by Bethany-Kris
“Great. Promise.” By the grin he sported, Viviana thought it’d be safe to work his nerves a little more. Nothing made her husband hotter than when she irked his jealous tendencies. “Hurry up and fuck me before I get serious about that future divorce.”
“Vine,” he growled, the noise originating from somewhere deep in his chest.
She tried to look innocent when she blinked back at him. But, the warning in Anton’s grip that was suddenly stretching her thighs wider apart, his fingers digging deliciously rough into her tender skin to make her feel the sting and want in that grasp …
“You couldn’t fucking divorce me if you tried, baby. I wouldn’t let you.”
Her heartbeat pulsed between her legs. The fake innocence was lost. She smirked up at him instead. “What kind of husband refuses to discuss money with his wife? That’s sure to lead us right off a cliff eventually, Anton. Doomed from the start.”
“Nuh-uh,” he replied indifferently.
She opened her mouth to speak, to poke at his green monster that was never hidden quite as well as he thought it was. Her words were cut off by a sharp inhale of air slicing through her throat as the tip of his cock finally found heaven and home. With three short, sharp thrusts, each one stretching Viviana’s sensitive tissues, causing her inner muscles to flex and shudder to accept his swift intrusion, he was seated inside her sex.
There was nothing quite like the way Anton filled her fully, how he took her so easily. Their bodies molded together like puzzle pieces separated from counterparts for far too long. It was a sweetened mix of delirious and perilous. The way every inch of her skin seemed to hum with electricity and life, how her nerves snapped and burned. Everything seemed to blink away, lights faded, and worries disappeared when they loved.
Viviana’s voice was a whine pushing through thickened air. “Oh.”
Saying anything else was impossible. Her throat constricted around something building. The throbbing in his shaft responded to every beat of Viviana’s stuttering heart. Squirming against the handcuffs keeping her in place, she wanted him to move so she could think again.
“Please, you’ve got to … I need you to … move, Anton, please.”
The low whisper of his soothing shush did nothing to help the ache and need clawing through her chest, piercing at her skin like a cloying want that she could almost taste. Viviana whimpered, her legs moving under his guidance to wrap around his waist again.
“Holy fuck … yeah.” Anton groaned.
For a brief moment, he simply held them connected. Bodies tight, his hand running over the inside of her thigh to soothe the ache where he’d previously grabbed, and their gazes meeting to watch emotions flicker on past with words unsaid.
Wave after wave of surprise fueled desire washed over Viviana’s suddenly hazy senses. Her entire body felt like one long, melting sigh as Anton finally began to pull out. Slowly—painfully fucking so—he began a quiet, gentle rhythm of long, smooth thrusts that filled her clenching channel with every flex of his hips.
Viviana wanted him harder, so much faster. She wanted to beg, to cry, and need.
“Breathe, baby, you gotta—”
Fuck, wasn’t she?
Everything was lost when Anton touched her, even the most basic of instincts—fucking everything.
A cattish whine clawed at her throat. Viviana felt her fingers curl tighter around the edge of the desk, nails scoring into precious wood as those slow strokes of his began coming faster, sharper, and harder.
“There, huh? That’s what you wanted. Feel me, baby.”
Viviana couldn’t respond behind her gritting teeth. The mewling whines crawling from her throat were growing by the second. Anton answered each one with a stronger thrust than the one that came before.
With the departure of his cock, her inner muscles grasped at his length, wanting him back, needing him there. She was so wet, the scent of her arousal clinging to the air and edging at the tip of her tongue. The echoing noise of their fucking resounded at the very base of her mind.
Eventually, the haziness saturating her vision and wits cleared. Instead of simply feeling him everywhere, Viviana could see her husband, too. The blue in his irises burned with its raging desire, that predatory gaze of his locked onto the spot where their bodies connected. His lips, parted, trembling. Both of Anton’s hands rested to her hips, holding tight as his fingers dug beautifully rough into her skin.
Like he wanted her—only her.
And he fucked her like he owned her.
Viviana loved it.
“Fuck, I needed this,” Anton ground out through his teeth.
“Needed me.”
The flick of his eyes raising to meet hers was instant. The impact of his stare was like a shock straight to her sex and heart, as if every single inch of her nervous system was reflected from his.
“Only you.”
The scratching whines in her throat were building into a crescendo of high cries and moans that tumbled over her lips with every thrust of his cock. The controlled snaps of his body meeting hers had sent anything weighing less than a paperweight dropping off the desk. Viviana could feel the muscles in his lower back where her heels were pressed flexing with every movement.
With a shift of hips, Anton seemed to be searching her gaze for something. Another flex of his body into hers, the angle changing once more, and Viviana’s eyes flew wide as the tip of his cock grazed her g-spot before his shaft stroked the fleshy spot entirely. Every time he filled her, Anton had her body totally aware, her legs shaking, and her mind screaming.
“There we go,” Anton said as Viviana reacted to the change in his thrusts by tossing her head back. “Mmhmm, you love that. Holding onto me so damned tight, Viviana. You’re ready to fucking blow—I want your sweet come all over my fucking desk, baby.”
“Anton … Jesus. Oh fucking God—almost.”
