Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva), Nicole Fox [life changing books txt] 📗

But I can’t.

I’m a fucking slave to the thoughts of Charlotte bared before me. I can feel my cock straining against my zipper, so I undo the clasp of my pants and free my erection. I close my eyes and lean back as I stroke my length.

All I want right now is to push Charlotte to her knees and make her open her mouth for me. All I want is to feel the curve of her ass under my hand. All I want is to fuck her and claim her and mark her as mine, to find my release inside of her and to unleash those moans I know she keeps buried within. I want them to echo off the fucking ceiling. I want her to scream my name.

I come, roaring inside my car.

When I am finished and my breath has finally settled back down, I return to my senses.

What the fuck was that?

Rather than answer the question, I clean up with a tissue and go inside at once.

I stop at the half bathroom in the foyer to wash my hands. As I dry them, I look up in the mirror. I recognize the face looking back at me. The same dark brows as my father, the same jawline as my mother. But there is a light dancing in my eyes that I do not remember seeing ever before.

I don’t fucking like it.

As soon as I open the bathroom door, Tiana scampers around the corner. She raises her hands to me and I know what she wants. It warms my heart to hug her. To feel her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kisses my cheek and welcomes me home.

“How was your day, little one?” She has my face between her hands and she’s squeezing my cheeks so my voice is distorted and she giggles and struggles out of my arms to be set down.

When she’s on the ground, she slips her tiny hand into mine and tugs. I follow her to the nursery.

Charlotte has transformed the room. The glass door and wall are now covered in a sheer gauzy fabric and fairy lights are strung at the ceiling around the perimeter of the room. There are boards and fuzzy letters covered in glitter hanging on the wall, a dollhouse built into one wall from floor to halfway to the ceiling. The carpet is rainbow-colored with piles of pillows for seating and two small tables—one with a tea service, and the other with crayons, markers, and a stack of papers.

“And where will you sleep?”

Tiana takes my hand again and pulls me toward a wall panel. She pushes a button marked with a picture of a bed. A piece of the wall slides away and a bed folds down over the carpet. Tiana crawls beneath the blanket and covers up.

“Night, night!” she chirps, giggling.

She’s a living reproduction of her mother. I ignore a pang of regret. I don’t regret losing Natasha for my sake, but for Tiana’s. That is another reason why Charlotte has to stay off-limits. It’s clear that my daughter likes her and responds well to her. And Tiana has lost enough for one lifetime. I won’t jeopardize her relationship with Charlotte over desire I can control.

I’ve built an empire on the back of my ability to control what would conquer other men. I will not succumb to weakness now.

I tighten my resolve. It lasts right up to the minute Tiana takes my hand and leads me through to the living room. There is a blanket draped between two sofa cushions, held in place on one side by the coffee table and by a kitchen stool on the other. “This is a princess fort. And I am Princess Tiana and you are King Daddy and Charlotte is the queen.”

Because she’s as compelling as she is insistent, I follow Tiana into the princess fort, finding Charlotte waiting inside. As soon as we’re seated, Tiana takes Charlotte’s hand and lays it over mine. The softness of her hands reminds me of silk sheets and I can’t help but picture her, naked, spread wide for me.

Fuck me, sir.

But I dispel those thoughts. Charlotte will remain strictly off-limits. I’ll repeat it like a mantra until my body and mind are in complete agreement about the woman whose fingers are still threaded through mine.

“How was her day?” I ask Charlotte over Tiana’s head.

Her day, not your day. Minimize attachment. Maintain distance. Push away, push away, push away.

Charlotte smiles. “It was good. Tiana learned five words that start with the letter A and five for the letter B.” She nods to my daughter—a signal to demonstrate her knowledge.

Tiana carefully repeats the same words as I translate them into Russian and slowly walk her through the pronunciations. Hearing my native language in Tiana’s tiny voice makes me smile. Hearing it in Charlotte’s sweet but husky voice makes me hard again. On an impulse I don’t bother to rein in, I start to bring her hand to my mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles.

I stop with her hand halfway up to my lips. She’s looking at me with a curious tilt to her head, and a tightness to her face that I don’t dare to delve into.

This was impulsive foolishness; a sickness from which I apparently now suffer. I wouldn’t abide it from an employee and I can’t let myself succumb to it either.

Playtime is over. I’ve ruined it.

“Come, Tiana. It is time for bed.”

Discipline won’t be easy with this one. She’s already taken a spot in my heart, so I’m grateful when she doesn’t argue or complain at my order. And because I need to remember and reinforce who is the employer in this relationship with Charlotte, to not blur the lines for either of us, I glance at her. “You’re dismissed for the evening.”

I sound pompous. Arrogant. As if she hasn’t worked to make my house into a home while simultaneously dealing with Tiana. I