Glazov (Born Bratva Book 1)

by Steele, Suzanne

  Her soft thumb ran over the bulb of my shaft, spreading the pre-come already there. A guttural growl emitted from deep in my chest. “Fuck, girl, ah that feels good.” She licked her dainty little lips as she purposely ran her moistened thumb underneath the ridge of my shaft. A shudder rolled down my spine at the sensation, and I grabbed her hand to jerk it off me. She was going to make me lose it before I even started. I tore the condom wrapper with my teeth and rolled it over my cock. I wanted to be sheathed inside her body, and I wanted it now.

  I mounted her and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Where did I tell you those hands had better be?” She immediately moved them back above her head. The position lifted her tits so they were positioned right by my mouth. I wrapped my plump lips around one and applied suction.

  I pushed into her hard and hissed, “Mine!”

  Her mouth fell open on a silent cry, and her eyes rolled back into her head. I had to stop a moment just to watch her, completely mesmerized by how her body responded to me.

  Watching her grab at the pillow and twist the pillowcase to keep from disobeying me had me so hard it hurt. I slowed down and reached a hand between us to rub the soaked opening of my little victim. She did exactly as I predicted; she screamed out my name and begged me for orgasm after orgasm.

  I knew as I watched her, felt her, took her, and fucked her that I would never let her go…

  I watched her sleep as I smoked a cigarette. She was stunning. Her skin was like white porcelain, and her auburn hair cascaded down over her shoulders and breasts in ringlets. I wondered if her bare little pussy had red hair when it was grown out, and I made a mental note to make her stop shaving so I could see.

  I’m glad your friend stole from me, Kathleen, because now I own you.

  Chapter Four

  Kathleen

  I was glad to wake up the next day alone. I took a moment to gather my thoughts as I looked around in wonder at the opulence surrounding me.

  The room was decorated in masculine décor, and it was nothing shy of stunning.

  High-end antiques, the kind you can only find overseas in Europe, were scattered all around the room.

  Large six-foot vases, adorned in golden luxury, were placed on either side of the entrance to what I assumed was a bathroom. A huge walk-in closet was over to the side of the massive four-poster bed that I still lied in.

  The Egyptian cotton sheets were the softest I’d ever felt. It was obvious my blackmailer was rich from his illegal activities. I wrapped the sheet around my nude body and made my way to the bathroom. Though there was a Jacuzzi tub that tempted me, I chose to jump in the shower instead. I needed to get to work and carry on with my life as if a known killer hadn’t just kidnapped and threatened me.

  When I found my brand of shampoo and conditioner in Glazov’s shower, I should have realized Glazov had been keeping tabs on me since before my employee confided in me about her debt. How long had he been watching her? More importantly, how long had he been watching me?

  I let the warm water cascade down my sore body. What I didn’t understand was why the rough sex Glazov subjected me to the night before turned me on so much.

  I opened the shower door and jumped when I saw Glazov leaning against the bathroom sink and eyeing me coldly. He’d been silently watching me through the shower door, and I hadn’t even noticed. I noted he had a tendency to stalk me. I would be more careful from now on; my life wasn’t my own anymore. I gathered my senses and grabbed a towel. I flipped my head over and wrapped my hair in it turban style.

  I grabbed the other towel, wrapped it around my body, and then moved to exit the shower as if his presence was no big deal. I turned, rubbed my hands over the fog on the mirror, and then grabbed my purse to begin the task of applying my make-up.

  I felt his strong hands grip my shoulders, and he turned me around to face him. “Where are you flying away to, my Ptichka? Did I give you permission to go, or did you forget our arrangement so quickly? I would hate to see your friend meet an untimely demise.”

  “I have to go to work, Glazov.”

  He chewed up and down my neck as his hands removed the towel covering my body.

  “I have to go home.”

  “You said that you were going to work, Ptichka. Which is it?”

