The Russian: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Renee Rose

***

  The minute Lucy started to come, he lost control, coming like a freight train right behind her. He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there while he spanked her clit with a rapid tap-tap-tap and her pussy responded with squeeze after squeeze.

  He never wanted to pull out. Never wanted to separate his body from hers. Only wanted to hear that sexy voice pleading his name for the rest of his life.

  “I would fuck you all night long if I could,” he rumbled, bumping her reddened ass again with his loins. “I’d teach you to scream my name until you went hoarse.”

  A sound came out of her—he couldn’t tell if it was laughter or sobs, so he pulled out and helped her onto her belly. She groaned, as if her body ached, but her eyes were dry.

  “Tell me you’re okay. Did I hurt you?”

  “My arms hurt,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, some of it rubbed free of her pigtails.

  “I’m sure they do.” He removed his condom and disposed of it, refastening his pants. With the razor-sharp hunting knife he kept in his pants pocket, he cut her wrists free and rubbed her arms. She winced and gasped as the blood no doubt rushed back into them. “Hey, Tommy,” he called out. “Bring me the duct tape.”

  Tommy appeared in the doorway and tossed the roll to him. “Why’d you cut her free?”

  “New position,” Yuri grunted.

  Tommy looked at them with a mixture of interest and revulsion. “Maybe I’ll take a turn with her—”

  “No. No turns with her.”

  “Why not? You got a thing for her? Ah?”

  “No turns.” He made his voice hard and flinty. It wasn’t hard to play crazy Russian with them, especially over this issue. He would legitimately go bat-shit crazy on their asses if either one of them tried to touch her. Fortunately, they both knew him to be stubborn, violent and mostly insane, so his behavior wasn’t out of character.

  “Okay, whatever.” Tommy retreated, obviously not willing to fight him over her.

  Lucy, however, looked appropriately frightened.

  He pulled her wrists in front of her and wrapped them with the tape, all the way to the fingertips to keep her from using her digits to open doors or whatever other mischief she might attempt. “I will fucking kill them if they touch you,” he promised in a dark, low voice. “I wanted to shoot them both for seeing you like that.”

  She regarded him, the disheveled hair even more adorable than usual.

  “But maybe it’s something I have to get used to. Because you liked it when they watched, didn’t you, Lucya?” He’d noticed how her excitement level had grown each time they’d had an audience. “I should spread you across my lap and teach you what happens when you make Yuri jealous.”

  “Do you always refer to yourself in the third person?”

  He grinned despite himself and tapped her nose. “You’re cute when you sass me.”

  She studied him with her intelligent brown eyes. Even though her eyes were dark, her skin was pale, with a smattering of copper freckles he hadn’t noticed in the dim light of the Blue Turtle. He wondered what her natural hair color was. Probably honey brown, like her brother. He tugged the rubber bands out, freeing the pigtails, and tousled her hair to make it settle down.

  “What does happen when I make Yuri jealous?”

  His smile grew wider. He fucking loved it when she flirted. He’d never in a million years expected her to drop to her knees and offer to blow him. Especially not after he’d punished her. Despite the fact that he’d just orgasmed, his cock jerked with renewed interest. He pulled her across his lap and stroked her reddened ass. “I will spank you,” he said, his accent growing thicker with lust. “And then I will discipline you here.” He parted her cheeks and wiggled the pad of his index finger over her anus.

  She gasped and squeezed her cheeks together, as if to force him out.

  “That’s right, beautiful girl. You will get your ass fucked by me. Maybe with my thumb. Maybe my cock. Maybe I will make you wear a plug to remind you not to make the Russian mad.” His middle finger strayed between her legs, brushing over her juicy pussy.

  She gave a little mewl, humping his lap.

  He squeezed and kneaded her ass.

  “You’re crazy,” she panted.

  “True.”

  She rolled her shoulders slightly on the bed, twisting to look back at him. “It’s mostly an act though. Right, Yuri?”

