His Queen of Clubs

by Rose, Renee

  I’m not sure he ever slept.

  He’s sitting up in bed, his clothes still on, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop. Funny, I would’ve pegged him for the hunt and peck kind of typist. I guess I misjudged.

  Without a word, he reaches over and unties me, just like that. I groan and shake my arms out, rubbing away the pins and needles before I lean over and untie my ankles.

  “I want to go home.”

  I know I sound like a baby. And I know he’s not going to say, “Okay” and send me home. But he ought to hear my complaints.

  “Izvinyayus.”

  Sorry. I guess I’m learning Russian. I remember that one from yesterday.

  He hands me a plate with a blueberry muffin and checks my blood sugar like he’s an old pro. Clearly he’s done some research since yesterday. The fact that he knew to have food ready for me as soon as I got up is impressive. Even more impressive is how he administers the correct dose of insulin without me telling him. Like yesterday, when he bares my belly, I flush at having my panties revealed. At his touch on my skin. The way my body reacts to his closeness.

  I finish the muffin, trying to pretend I’m unaffected. When I set down the plate, he gestures toward the bathroom. “Go. Shower. Brush teeth.”

  I get halfway to the bathroom before I stop and turn. “Vlad.”

  “Da?”

  “Are you really taking me to Russia?”

  I swear I see a flicker of regret on his face before it hardens into something resolute. “Da. You are coming. You belong to me now.”

  Something flip flops in my belly. It’s not just fear. It’s something base and animalistic. It’s awareness of Vlad’s raw masculinity. His belief he owns me. Despite my anger and my refusal to submit, my panties are damp at the idea.

  And that just pisses me off.

  “It will be your funeral, my friend.” I have zero doubt that my brothers will kill him when they find me.

  And why does that make my gut tighten?

  Because I’m way too compassionate. Too attachable, if that’s a word. I already feel the need to shelter and care for young Mika. And my feelings for Vlad...aren’t completely sour.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him take me to Russia.

  I need to find a way to get the hell out of here. And I’m going to start by searching the bathroom for some kind of weapon.

  I close the door and lock it.

  Less than thirty seconds later Vlad throws the door open, filling the space with his barrel chest and forbidding visage.

  A shiver runs down my spine right before he reaches for me and yanks my dress off over my head. The shock of his punishment ripples through me. I stand in my panties fighting the tremble that starts in my inner thighs.

  The backs of my knees.

  Up my neck.

  “What did I tell you would happen if you defy me?” His accent is thicker than usual, blue glare cold.

  I’ll be damned if I cower for him though. I force myself not to move and lift my chin.

  He grips my elbow and spins me around to face the mirror, then puts a hand between my shoulder blades and forces my chest down to the counter.

  My breasts spread and flatten on the cool marble.

  “Bad bunny.” He slaps my ass three times, hard. All in the same place.

  Oh my God, he called me bunny. In English.

  My stupid body thinks it’s foreplay, because I totally soak my panties. I dare a glance in the mirror and tangle in his gaze. His light blue eyes appear darker. Stormy. He holds my eyes as he spanks me again.

  My pussy clenches.

  Cristo, this should not be such a turn on. My ass tingles and twitches where he slapped it. The other cheek wants the same treatment. Some dark fantasy of being manhandled, of being taken roughly, perhaps even forced lurks in the edges of my sexual consciousness. A desire I’ve never acknowledged.

  A seriously twisted kink.

  Vlad still hasn’t released me from his gaze. He smacks the other cheek—thank God!—and his hand stays there, squeezing roughly. With his other hand, he cups my throat, lifts my torso until it hits his chest. He’s stepped right behind me, the hard bulge of his cock pressing against my panty-clad ass.

  Oh Jesus, the flutters in my belly are unreal. My breath is short and trembly. His is hot, right at my ear.

  “You’re down to panties, zaika. What happens if you disobey me again?”

  Pussy clenches.

  I don’t answer, because it seemed a rhetorical question, but he bites the place where neck meets shoulder. Hard enough to leave a mark.