  He sunk his teeth into the curve where my neck met my shoulder, and a jolt of desire coursed through me.

  He turned and lifted my body before he set me on the counter. His thick Russian accent sounded more pronounced than usual as he whispered threats in my ear. “I’m watching you, Ptichka. I’m always watching you.”

  I jumped as he pinched my still sore inner thigh. I knew it was his way of commanding me to spread my legs again.

  “I like watching you.” He thrust his middle finger into me, manipulating my clit with his thumb while he talked. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

  He was right in my face and glaring at me as my breathing became labored and my head flopped to the side. “Fucking you last night was like coming home. I’m not letting you go anywhere, not today and maybe not ever.”

  He picked me up, and my head fell against his large chest as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He didn’t feel like my captor or my blackmailer right now; he felt like a man my body was screaming out in need for.

  He laid me back down on the bed and tore out of his clothing, eyeing me as if he were a man starved and I was a smorgasbord. I watched as he, once again, tore into a condom packet and sheathed his large member.

  He pinned my legs back and buried his face into my wet hair. “Beg me to fuck you, Ptichka.”

  I sucked in my breath as he pushed his full girth into my tight opening. “Please, Glazov, don’t hurt me.” I could feel my opening stretch to accommodate his size.

  “I want to hurt you. There may come a day that you beg me to hurt you.”

  “Fuck me, Glazov! You feel so good.”

  He straightened and placed one of my legs over his shoulder, ignoring my whimpers as I begged him not to hurt me. I could see that my begging only turned him on, and in an odd way, it gave me a sense of power.

  His thumb manipulated my clit as he slowly pumped in and out of me, watching my face and sensitive to every nuance. “You better not come without asking my permission. I’ll hurt you if you do, Ptichka. Your orgasms belong to me now. No pleasuring yourself anymore, and God help you if you fuck another man.”

  He brought me right to the brink of release and stopped.

  “Glazov, please! You feel so good.”

  “Tell me why you call me ‘Glazov’ first.”

  “It just suits you. You look like a Roman gladiator or a Russian boxer. Please fuck me, Glazov!”

  He stared into my eyes as he thrusted in and out of me while rotating his thumb on my clit.

  “Come for me, Ptichka,” he said calmly. I was falling apart, and he sounded like he could be discussing the weather or the time of day. The way he was looking at me made me feel like he could see right through me or, perhaps, inside me. It was like he was some kind of interrogator demanding to know my innermost thoughts, the things I kept secret from the world around me. I spent my whole life building a wall of professionalism around me to guard myself from the world. I worked in a man’s world and had mastered keeping my professional and personal lives separate, not that I had a personal life. It had been forever since I had a sex life, and when I did, it was nothing like this. I didn’t normally open up to people, yet this Russian mobster was reaching inside me and scooping out my core at will. He was demanding I lower my guard, and his intensity made it impossible for me to resist his onslaught on my soul. He had set his sights on me, and I would never be the same again.

  Glazov

  She looked like an angel with the sun streaming in and glinting off her wet auburn hair. It was the look on her face, though, that did it for me. She was literally pleading with me and promising to do anything to please me as if I held her life in my hands. I guess, to be honest, I did.

/>   Her nipples were hard; those tiny pink nipples were jutting out towards me, surrounded by goose bumps. Her mouth was open, and her head was tilted back. Her eyes looked agonized, like she needed something only I could give her. I watched her as her whole body exploded beneath me. I loved watching her come.

  I pinned her legs back and grinded down into her. I pumped in and out of her and then changed my rhythm to grind in circles, causing wave after wave of orgasm to rage through her body. I wanted her, and I wanted her as addicted to me as I was to her.

  “What is Ptichka?” her voice softly questioned as I held her beneath me.

  “It’s a Russian term of endearment that I use. It means little bird.”

  “Why do you use that name with me, Glazov?”

  “Because you wish to escape me, but I will never permit it.”