  His breath stalled in his chest with shock.

  The only other person who ever saw past the crazy Russian act was his mentor, Leo. The man who’d tried to rescue him from mafiya madness. That the woman he’d give anything for had also seen the real him made his chest feel like it would explode. Not even he knew who the real him was.

  Still, he deflected. “Don’t count on it.” He stroked her ass, dragging his palm down toward her thigh like smoothing feathers. “You’re not afraid of me, are you solnishko?”

  It didn’t matter what she said. He knew she wasn’t. She lay relaxed over his lap, glowing in a post-orgasmic languor that she’d let him give to her. Even so, a surge of satisfaction shuddered through him when she shook her head.

  He squeezed her butt cheek roughly. “I am crazy, solnishko. Crazy for you.”

  He watched her brow furrow, as if the reality of her position had seeped back into her consciousness. “What’s going to happen to Jake, Yuri?”

  His mouth tightened as he lifted her back to sitting. “Hopefully, Jake will produce the money he owes Don Diego.”

  “It was stolen. He told me the drugs were stolen and that’s why he doesn’t have it.”

  Yuri had already figured it was something like that. Guys with half a brain don’t stiff the don unless they really can’t help it. “He needs to make contact with us. Give us an update on how he plans to repay the money. If he doesn’t, bad things are supposed to happen to you.”

  She moistened her dry lips with her tongue and he scrambled up to find her some water, cursing himself for not taking better care of her basic needs. “But you’re not going to let them.” She said it like a statement, not a question.

  Her seeming faith made his chest fill with a foreign feeling—pride. He held a bottle of water to her lips and waited while she sipped. “That’s right.”

  She searched his face, as if trying to determine whether to believe him. He did his best to give her his most solemn, trustworthy expression.

  “How does a Russian end up with the Italian mob?”

  He shrugged. “La Famiglia is no different than Russian mafiya.”

  “So, you used to be in the Russian mafiya?”

  He blinked, not wanting to offer her any piece of his jagged past. “Da.”

  “In Russia?”

  “Da.” He wound a loop of duct tape around her bound wrists and secured her to the headboard. “Don’t move.”

  “That’s really funny, asshole.”

  He gave her ass a slap—no, less a slap than a tap—symbolic rather than pain-inducing. “Watch your mouth.” He headed toward the suite for some food.

  “Or what?” she called after him.

  He stopped and looked back at her, forcing back the smile that had automatically sprung to his lips when he’d realized she was flirting again. “I will peel those cheeks apart and fuck your ass.”

  Her squirm made the threat worth it. She squeezed her ass cheeks and thrashed her legs on the bed, which made his cock lean heavily against his zipper, eager for another round. He watched her long enough to produce a lovely blush, then withdrew to the living room for the food he’d ordered.

  Provide for. Protect. Claim.

  She called forth all his basic caveman desires and right now, he needed to feed his beautiful female.

  ***

  Yuri carried a tray of food into the room and set it on the bed beside her. She’d been trying to work her skirt down with her elbows, since her hands were useless. He scowled at her actions and yanked the skirt back up to her waist.

  “Leave it
. I like to look at that beautiful pussy.” He shoved her thighs apart and just stared down. “That, I could look at all night.” He squeezed his bulging erection through his pants. “But I’d never be able to leave you alone. I’d fuck you for hours and my friends would catch on.”

  “Catch on to what?” Her voice sounded hoarse with the anticipation of what she already knew he’d say.

  “I’m out of my head over you.”

  He palmed both her thighs and pushed her knees up toward her shoulders. “I can go slow, too.” He lowered his head and planted a kiss at the apex of her sex, then flicked his tongue out and licked her clit. “In case you were wondering.”

  She had wondered, actually. The fast, hard sex had rocked her world, but probably only because it was her first time that way. It wasn’t something she’d want on a regular basis. At least, she didn’t think so. So she’d wondered if that was his only speed.

  Her face grew warm as heat swirled two feet south. Her nipples stood up in hard points against her bra.

