The Fixer: A Dark Bratva Billionaire Romance (Chicago Bratva Book 2)

by Renee Rose

  She shakes her head slowly.

  “Hmm.”

  We’re at an impasse. I can’t decide if I should actually follow through with punishment—not without some clearer indication of consent. The other times she wanted to be spanked—she basically asked me for it.

  “Surrender, Sasha,” I coax.

  She eyes the implement in my hand. “Only three?”

  “I’ll be gentle.”

  Another shiver runs through her, and she promptly climbs onto the bed.

  Satisfaction makes my cock punch out straight. I test the rod a few times on my thigh to get the force right, then whip her once with it.

  She lets out a squeal—the cutest fucking squeal I’ve ever heard in my life. Once again, a surge of pleasure rushes through me.

  This is my wife.

  She’s mine.

  I can elicit those squeals for the rest of my fucking life. All I have to do is convince her that marriage to me wasn’t the worst thing that happened to her.

  I rub out the sting of the first stripe and give her ass a gentle slap, then deliver another with the pseudo-cane.

  She squeals again, her ass tightening, her heels kicking up into the air.

  I catch one ankle and stroke down her calf. “You left your heels on for me,” I murmur appreciatively. “That’s so fucking hot.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me.

  “New rule. This is how you will always be punished—naked except for your heels.”

  “You’re crazy,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice.

  “You’re hot. My very hot wife.” I deliver the last stripe to get it over with, then knead and massage away the sting. I climb on the bed behind her to massage with both hands. “Good girl. Are you ready for your reward?”

  I don’t wait for her reply, I just push her legs open wide and pull her hips back to get my tongue on her sex. She’s already dripping wet. I lick and suck at her labia, penetrate her with my tongue, then move up to rim her anus.

  She lets out that squeal, and her anus flutters, but I hold her in place for the pleasure.

  After a few moments, she starts moaning. A few more, and she’s chanting in Russian. “Maxim...Maxim. What are you doing? Gospodi, it’s so good.”

  “You ready for my cock, beautiful?”

  I’m surprised when she answers, “Yes” without hesitation.

  Her surrender alone is enough to make me come. I want to slam into her bareback, but even though I know I’m clean and she’s a virgin, it wouldn’t be right. She may be my wife, but she may not want a pregnancy.

  I find a condom in my wallet and roll it on. When I come back I ready her again with my tongue first. “Up on your knees, sugar. Chest on the pillows.”

  I’m probably being a jackass. A woman’s first time should probably be on her back, with her lover looking into her eyes. But we aren’t that couple. Eye contact might be too much vulnerability between us. Rough and punitive is how she likes it. How I want to give it.

  We don’t have a fairytale marriage.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Maybe we’ll get there.

  With a wife this hot, I should work to get us there. I’m the fixer, after all. I can fix anything.

  Even a wife who doesn’t want me.

  She climbs into position, proving my instincts right. I squeeze her ass as I line my cock up, stroke it over her entrance. She was tight when I drilled her with my finger last night. Even though she’s plenty wet, I spit on my hand and rub my saliva over my sheathed cock.

  “Are you okay?” I ask in a low voice, even though I haven’t penetrated her yet.

  “Do it.”

  That’s my girl. She never was one to mince words. I apply more pressure, nudging at her entrance with more insistence.

  She pushes back, arcing her pretty ass up and presenting herself for me.

  “That’s it, sugar.” I decide it’s better to go in fast—rip the bandaid off, as they say. I grip her hips and push in. I sense a little resistance give away. She cries out. I reach around the front of her to stroke her clit and move inside her. Just a little—a half inch back, a half inch in. Just to bring her some of the pleasure to counteract the pain. I caress her back, squeeze her ass.

  “I’m okay,” she gasps after a moment. “It’s good.”

  I pump a little more, going slowly and gently, giving her time to get used to my length. I continue circling her clit lightly with the pad of my finger.

  She hums her pleasure and brings her fingers between her legs, pressing over mine.