  I gasp.

  “Answer me, printsessa.”

  Flutters. More flutters. Flutters all over. Everywhere.

  “I-I lose my panties?”

  Oh my God, I sound like the idiot heroine of a goofy porn video.

  Vlad chuckles darkly. “That’s right, printsessa. “You’ll be naked for me.” He eases his hips back and thrusts, shoving my pelvis up against the counter and his hardness between the cradle of my legs. “And if this is my reaction to your panties, what do you think I’ll do when you’re naked?”

  Full-body shiver.

  He shifts his hips to the side and smacks my ass again, right where I want it.

  A moan falls from my lips before I can call it back. Vlad thrusts hard between my legs, his hand tightening on my neck. I whimper.

  “Blyat,” Vlad mutters. “You keep making those noises, you’re going to get yourself fucked right now, printsessa. I’m trying to hold back, but you make it hard.”

  Oh, Santa Maria. My eyes roll back in my head. I’m so turned on, I’m drunk with lust.

  His thumb traces along the line of my jaw, fingers still wrapped around my neck. “I like the way you tremble, Alessia.”

  I tremble harder. The flat plane of my belly shudders with each ragged breath. “Vlad,” I whisper.

  He thrusts against me again. “Say it again.”

  “Vlad.” I’m shivering. My skin hot and tingly, pussy molten.

  Vlad slides the hand at my throat down and roughly squeezes my breast.

  This time I let the moan out without trying to stop myself.

  “You need a good fucking.” There’s wonder in his voice.

  I try to swallow, but can’t. My lips open. His thumb slides in.

  I bite down, hard.

  He yanks it out at the same time he thrusts against my entrance again. The gusset of my panties is so soaked, I fear he can feel it through his jeans.

  He pushes my torso back down and starts spanking my ass in hard slaps that rain down on one side then the other.

  I moan wantonly. The pain comes as a relief. Exactly what I need to take the edge off the sexual tension threatening to shatter me from the inside out.

  He doesn’t hold back, either. Each swat stings and smarts and leaves me panting and oh-so-wet. When he angles his hand to swat between my legs, a mini orgasm rips through me.

  * * *

  Vlad

  The girl just orgasmed.

  I admit I picked Alessia as my hostage because she’s easy on the eyes, but I never in a million years thought I’d see anything this hot. If I sold tickets to this show, I’d make a half million in a day. Not that I would ever, in any lifetime, allow another man to see what I’m seeing. No, I already feel fiercely possessive of her.

  Alessia Tacone is the stuff fantasies are made of. She’s got the face to launch a thousand ships. The body to bring a million men to their knees. And this display of wanton sexuality just forever ruined me for any other woman.

  Good thing I’m keeping her.

  “Blyat,” I rasp in her ear. “You’re making my balls ache so bad, they’ll fall off.”

  Her sweet, soft body continues to tremble against mine. I want to reach between her legs and bring her to orgasm again. I know it wouldn’t take much, she’s still on the edge, ripe and ready for it.

  But if I do that, I will end up ripping down her panties and pounding
into her until we both raise the roof, and I can’t do that.

  Not while she’s still my prisoner.

  Not until she’s my wife. Safe and sound at my estate outside Volgograd.

  Not unless I’m sure she wants it.

  I don’t rape women.

  So I force myself away from her and slap that delicious ass again. “Get in shower.” My accent is so thick, it’s a wonder she can understand me. “Leave door open or suffer the consequences.”

  She stumbles toward the shower and doesn’t look back, stepping behind the curtain without turning on the water or taking off her underclothes.

  She’s so fucking compelling. It’s not just the beauty, it’s the mixture of ripe innocence and sass. The courage and pride, despite her circumstances. The compassion she showed Mika.

  I want to possess her in every way. Spank her, dominate her, spoil her. I want her on her knees, looking up at me with those big, Sicilian eyes, eager to please.

  And I’m now compelled to earn the trust that scene would require. To teach her to obey and honor me and reward her for her efforts.