  He dropped kisses along the inside of one thigh, then used his teeth.

  She jerked in surprise, but he held her splayed open.

  “How did you get this beautiful body? What do you do—dance?”

  She smiled. She liked her body but it wasn’t really what others considered the feminine ideal. She had no boobs and narrow hips. Too much muscle and not enough curve. “Yoga. I’m training to be a teacher.”

  He sat up and stared at her as if she’d said the most fascinating thing on the planet. “You want to teach yoga?”

  She nodded. “I love it.”

  “As much as you love to make people dance?”

  Something about that statement grabbed her right in her solar plexus. In a good way. She’d known Yuri had watched her work, but now she knew he’d really seen. That was exactly what she loved about playing DJ. It wasn’t about making others listen to the music she thought was good, although she did believe she had pretty good taste. It wasn’t about the art of mixing, but she was damn good at that, too. It was about the energy exchange between DJ and audience. It was about building an energy and maintaining it. Keeping people on their feet and moving for far longer than they wanted to. Giving them an experience, evoking a feeling.

  “The same, I think.”

  “You love them the same? Tell me what you love. I need to know, Lucya.” He said it like it was a dire necessity.

  She shook her head. “It’s hard to explain.”

  His apparent disappointment over that statement made her wish she had the words. He sat up and reached for a french fry, dipping it in ketchup before he held it up to her mouth.

  Even though she wasn’t hungry, she accepted a bite. “I like to bring people to a certain state. To make them feel things they don’t ordinarily experience. Yoga can do that. So can my music.”

  Yuri nodded, and dipped the fry into ketchup again. “You do that to me every minute.”

  She laughed, only because if she took him seriously, she’d start getting an ego.

  “I’m serious.” He lifted a hamburger to her mouth but she turned her face away. “You don’t eat meat?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to eat. Just a little bit, moye solnishka.” He prepared another french fry. “You want something else? I order whatever you want. Ice cream? Fruit?”

  She shook her head. “Not hungry. What part of that don’t you understand?”

  He tsked and held the fry to her lips. “Sassy. I should punish you for that.”

  She took a bite and chewed, thinking about how easily the threats rolled off his tongue, even when they were given with affection. I prefer the women I whip to agree first.

  “Do you get off on violence?”

  Yuri froze, hand in midair on the way to the ketchup. When he moved again, it was mechanical. He lifted the tray of food from the bed and carried it to the table, never looking at her. “Da. I’m a bad man, Lucya.”

  “Maybe.” He probably had done a great many terrible things. But all she’d seen was someone who seemed to care about her well-being, her pleasure, even her feelings. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

  He turned back, his expression haunted. His fingers clenched at his sides. “What are you asking me, Lucya?”

  “You said you like the women you whip to agree first. Whom do you whip? Is that how you like to have sex?”

  His shoulders relaxed slightly. “I don’t want to talk about other women. Now that I’ve had you, there’s nothing else. No one else.”

  Though secretly pleased, she rolled her eyes. “You’re still not answering my question.”

  He spread his hands. “I am… violent man. I have only known violence. My father—alcoholic. I ran away at thirteen, joined street gang in Kazan. They taught me three hundred and thirteen ways to kill a man.” He searched her face, as if for shock.

  She carefully hid it.

  “From there, I joined the bratva—what we call Russian mafiya. The brotherhood. With them, I came to Atlanta, worked the sex trade; prostitution, sex slavery, drugs. When they got shot down, I escaped prosecution and came here to Los Angeles, worked for Don Diego. Same story, different city.” He stabbed his fingers through his short blond hair. “So do I get off on violence? No, I don’t think so. I don’t need it. Or crave it. I am violence. So when I have sex, it’s rough. The women who choose me know what they will get. They see the tattoos, the scars. They aren’t looking for gentle.”