  “You need it there?” I ask, rubbing more firmly. At the same time, I accidentally shove in deeper, a shot of lust rolling through me.

  “Oh!” she cries out. “Yes.”

  “Yes, here?” I rub her clit, “or yes, harder?” I thrust in with more force.

  “Harder,” she murmurs.

  Oh, damn. I don’t want to make her regret that, but my control is already slipping. She’s so damn tight. So hot.

  And all mine.

  I still can’t get over that part. Each time it dawns on me anew, I want to do every measure of dirty things to her.

  I grip her hips with both hands and take a few even strokes. Then I start to bump her ass with my loins, slapping our flesh together, sending my balls against her clit.

  “Yes!” she gasps.

  “Spread your knees wider,” I order.

  When she does, it changes the angle, so I can get even deeper inside her. I groan. “You feel so good, Sasha.”

  “More,” she chants. “Harder.”

  The room starts to spin. Heat spikes the base of my spine. I lean over her torso, propping on one hand to get in deeper, with more force. I fuck her harder. Faster. My breath turns to ragged panting, or maybe that’s hers. My thighs start to tremble with the need to release.

  She hasn’t come yet, so I try to hold back. I rub her clit fast with my free hand.

  “Harder!” she commands.

  My control unravels. A dark chuckle bursts out of my mouth as I forego her pleasure and just ride in for my own finish. I press her flat to the bed, humping that gorgeous ass and plowing deep, deep, deeper still until lights dance before my eyes and come like a fucking speed train.

  When I recover I find her red hair bunched in my fist, my mouth on her neck.

  A little horrified, I flip her over to her back.

  Sasha

  I thought giving a man a blowjob made me feel powerful, but I had no idea how incredible it felt to see him come undone while inside me.

  No wonder sex is power for women. No wonder this is the weapon we wield the best. Because Maxim turned into an animal right before he came. That cool, manicured persona all but disappeared, and he was nothing but raw masculine desire.

  Now, as he stares down at me, there’s concern etched in his face. He knows he lost control—pulled my hair and fucked me so hard I won’t walk straight. He’s worried for me, I can tell.

  I smile, remembering his words. You think I could deny you anything after that life-altering blowjob you just gave me? What about now? Now that he’s come inside me? Well, inside a condom, but still inside me. He quickly disposes of the rubber without taking his eyes from my face.

  Returning my smile tentatively, he drops kisses between my breasts. He sucks one nipple into his mouth as he massages the other breast. “I’m sorry you didn’t come, sugar. I’ll make it up to you now.”

  He’s sweet.

  I like him sweet. I don’t want to like it. I want to resist his charm. Because I’ve fallen for this man before, and he crushed me.

  “I still liked it,” I admit. “I didn’t come because… “

  He lifts his head to meet my eyes.

  I sense my face grow warm. I shrug. “It was all new to me. I was fascinated by your orgasm, and then I missed my chance.” I don’t know why I’m revealing so much again. I guess I’m melting in the warmth of his undivided attention.

  His eyes flash dark. “There w
ill be lots of chances. Just give me a few minutes.” He sucks my other nipple into his mouth. I wind my fingers through his hair enjoying the riotous sensations he’s creating. I didn’t come, but I’m not missing the orgasm. It still felt great—both the physical and the chemical rewards. My mood soars along with his. I’m full of that sense of well-being and pleasure. Love, even. Not that I’m in love—no way—but the general feeling of love.

  He kisses down my belly and spreads my thighs. I close my eyes as his tongue explores my folds.

  “Mmm.” Pleasure. I can see how couples stay in bed all day. I now understand how good sex makes people think they’re in love.

  This is how my mother kept my father ensnared all those years. Although not enough for him to think of her as anything other than an object to serve and please him. An object to pass on.

  Maxim finds my clit with his lips and manages to suction them over it. At the same time, he sinks two fingers inside me and starts stroking my inner walls.

  “Gospodi!” I cry out, arching on the bed. The sensations are so intense. So erotic. I claw at the bedcovers when he doesn’t give me a break. He just keeps sucking, keeps stroking.