There was a pressure building in the base of Viviana’s spine. Strong and foreign, it coiled like a tightening spring ready to snap. Now, she wanted him closer, to feel him as her body released and fell from his high spun web. Jerking at the restraints still holding tight, she was reminded that she couldn’t just touch him if she wanted.
“Closer, please,” she managed to plead.
Those warm, strong hands of his trailed up her sides, roaming over her breasts, up her collarbones and neck until they grasped each side of her face to hold her head still. When she came, the orgasm rushed her blood with a soaking flood of euphoria. Frantically trying to keep the slipping grip she had on the desk, Viviana curled her fingers tighter around the edge. With Anton’s mouth seeking hers, she cried his name so brokenly, surprised to find his movements had slowed enough to draw out the constricting waves of her orgasm for himself.
Jerky and praying Viviana’s name, Anton buried his face into the crook of her neck as he worked his way into his own orgasm a few thrusts after hers had finished. While she caught her breath, Anton pulled away from her body. A trickle of fluids leaked between her thighs to the desk and she felt him hum his approval along her collarbones. Stopping to bite and suck at her skin, her husband sighed a happy noise.
Dammit, she still just wanted to hold him.
Viviana whined. “Get these fucking things off.”
Anton grinned against the swell of her breast. “Okay, chill out.”
A small set of metal keys were produced from a drawer. Taking the time to readjust his softening cock inside his boxer-briefs and to pull up his pants before zipping them up, Anton winked at his wife. Finally, he unlocked the cuffs from her wrists one at a time, much too slow for Viviana’s liking. Feeling terribly sticky with sweat, she couldn’t help but notice the heavy scent of their fucking hanging in the air.
“I’m a mess,” she said as Anton clipped her bra back in pace and began the work of buttoning up her blouse. “And your office smells like sex.”
“I love it,” he replied, smirking up through his lashes. “Love that you’ll walk out of here loo
king like I just fucked you, because I did. Love that you made my office smell like us and anyone with two brain cells to rub together will know it.”
Heat crawled over Viviana’s cheeks. “You are horrible.”
“Never denied it.”
As he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, laying a soft kiss to her temple, Viviana sunk into the embrace willingly.
“You know I was kidding about the money, right?” she asked.
“I never thought it mattered. It wasn’t like you asked before. Don’t you know how successful you are, Viviana?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your businesses, baby,” he clarified, leaning back to raise his brow at her. “What is it, five clubs, seven restaurants, and two strip clubs spread out across Brooklyn? Something like that. You’re a very successful entrepreneur. I just work under you, technically. On paper, anyway.”
Viviana had to let his words absorb to understand what he was telling her. Shocked was an understatement.
“Do you mean—”
“Yes,” Anton interrupted with a single nod. “When Ivan transferred all my assets into my wife’s name, he transferred all of them. I don’t know if you read the fine print in our prenuptial agreement or not, but you never have to worry about money again. Everything that’s mine is yours and it always will be, even if I’m not. Legally, you bring in anywhere in the range of nine to twelve million in profit a year. Your financial profile is all handled by Ivan’s offices.”
“And you?” she dared to ask, not even sure she wanted to know.
Anton licked his lips, glancing away from her gaze as he admitted, “Our trade is a multibillion dollar a year business. Am I taking that big of a slice? Hell no. I am taking a hefty enough chunk of it to make me a competitor amongst many, however.”
Viviana didn’t know what to say. She’d previously thought he was ignoring the discussion of money, but now she knew he just simply didn’t care because it was either hers, or it was money she wouldn’t want to touch, anyway.
Static crackled in the air, surprising Viviana out of her internal thoughts.
“Anton, are you two finished up there, yet?”
Ivan’s voice coming through the conference speaker not only seemed slightly annoyed, but a little bit flustered as well. Viviana couldn’t hide the embarrassment that had her inappropriate giggles building at Ivan’s attempt at an innocent question.
Anton sighed, reaching over to hit the reply button. “Finished doing what exactly?”
Ivan spluttered. “Uh … Well, you know … Christ, why do you have to make this so awkward?”
“Did Kalvin come back?” Anton asked.
“Yes,” Ivan replied, “and he’s been waiting at least ten minutes for you.”
The conference phone was clicked off. Anton’s smug grin grew a little more as he leaned forward to kiss his wife all slow and sweet. “Thank you for taking your punishment so well. Smile pretty when you go downstairs, huh?”
Viviana huffed in mock offence, her hand coming up to smack at his chest. “Can I at least have my panties back?”
“Nope, they’re mine, now.”
Chapter Seven
“That was fast,” Anton said, sitting down in the booth. It’d been exactly a week and a half since his wife’s tires were slashed. He expected the sit down with the Italian mafia boss to take at least a month to set up properly. “I appreciate it.”
Conrad Carducci sipped from his to-go cup of coffee and said nothing long enough for Anton to order his own cup. “This is me extending trust,” he replied, tossing a glance across the booth. “We’ve worked together before—”
“I paid you off, once,” Anton corrected. “I killed your cousin and you took his spot after I did so. I wouldn’t call that working together, but more like circumstances that fell into place for you thanks to me.”
