Though, I can’t tell Aleksandr that. That I don’t know who the father of my baby is. I can’t tell him that I’m pregnant without ever having had an orgasm before. It is too humiliating.

  Aleksandr chuckles to himself and then nudges me in the arm. “What about you? What do you do for fun?”

  “Sex,” I blurt out. “Lots of sex. Just like you.”

  He snorts in surprise. “What?”

  I don’t need a mirror to know my face is as red as a tomato. “I was joking.”

  He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head back, looking down his straight nose at me. “So, you don’t have sex?”

  “Well, I mean, yes,” I say, the heat from my face moving down my neck and chest. “But not in the way it sounded. The way you said it. Not with you—or, not in the same way.”

  Aleksandr’s face is pinched into a mask of restraint as he tries to keep from laughing in my face, but I can see how much he is enjoying my nervousness. “In what way are you having sex, then? If it isn’t the way I’m having it?”

  I stand up and shake my head, refusing to engage. “Have you had dinner yet? I didn’t see you at dinner, and if you are going to insist I eat every meal, then I won’t let you skip, either.”

  “Zoya,” he says warmly. “You are avoiding the subject.”

  “No, I am just concerned about your welfare.”

  “Are you?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Since when?”

  “Since you started caring about mine, apparently,” I shout, flinging my arms at him.

  His amusement turns more solemn, and Aleksandr stands up. “You want to know why?”

  “Why what?” I ask before I can think about what he is asking.

  He takes a step towards me. “Why I care about you?”

  No. Definitely not. I don’t care. “Yes.”

  Aleksandr takes another step towards me until he is crowding me, until I want to back away, but I also want to loop my arms around his neck and pull myself closer.

  “I care about you because—” he looks down at me and then lower, and I think he is going to mention my baby, though I don’t know why. His hand moves to my hip, his other curving around my waist, and I feel like putty in his hands.

  “Because,” he repeats, his eyes tracing my face and landing on my lips.

  I wonder how many women he has done this with. How many women he has held this way and looked at like this.

  I feel special. With his eyes on me, his hands massaging circles into my skin, I feel like the only woman in the world. How many women has he made feel this way?

  I expect to be jealous, and I am, but not because he has been with and seen other women. I am jealous because other women have been with him. Since I stood in the yard of the estate and daydreamed about Aleksandr, other women have touched him and felt him, and I wish I’d had the experience, too.

  In the end, it might even be nice to find the other women he has been with. Start a support group or something.

  Because Aleksandr has simply laid his hands on me, and I’m not sure how I’ll ever fully recover. My heart is pounding against my chest, and my legs are weak. The only thing holding me up seems to be the magnetic pull I feel towards his mouth. I stretch up on my toes out of necessity, desperate to be closer to him.

  His lips move around another word, but I don’t care about the explanation anymore. I don’t care why he cares. Or if he really does. I just want to know what it would be like to be with him.

  To be with someone.

  So, I curl my fingers around his neck and pull. I don’t have to pull hard because at the same time, Aleksandr bends forward and our lips meet.

  And just like that, I’m kissing Mr. Levushka.

  Chapter 13

  Zoya

  It is the kind of kiss that drains you and fills you up all at the same time.

  The moment our lips meet, I feel like I’m floating, like the only thing tethering me to the ground is Aleksandr and his hands on my body.

  But then there is a heavy feeling between my legs, like a weight is pushing down on me from the inside.

  Aleksandr is softer than I thought he would be. Even with the stubble around his mouth scratching my cheeks, he is tender and warm. His hands slope up my back and then press down my spine, dragging across the soft material of my shirt. I arch my back and press myself closer to him, hungry for more of his touch.

  I’m trying not to think about where this will lead.

  Not because I don’t want it to lead there, but because I’m not sure what that is going to mean.

  Aleksandr doesn’t know this is my first time since – well, since ever, really. I don’t count the night that gave me the baby in my belly. I don’t even remember it, after all. I certainly didn’t participate actively. Meaning, I have no idea what I’m doing now. What if he just thinks I’m bad at sex? What if I do something wrong?