  “Maxim!” My legs thrash beneath me.

  He pumps the fingers, bumping my inner wall with the tips every time.

  I shriek and pull his hair, frantic, and then I come—a short and fast explosion.

  Maxim lifts his mouth away and rubs my clit with this thumb instead.

  My eyes roll back in my head. Another short but powerful orgasm rocks through me, and my legs jerk again. Then one more aftershock.

  My stomach growls and Maxim chuckles. “Time for breakfast, beautiful.” He climbs off me. “But let’s get cleaned up first. Come here.” He takes my hand and tugs me to the bathroom and in the shower, where he treats me like a queen, lathering me from head to toe, kissing and nuzzling me all over.

  I soap his cock, which gets instantly hard again, and then he nails me against the tile and fucks me roughly, pulling out to come on my belly. By the time we both emerge, my legs don’t work, and I’m not sure I remember how to speak.

  Maxim’s phone rings, and he strides out of the bathroom, beautifully naked, gloriously tattooed.

  “Da.” He answers in Russian. “Who did it?” Then, “Blyat.” He ends the call and looks at me through the bathroom doorway. “Vladimir is dead. The Moscow bratva is in chaos. You need to locate your mother.”

  Chapter 12

  Sasha

  The curtness in Maxim’s voice makes my pulse scurry.

  My mother.

  “What do you mean? Is she missing?”

  Maxim nods as he quickly pulls on his clothing. “Yes.”

  I grab my clothes and also get dressed. “Do you think she’s been killed?”

  Maxim hesitates, making my adrenaline kick in, but then he shakes his head. “No. If whoever killed Vladimir wanted her dead, they would have taken care of her at the same time. She’s worth something alive if they’re interested in your money.”

  My money.

  My heart pounds faster. But that would mean killing me first.

  It’s the first time since my father’s death—actually, the first time ever—I’ve felt real scared-for-my-life fear. Maxim was trying to warn me about this, but I’ve lived my whole life as bratva royalty with security guards breathing down my neck. The threat of real danger never sank in before.

  My fingers tremble as I dial my mom’s number.

  I haven’t spoken or communicated with her since I left. It’s only been a few days, but it strikes me that I should’ve checked in with her. She just lost my father, afterall. I was too busy feeling pissed off and sorry for myself and my situation, I didn’t have any brain space left for her. I’m a spoiled, shitty daughter.

  My mother picks up with a suspicious tone of voice. With an even deeper stab of guilt, I realize she didn’t even have my new U.S. phone number.

  “Mama,” I gasp in Russian. “Are you all right?”

  “Tell her to come to Chicago where I can protect her.” Maxim’s expression is dark and serious. “Give her your credit card number.” The urgency in his voice makes my heartbeat ratchet up another notch. Like he’s afraid something will happen to her.

  I step into the bathroom for some privacy, not that I’m trying to keep anything from Maxim. I just want to be able to focus on my mother.

  “Sasha, you heard the news?”

  “Yes, are you safe?”

  “I am safe, yes. I am with Viktor.”

  Viktor, her longtime bodyguard. The one I’d only just realized had feelings for my mother. Thank God. He’ll protect her.

  “Where are you?”

  “I can’t tell you. Somewhere safe.”

  “What happened? What’s happening? Mama…”

  “It’s a coup. Viktor got me out of there before it happened. There’s a power struggle now to see who will rise to the top.”

  “Maxim says you should come out here where he can protect you. I can put the ticket on my credit card.”

  “He would say that,” my mother says drily.

  The hairs on my arms stand up. My fingers go cold. I lower my voice. “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it, Sasha. Do you remember your father’s will?”

  “Yes.” Vaguely. I remember that my money wasn’t really my money because it went to Maxim. And my mom’s money went to Vladimir.

  “Who gets the oil well if you die?”

  I try to remember the conversation at my father’s deathbed. “Vladimir?”