  She thought of the way he’d just kissed up her inner thigh. It had been soft. Even the bite had been tender. The care he’d taken with her when he found her too tight for his cock had been gentle, too. And the way he’d held her after he whipped her.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Yuri,” she murmured.

  Everything in the Russian relaxed, relief slipping down his face as he walked swiftly toward her. He climbed right over her, pushing her onto her back on the bed, melding his lips to hers.

  His tongue slid between her lips, and he pushed it in and out at the same tempo he used to press the bulge of his length against her bare sex. “Beautiful girl,” he choked when he released her lips. “Would you ever—could you—” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  He had already retreated, lifting his weight from her and pulling her back up to sit.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She sensed he meant hurt emotionally, not physically, but still didn’t understand. Had he been about to ask if she would see him again when this was all over? If she’d be his girl?

  The idea was so ludicrous, it was laughable, and yet the thought of not seeing him again… stung. But what? They’d go out on a date after this was all over? He’d pick her up in his Mercedes and take her to the movies? Afterward maybe they’d go to a hotel where he could duct tape her hands together and fuck her mouth like a sex doll?

  Okay, that was hot.

  Yeah, she liked it Yuri-style, whatever the hell that was. But no. They had no future.

  Yuri walked away from her, picking up her phone and checking it.

  “Has he called or texted?”

  “No.”

  Where in the hell was Jake? Had he seen her texts or listened to messages? Surely he wouldn’t just leave her here if he knew… would he?

  Yuri’s lips flattened to a grim line as if he knew what she was thinking.

  “I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he gets the messages,” she said, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel.

  From the blank look on Yuri’s normally impassioned face, she knew he had his doubts.

  Chapter Four

  Yuri didn’t ever want to leave Lucy’s side. He was a bastard to be enjoying this, but all he could think was at least I’m with her.

  But even if she had let him fuck her--God, he hoped it wasn’t because she felt she had to--holding her prisoner ensured she’d never see him again.

  And dammit, now that he’d had he
r, he never wanted to let her go.

  Once you’ve seen the light…

  And every minute that ticked by without her brother calling brought her in more and more danger.

  Freddo sauntered into the room, looking Lucy over speculatively. “Gimme her phone. I say we send her brother pictures of this.”

  His fingers closed to fists, but he forced the growl back down his throat. It was his own fucking fault for leaving her bound to the bed with her skirt up around her waist. She looked like the sex slaves they imported from Russia.

  He wanted to throw up. The idea of her being degraded like those poor women, and it being his fault, made him sick.

  Lucy scrambled around on the bed, trying work the fabric down with no hands. He didn’t dare go and help her, because he’d never been a gentleman to any woman in the time Freddo had known him and it would tip him off.

  Freddo held the phone up. “Say cheese.”

  She bared her teeth, but her glare was reserved all for Yuri. Which he fully deserved.

  “Come on,” Freddo said. “I got your shitty vodka.”

  Fuck.

  Leaving her would be worse than abandoning one of his most vital organs, but he didn’t see any way to stay.

  Casting what he hoped was an apologetic look in Lucy’s direction, he followed Freddo into the suite and plopped down at the table.

  The shot of Belvedere vodka went down like a streak of fire into his churning belly, so he added another, and then another. He wasn’t the type who had trouble staying sharp under the influence. In fact, playing drunk was one of his survival tactics with these idiots.

  He poured another round for Freddo and Tommy, even though they looked halfway in the bag already. Getting them drunk could backfire, though, as violence often followed indulgence.

  “I’m gonna go fuck her,” Tommy said, lurching to his feet.

  He threw over the table, sending the bottles, glasses and playing cards crashing to the floor. “The fuck you are.”

  Tommy turned before he reached him, a slow, nonchalant rotation. His eyes were narrowed. “You gotta thing for her?”

  “That pussy belongs to me.” He cringed inwardly, knowing Lucy would hear him speak about her this way. “I claimed it. I’m not fucking sharing.” He wrapped a fist in Tommy’s collar and shoved him back against the wall. “Understand?”