  Part of my job is to know what my adversaries are thinking, and I’m damn good at what I do. I know she wishes with everything in her that she could escape the grip I’ve gained on her, but she has no idea how deeply I intend to sink my talons.

  It is in her nature to want to escape me. She is an independent woman, and though I find that sexy as hell, I can’t allow that independence to thwart my plans.

  I probably understand her nature even more than she does. This is more than likely the first time she’s been in a situation where she has had to open up to anyone. I don’t give a fuck if I have to pry her open to get to the real woman she keeps hidden from those around her; she’s mine, and I won’t permit her to hide anything from me.

  She will never be successful in escaping me. My connections span continents. Running away from me is only an illusion she possesses. It will never be her reality because now, whether she desires it or not, she is mine.

  Kathleen

  I spent the day working from home, but I also took some time to do a bit more research on the man blackmailing me. He was born, for lack of a better term, with a silver Bratva spoon in his mouth. I couldn’t make heads or tails out most of the information I was able to find on the Internet.

  There were so many different sects of the Russian mafia, or Bratva as they termed it. Each of the different groups represented a different family legacy and name. It was too confusing for an outsider like me to wrap my brain around the inner workings of it all.

  The pictures of him I found showed him rubbing elbows with Hollywood movie stars, the rich and elite, and even a politician or two. This wasn’t just some street thug I was dealing with; this was a well-organized and connected criminal. He had been born into a life of crime, and he had a lifetime’s worth of powerful connections—connections that had been passed down through the generations from fathers to sons.

  I leaned back in my office chair and let my mind wander. It must be nice to have a family so large. It would be wonderful to know that someone always had your back. I never had that luxury. Even though they were into criminal activity, at least they were always there for one another.

  I honestly can’t ever remember a time anyone had been there for me. The foster homes I grew up in had only taken me in for the monthly check. As I got older, I had to be concerned about the men and the older boys wanting more than just the money. I learned at a young age to guard myself from men. It had transferred into my adult life with ease. I watched women who slept with TV executives to get accounts, and I knew I would never be that girl. I worked for every account I secured. I was damn good at what I did, and I was never going to let any man cheapen me or my professional abilities.

  Glazov was different. He was a powerful man who was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, and he wanted me. I could see it in his ice-cold blue eyes when he looked at me with pure feral possession. I wondered if this was his M.O., obsessing over a woman and then taking her. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to run. Maybe Glazov would tire of me. If he did, would my life be in danger? Would my assistant’s life?

  I was never one to feel sorry for myself. I was grateful I escaped my life growing up in foster homes unscathed and with my dignity still intact. More than that, I was grateful I escaped the emotional scars I would have had as a result of any abuse. I was determined to make it on my own. Now, the only question was, would I escape the attentions of a dangerous Russian gangster unscathed?

  The reason I grew up in foster care was because my mother was a drunk. She spent more time going from boyfriend to boyfriend than worrying about me. When I got older, I was relieved when she didn’t have any more kids because I would’ve been the one who ended up raising them. Being alone with no sisters or brothers was also a blessing because I would’ve hated for us to be separated. It’s unlikely we would have all been placed in the same foster home, and it would’ve been painful to be torn apart due to my mother’s irresponsibility.

  It was only through my sheer will and determination to never be like my mother that I had turned out fine. I was adamant about being responsible and doing well in school. The library was my refuge and books were my escape. Early on, I learned that characters in books would never let me down. The walls of the library never failed to offer sanctuary in my times of pain. My love of literature was one of the main reasons I got into the TV industry and started writing commercials.

  My love of school and learning paid off when the courts emancipated me at the age of sixteen. Where most sixteen year olds might drop out of school and run the streets, I worked a job and finished my education. One of my jobs included working at a local TV station. Just by chance, I started submitting scripts for commercials and the producers liked them. I tapped into the industry doing a job I loved, and each script that was accepted as quality work spurred me on to secure a job I loved. Finally, I found something that would enable me to be independent. I could work on my own merit and not have to be dependent on anyone. Unlike my mother, I would be free of any man controlling me.