  “Yes. But if he’s dead, it goes to me. So of course your husband wants us both under his wing. We’re the meal tickets.”

  Queasiness runs through me and my knees go weak. “He wants to protect you,” I insist. But I’m suddenly not so sure. How well do I really know Maxim?

  Not at all.

  “Viktor will protect me. And my staying hidden ensures your safety, too. With Vladimir gone, the pathways to owning that oil well have shortened. We can’t make it easy or obvious for anyone to try to seize it. Understand, my dearest?”

  “Yes.” I’m cold all over.

  “Good. Is this your new phone number?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be in touch—from a new phone. Be careful, my darling. Play nice with that husband of yours. Make him fall in love—it may keep you alive.”

  My eyes prick with tears. Does my life really mean so little?

  Maxim doesn’t want to kill me.

  I open the door to the bathroom and find him standing at the window, texting. He doesn’t appear to be eavesdropping.

  I’m shaky all over, searching his face for some kind of sign. Does my husband want me dead? Is he biding his time in order to find my mother and then planning to kill us both?

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  No. My mother’s just paranoid because Vladimir got killed. It doesn’t mean people want to kill the two of us, too.

  “She’s all right?”

  I nod, my head wobbling a bit on my neck. “Yes.”

  “Is she coming here?”

  “No. She says she’s safe.”

  “Does she have protection?”

  “Yes.” I’m terrified to say anything more.

  Maxim nods. “Good. Does she need money?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I wait, but that’s the end of it. He doesn’t press me or try to convince me to get my mom out here. It sounds like he would’ve sent her money if she needed it.

  He walks toward me and beckons. “Come here, sugar.” I don’t move, but he folds me into his arms anyway. “You’re safe here. No one would try to touch you on Ravil’s turf. We would fucking destroy them. I promise you’re safe.”

  They could be lies. I’m not dumb enough to swallow everything he feeds me. In fact, I’ll be dissecting every word now. But it still feels good to be held by him. His warmth heats my chilled limbs. His strength makes me feel safe.

  I tip
my face up. “Who called you?” I hate being suspicious, but I’d be stupid not to ask as many questions as I can think of.

  “Ravil.”

  “Does he know who killed Vladimir?”

  “No, but it was poison, which is… strange.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s cowardly. Someone making a grab for power should make a powerful move. Shoot him between the eyes, you know?”

  A fresh chill washes over me. “What if they’re not making a grab for power?” My voice sounds tremulous.

  “No one can touch you, Sasha,” he says immediately, correctly guessing at my thoughts. “But we should get back to Chicago where I have backup. Okay?”

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry.” He does genuinely sound remorseful. “I know you wanted to stay. I’d just rather play it safe while things are in turmoil. Until we see how things land in Moscow and Dima has his tracking in place to alert us of anyone coming into the country.” He searches my face. “Do you want to grab brunch with your friends before we go? Or take a walk on the beach?”

  I don’t mean to be so transparent, but I jump back into his embrace to hug him, relieved. A man intent on killing his wife would not worry about taking her to the beach first. Or brunch.

  He lets out a surprised chuckle. I know the hug is out of character. I’ve been playing stand-offish since the day we wed. But whatever. The kinky bastard deserves it.

  His hand slips under my hair to cup my nape, and he nudges my face up. The kiss he gives me seems meaningful. Important. It’s not teasing, not claiming. Firm, but not rough. Like we’ve reached a different level in our relationship.

  When he breaks it, he asks, “Beach or brunch?”

  Me being me, I bat my lashes and push my luck. “Both?”

  His smirk is both knowing and indulgent. “Okay, sugar. But we will be on a plane back to Chicago by nightfall.”

  “Let’s go,” I chirp, happy that it’s true. He would give me anything after good sex.

  My mother’s right. It would probably even keep him from killing me, if that was his plan.

  But I can’t believe it is.

  My mother is just being paranoid.

  And my father trusted him. That hits me for the first time. Maxim’s been saying it from the start—that my father picked him because he could protect me best.