Trapped with the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Petrov Bratva), Nicole Fox [read novels website .TXT] 📗

“I probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.” She takes a deep breath, her chest heaving, and I’m practically throbbing inside my trousers. “So, you might as well tell me who that man was. Why did he make me repeat those numbers? And why did you need them?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s absurd. “Maybe I was wrong. Because you must be drunk if you thought that was going to work.”

She frowns and drops down in her chair. “Can we go now?”

“Are you done flashing me to try and uncover my secrets?” I ask in a teasing tone.

Bella finishes the last drink of wine in her glass and stands up, pulling her dress down so it covers the tops of her thighs. “Unfortunately for you, yes. If you’d played along, I had a lot more left to show.”

I quirk an eyebrow, interested despite myself.

“You bought me a dress, but you failed to buy me any panties.” She flashes me a wicked grin and then walks across the bar. I watch her go, imagining what’s underneath. Then, thanks to my vivid imagination, I’m forced to wait a few minutes until I cool down to follow her.

When I get to the room, she’s already inside, sitting on the sofa.

“You left me,” I say, unbuttoning the top couple buttons of my shirt.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry. Was that against the rules? Am I going to be punished now?”

Her cheeks are pink from the alcohol and there’s a shine in her eyes. I expect to see annoyance there, but instead, I see that Bella is playing with me. She’s feigning frustration and annoyance, but she wants me to bite. She’s sitting on the far end of the sofa, legs crossed, but as I stare at her, she uncrosses them, parting her knees slowly.

She wants me to be thinking about what’s between them. She wants me to punish her. Because, to what I’m sure is her absolute horror, Bella wants this.

I unbutton my shirt until it’s hanging open, revealing my chest, and Bella pinches her lips together at the sight. I walk towards her slowly, eyes narrowed. “Do you want to be punished?”

When she looks up at me, her desire is laid bare. Her pink lips are parted, her eyes wide and expectant. Still, she shakes her head. “Who wants to be punished?”

I close the gap between us and wedge my knee between hers. Her legs open easily. I grip the back of the sofa on either side of her head and lower myself down so our lips are no more than an inch apart. She tilts her head back as I whisper, “Bad girls.”

Then, we’re kissing. I can’t say whether I initiated it or not, but her lips are on mine, and the coil that has been tightening in my stomach all night begins to loosen. Her hands are on my sides, running up my back, and she’s arching her back, trying to press herself against me, trying to draw me down on top of her. But if she wants to be punished, I’m going to punish her.

I grip her hip and roll her. Hard. For a second, she looks confused, but then she props herself up on her knees and rests her elbow on the back of the couch. I run a hand up the back of her thigh and quickly realize she was telling the truth in the bar. She isn’t wearing any underwear. I push her dress up onto her back and grab a handful of her perfect ass. Then, I slap it.

She yelps, but before she can compose herself, I do it again. And again.

I can see a red handprint left behind on her pale skin, and I slap the other side to balance her out.

“I can punish you if you like being punished,” I grunt, smacking her skin and watching it ripple out. “Do you like it?”

Bella looks back over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded, and licks her pouty lower lip.

I unzip my pants faster than I ever have before and position myself at her entrance. Then, at the same time my hands cracks across her backside, I slide in. Bella moans, her head dropping between her shoulders.

I pound into her with abandon, the sound of our bodies slapping together loud enough that it probably wakes our neighbors, but I don’t care. I’m not going to stop until she’s a limp doll. Until she’s moaning my name.

You don’t know anything about good guys, Yuri.

When she said my name earlier, it did something strange to my chest. It felt like someone was blowing up a balloon inside my lungs.

“Yuri,” she whimpers, gripping the back of the sofa.

The same expanding feeling fills my chest, and suddenly, I lose control.

Even though we just had sex a couple hours ago. Even though I can usually last five times as long. I lose it, and then Bella does, too. We finish at the same time, and I can’t remember the last time that has happened with a woman. If ever.

I collapse on the couch next to her when we’re done, and Bella fixes her dress without looking at me. It’s so quiet that I feel like I can still hear the faint echoes of our bodies beating together. Or maybe it’s the thudding in my chest. When Bella gets up to clean up in the bathroom, I watch her go.

Chapter Nine

Bella

Yuri orders room service in the morning—scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and freshly squeezed orange juice—and I try to forget what we did last night. Twice. Because I have bigger problems.

“I’ve thought about it,” I start, piercing a perfectly ripe strawberry with my fork.

Yuri groans. “That doesn’t sound good.”

I lift one of my fingers in a crude gesture and continue. “My father wouldn’t be involved with you or anyone else if he knew what you really did.”

He quirks one eyebrow up. “And what do I really do?”

I swallow