  I graduated from working at home to having my own office with an assistant. A lot of good that’s done me, though, because now my bleeding heart has gotten me into trouble. A very dangerous man was now threatening the control I spent a lifetime securing. I wasn’t just up against a man who wanted control; I was dealing with a man who had the power to forcefully take the independence I had worked so hard to achieve.

  It always amazed me how kids who grew up with nothing and no one would go on to make something of their lives, while kids who had it all would just throw it away as if it didn’t matter. I knew that wasn’t always true, but the shoe sure fit in Robin’s case. She had it all. She had a husband who loved her, healthy kids, and a good job. Now, a nasty gambling addiction threatened to ruin not only her life, but the lives of her friends and family as well. I wished I could be as cold as Glazov and leave her to her addiction and the consequences that came with it. It wasn’t my job to rescue her, but the emotions I worked so hard to shut down to protect myself against men had, apparently, fallen prey to a woman, a friend. I never saw that coming. I spent so many years guarding my heart against love that I never considered friendship a threat.

  I was smart enough to realize that being bitter about it wasn’t going to help. I would do what I always did. I’d find a logical and responsible way to get out of this mess. I knew that even though Glazov was involved in crime, he was still a businessman. That is how I would approach him. Surely, he wasn’t some Neanderthal who believed he could drag me into his life caveman style. He was a member of the upper echelon of society, so there had to be an element of humanity in him. I would approach him with a logical business proposition and hope that I could persuade him with common sense.

  Regardless of how much I reasoned with myself, it didn’t silence the small voice that was telling me he had no intentions of letting me go. This wasn’t about the money; it was about me. Glazov had set his sights on me, and he had no intentions of letting me fly away.

  He had nailed my personality when he dubbed me Ptichka. If he had the ability to do that with his enemies, no wonder his reputation for ruthlessness preceded him. In his line of work,
I’m certain it takes much more than brutality to be effective. It takes brains, and it takes perception. Glazov had those traits in abundance, which made him a very dangerous man.

  He had the ability to read others while never revealing his intentions. His ability to interrogate the enemy was evident. I was going to have to use everything I learned growing up to deal with him. If he thought I was going to willingly give in to his control, he was mistaken. All I needed to do was get a read on his personality and figure out how to deal with him in a business manner. Suddenly, it hit me that I needed to do more in-depth research on the Bratva, especially his lineage. It would tell me what I needed to know. I hadn’t dug deep enough yet, but I would.

  Chapter Five

  Yafon

  “Have you done as I asked, Yafon?”

  “Yes, I took care of placing the device on her laptop while she slept here last night. I also retrieved her keys and had a copy of each one made for you. This is her new phone. I was able to get her old one and transfer all her information. I downloaded all her contacts and completed background checks on them. It appears they are all business contacts; she actually leads a pretty boring life. She works all the time. There are no boyfriends, no social life.”

  “Good, she’ll be very happy to know I won’t have to kill a boyfriend,” Alexander Glazov chuckled.

  Though Alexander laughed, Yafon was well aware just how serious his boss was—dead serious. He knew his boss had a reputation for being very meticulous in his business dealings. This wasn’t business, though; this was obsession. He’d never witnessed his boss show this much interest in a woman. She was different than the women he knew Glazov had bedded in the past. The women Glazov usually fucked were harder. They wore too much make-up and slutty clothes. Many of them were nothing more than Bratva groupies. He knew his boss had chosen to go that route with his conquests because the women in his past were nothing but a means to an end, a way of releasing stress. He could fuck them without forming an emotional attachment. He wasn’t a man who was given to showing emotion, and he certainly wasn’t going to take the chance on opening up to some groupie just to have her turn around and stab him in the back later on.