  Lavishly.

  With orgasms, riches, attention. Praise. More orgasms.

  Can I make her like Russia?

  To want to stay?

  Because if I don’t, I already know I’d be incapable of keeping her against her will long-term.

  I’ll take her brother’s money and set her free, eventually, if she won’t stay.

  But what if she stayed?

  She drops her panties outside the shower curtain and I hear the water start up.

  Out. Get the fuck out.

  I force myself to back out of the bathroom, squeezing my throbbing dick through my jeans. I’ll have to jack off before the day is through or I’ll definitely be rolling her to her stomach and fucking her from behind in the middle of the night.

  But right now, I have business to take care of.

  Passports to make, documents to forge. Private flights to book.

  I take her dress and lock it in the false bottom of my suitcase with my other valuables, then return to my laptop. I’m almost finished altering the electronic trace for Anya Popov, Mika’s mother. I’ve changed her age to twenty-eight and swapped her photo to one of Alessia that I pulled from her Instagram account. Girl should be more careful about her privacy settings, not that I couldn’t hack them. Now it appears the bitch who came over and abandoned her son is returning to Russia, taking her son and their suddenly no-longer expired visas with her.

  Hacking was a skill taught to me at a young age by Igor Ivanovich, head of the cell I was placed with when my mother became Victor’s mistress. It’s a skill I might consider teaching Mika. It would keep him off the street, give him a trade he can use to forge his way in the bratva. To make himself too useful to ever kill. And rich, too, if he’s smart about it.

  I have money squirrelled away in accounts all over the world, under too many names to list. I’ve set up elaborate money laundering schemes for the top dogs in the bratva, for the crooked politicians, not only of Russia, but of the Ukraine, Slovenia, and South America.

  Getting money out of the Tacones isn’t a necessity. It’s just my preferred revenge.

  Money’s always been a game to me. Numbers on my screen, in my accounts. Transfers and dividends and passive income not only kept me alive this long, but made me incredibly wealthy. A wealth I mostly keep hidden from those around me, even the bratva. Only Victor knows how much I really have. I was transparent with him because if he found out otherwise, he would assume I’d stolen it from him.

  Despite my grudges, the twelve-year-old boy in me still needs his approval. He’s still the papa of the organization and of my life.

  Even with my mother now dead.

  The water shuts off in the bathroom. I don’t let myself look through the open door, because seeing Alessia wet and naked will drive me fucking insane. Even so, my cock swells against my zipper, forcing me to shift my position on the bed.

  I call a pilot I know in Ireland and make arrangements for him to be here with a private jet ready to fly out by midnight at the latest. No way in hell I’m trusting any pilot in the U.S. because the Tacones could have spies anywhere.

  Alessia comes out with her wet hair falling over her shoulders and a towel wrapped around her.

  I shake my head and she stops.

  “Drop the towel,” I growl. “You lost your clothing privileges.”

  Her nostrils flare. She’s over being turned on and now she’s pissed. “Figlio di puttana!”

  I don’t speak Italian, but I get the gist. “Watch it, printsessa, or I’ll smack that ass red again.”

  Color tinges her cheeks.

  My dick turns marble hard.

  Damn, how I want to pound between those legs until she screams.

  I clear my throat. “The towel.”

  She tosses her hair, sending splatters of water around the room. With one flick of her wrist, she removes the towel and throws it in my face. Lucky for both of us, she’s wearing panties beneath it.

  That doesn’t stop my cock from throbbing.

  “Over here.” I sound far more gruff than I mean to. That’s what blue balls do to me. I force myself to take a breath before I get near her, before I bind her wrists and tie her to the bed.

  She smells like apples and honey. Is that what my shampoo smells like? It can’t. I’ve never smelled anything so erotically alluring before in my life.

  I wrap the swath of fabric around her wrists first to keep the rope from biting, then bind her hands together. I attach them to the headboard for good measure, but I leave her ankles free. It has nothing to do with me wanting to watch those long legs thrash around on the bed when she tries to move.