  His fingers drag across my neck and then cup my chin. He pulls away from me and frowns down. We’ve only been kissing for a few minutes. Or, at least, I think it has only been a few minutes. But already his lips are red and his eyes are puffy like he has been sleeping.

  “Stop thinking,” he says, squeezing my jaw.

  I feel drunk. “What?”

  He shakes my face back and forth. “You think too much. Stop it.”

  “How do you know—”

  He circles his hips against me, letting me feel his hardness against my thigh, and my mouth falls open, a surprised sigh slipping from my lips.

  “How do you know I was thinking about anything?” I ask, my voice higher than normal.

  Aleksandr lets go of my jaw and glides his hand over my collarbone and down my chest, his finger drawing a line directly over my breast. Because I was already in my pajamas, I don’t have a bra on, so his finger flicks at my pebbled nipple, and I gasp.

  “You got tense.” He runs his other hand up my thigh, his thumb tickling the strip of skin between the top of my shorts and the bottom of my shirt. His paw of a hand cups my waist and then shifts higher until I can feel his heat pressed against my ribs and the side of my breast. “I just want you to relax.”

  How am I supposed to relax when I feel like I’m on fire?

  He laughs, and I realize I’ve said it out loud. My brain really is fuzzy.

  Leaning forward, he kisses my shoulder and then my neck. I shiver when his warm breath washes over my skin. And when his stubble scrapes against my jaw, I lose my mind.

  “Take this off.” My fingers are jittery like I’ve had too much coffee as I grab the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up. Before I can even get it over his head, I pause, admiring the hard lines of his body. I reach out and let my fingers explore the dips and raises of his body.

  Aleksandr pulls his shirt off the rest of the way, letting me map out his topography with both hands.

  He is even more beautiful than I imagined.

  All hard lines and smooth skin, he looks like an advertisement in a catalog rather than a real person. I can’t help but lean forward and taste him. When my lips press against his chest, he sighs and wraps his arms around me. Then, I move lower, crouching down as I offer attention to each of his abs and the dip beneath his be
lly button.

  When I reach the waistband of his underwear, I freeze.

  I know what I should do—what would be the sexy thing to do.

  I should unhook the button of his pants with a flick of my fingers, pull the material down his legs, and give some attention to the proud member I see outlined against his thigh.

  Except, I’ve never done that before. To anyone. And the thought of doing it now for the first time with Aleksandr is too much, too fast.

  I feel like I’m frozen there for hours but it can’t have been more than a few seconds before he cups a hand behind my neck and pulls me to standing.

  “Stop thinking,” he whispers against my lips, taking a step forward and pressing his leg between my thighs. The hard muscle of his leg massages against my ache, and I groan.

  He takes another step and another, pushing me closer to the bed while also driving me wild until I’m a vibrating bundle of nerves against his leg. I can’t think about anything except getting more of him.

  Aleksandr pushes me back on the bed, and before I can even prop myself up, his fingers hook under the waistband of my shorts. As soon as they are on the floor, he massages his palms up my legs, spreading my thighs wide for him to nestle between.

  I haven’t done this, either, but I can tell immediately there isn’t much for me to do. Aleksandr is control. I’m supposed to lay here. And not think. A task that becomes infinitely easier when his finger draws a line across the center of my panties, and I lose all feeling or connection to any part of my body that isn’t under his touch.

  I press my hips up to get more, but he braces me with his forearm, forcing me back down onto the bed. Then, he slips his finger beneath the black lacy material and pushes it aside. When I feel the warmth of his breath between my legs, I whimper.

  I need him to touch me, but if he does, I’ll explode. It feels like a fitting end, though. A good way to go, if you have to.

  His tongue laps at my center, and my entire body convulses. The only thing keeping me on the bed is Aleksandr’s forearm, pressing into me hard enough I’m sure there will be bruises. I don’t care.

  He licks me again, and my thighs clamp around his ears.