“I knew you were going to do it. I could have stopped you, or ordered someone to.”
“But you didn’t. Did you even have to fight for Sonny’s throne?”
Conrad barked a spiteful laugh. “Fuck no. They wanted him gone. I was the next logical choice. Some were already trying to plan it, but the feds were so far down our throats over Roman’s death it was ridiculous. I think they were close to coming down on Sonny for that—they just needed something else.”
“Better they didn’t. He still would have been running it from behind bars.”
“Truth.” Conrad offered the admittance without shame. “So, extending you my trust, Russian. A quick meeting, no pre-planning. I don’t own this place, but it’s safe, and my guys are outside out of earshot. Yours are three tables down.”
Actually, just Ivan was there, and he was too far away to hear the conversation. They both handed over their guns before coming in to the café. Whether or not Anton considered that to be a show of trust was something entirely different.
“My wife’s tires were slashed,” Anton said as a cup of coffee was placed in front of him. “Every one of ‘em right down to the rim. I managed to get it fixed and have her car brought back home before she noticed a thing out of place. Also, a photographer was seen behind our home taking pictures of Viviana. Do you happen to know anything about that nonsense, Conrad?”
The Italian’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline. “I haven’t any need to be bothering Viviana. And I don’t think my new wife would appreciate me doing any harm to her niece.”
Anton didn’t realize Conrad married Sonny’s widow. Then again, both he and Viviana stayed far away from her family.
“Funny, it seems like something one of your younger guys might do for some enjoyment. I don’t mean to say you would order it done, but maybe they thought it would catch your attention given whose tires it was.”
Conrad drummed his fingers to the table, glancing out the window to where his men stood beside a black car. “No, someone would have bragged about it, surely. Even if they were young and not yet made. They can’t help but talk, the fucking idiots.”
Strangely, Anton believed Conrad. The man never lied to him before, and Conrad said it himself, he had allowed the Russian boss to practically do as he pleased in regards to Sonny. There was no backlash from the Italians, thankfully. He had a sneaking suspicion the Don had his hand in that pot, too.
Well, shit. If it wasn’t from Conrad’s side, then Anton had done nothing but waste his time. On the better side of things, that took away one more person who wasn’t fucking Anton around and each man would walk out of the meeting alive. No issues and no attitude was good for business.
“Thanks for this,” Anton started to say, waving his cup and standing.
“Wait …” Conrad cleared his throat as glanced down at the table as Anton sat again. “There might be something, but I don’t think it’s related at all to this. Or at least it doesn’t seem like it.”
“All right.”
“A couple of months back there was a little talk, but it wasn’t about Viviana.”
Anton cocked a brow. “About me?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Conrad said pointedly. “It was just in general. Since it really wasn’t about me, or for me, I kept my nose out of it. I figured nothing was going to come of it, either. Considering how long it’s been, well, I thought nothing had come of it.”
Anton was growing frustrated with the useless chatter. “And?”
“Like I said, there was talk, but it was small and no one really knew where it came from to start with. Apparently there was expected to be … changes … in the Russian leadership soon. Or, that’s what they took it as.”
Anton froze, the hot coffee he sipped burned his tongue. Changes in leadership only meant one thing. Death. “They being who?”
“Again, I don’t know. Word spreads and it turns into more gossip than fact, you know that. Like I said, I didn’t think much of it at the time. I still don’t, Anton, even with this tire issue you mentioned. That’s a bit petty, if you think about it.”
“Jersey Bratva family or my Bratva
?” he asked, surprised at the threatening tone he took on.
“Fuck, I wish I knew. I’ll ask around, but it’s likely been too long now. But if it is yours, you know as well as I do, it comes from the inside first.”
That it did.
Standing from the table once more, Anton said, “Thank you for meeting me.”
Conrad shrugged, offering a thin smile that held reluctance. “Forgive me, but I hope we don’t need to have another one. My family has mixed with the Russians long enough, I believe.”
Anton wholeheartedly agreed. The one Italian he mixed well with was his wife, and she was only half. “To keeping to our own territories, then?”
Conrad nodded and bumped his cup against the one held out to him without hesitating. “To territory.”
*
“This is damned good.” Ivan moaned, tapping his fork to a Tupperware container.
Anton grinned as Erik nodded his agreement, his mouth too full with pie to speak. Sucking the bit of sweetened pasty off the tip of his thumb, the mob boss didn’t even bother to hide his smug pride at the simple gesture of other men fawning over his wife’s cooking.
It might have been a little primal, but Anton didn’t give a fuck.
There was no doubt about it, his wife could cook her ass off. Viviana had skills in the kitchen. She also had a tendency to make homemade pastries and sweets to decorate their kitchen with the scent of sugar and its accompanying goodness. There was nothing quite like him coming home to find their house saturated in the smell of fresh apple pie with cinnamon drifting along the edges of the wafting aroma.
It wasn’t like Viviana was Suzy Fucking Homemaker. Her plans for their life didn’t include a dozen children and her staying home with his kids while she was barefoot in the kitchen. But it was clear she’d picked up one hell of a thing or two from her Italian born and raised mother.