  Nothing at all.

  Fuck.

  I’m not going to get anything done if I stay in this room with her. At least not anything that’s not pornographic.

  When I’m sure she’s secured tightly, I get up and leave. I need to get Alessia more than just a muffin to eat.

  Need to make sure Mika’s had breakfast.

  Mostly, I just need to get away from the temptress tied to my bed.

  Chapter 6

  Alessia

  “Oatmeal?” I ask when Vlad returns carrying a bowl.

  He looks into the bowl. “Yeah? I guess.” He shrugs. “Mika likes it.”

  That shouldn’t warm my heart. Neither should the fact that he’s sliced banana into the bowl and brought up a cup of steaming coffee. He looks street rough and bad boy to the core, but Vlad isn’t any rougher than one of my brothers at heart.

  He releases the rope connecting my wrists to the headboard and helps me sit up, propped in the middle of the bed with a pillow behind my back. He sits beside me and holds the spoon out.

  “Really? You’re going to hand feed me again? Don’t you have something better to do with your time?”

  He pauses with the spoon halfway to my mouth, like he’s really considering the question. He gives the shrug again. “Yes and no.”

  “Explain.” I swallow a spoonful of oatmeal which actually totally hits the spot.

  “Yes, I have work to do. But I can’t have my prisoner slipping into a diabetic coma on me again.”

  “You already gave me insulin.”

  “I like you at my mercy.”

  There it is. The crux of our relationship, and I fear the source of our mutual attraction. It’s sick and wrong on every level. And why I need to escape from this man’s clutches immediately. Before he gets me to Russia. Before he grows on me any more.

  He lifts the rim of the coffee cup to my lips and I sip it gingerly.

  And nearly spit it out. “Oh my God! Is that instant coffee?”

  Vlad shrugs. “So?”

  I make a face. “Disgusting.”

  He lifts the cup to his mouth and drains the whole thing in one go, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “No espresso today, printsessa.”

  I stare at the empty cup,
my disappointment real. Yeah, I have way bigger problems to worry about—like being almost naked and tied to a man’s bed. Needing to escape before he brings me halfway across the world. But that coffee had smelled good.

  And I really like my coffee in the morning, dammit.

  “Is that how Russians make coffee?” If he’s going to call me princess, I might as well act like one.

  He shoves another spoonful of oatmeal in my mouth. “Russians drink tea. Those who drink coffee, drink instant. In general.”

  I realize it behooves me to keep him in conversation. The more I learn about him, the better. Also, the sooner I can get him to trust me, the quicker I will find a way to escape. No more shutting the door when he tells me not to. I need to act like the obedient little prisoner and lull him into complacency.

  Contemplating obedience makes me shift my ass on the bed. The sting of the spanking has already worn off. If that’s Vlad’s version of punishment, I’m not in much danger of even breaking a nail. It appears he’s more into humiliation than invoking real pain or fear.

  Which is good, because I’m not into real pain or fear, either.

  And the humiliation...was pretty hot.

  “And you?”

  Surprise flits over his face, like no one’s ever asked him what he drinks. When he tosses a shrug, I realize it’s characteristic. “I like both.”

  “But not espresso?” I let a teasing smile play at my lips.

  I’m rewarded with an answering one that takes my breath away. He studies me for a moment, like I’m the most fascinating creature who ever walked the Earth, then feeds me another spoonful. “I never developed a taste for it. How do you like yours?”

  I finish chewing and swallow. “Decaf cappuccino.”

  “Decaf?” He sneers. “What’s the point?”

  “The caffeine affects blood sugar more.” And my blood pressure, which isn’t good for the kidney problem, but I don’t like to think about that.

  His face softens into sympathy. “Ah.” He thumbs a drop of milk away from my lower lip. “Such a perfect package, it’s hard to believe the goods inside are damaged.” I flinch and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I only lament my misconception. The mafia princess doesn’t live the charmed life I imagined, that’s all.”