Obsessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 4)

I wait for James to head down the hallway before I push the plush curtain aside and come face-to-face with Anton.

I press my lips together and give a bashful smile. "Are you here for a dance?" I pray that he didn't hear a word between James and me.

Anton pushes forward into the booth, not the least bit apologetic in his demeanor, and I stumble back toward the couch, keeping him from knocking into me. The space isn't huge, and he's taking up as much of it as possible.

"I saw that man earlier; who is he to you?" Anton pushes me down onto the sofa and traps me from leaving the room.

I laugh, shrugging off his question and ignoring his bruteness. "Are you going to dance for me?" I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. I'd love to see Anton dance, but I don't imagine he would, and certainly not while on camera.

His nostrils flare as he sneers at my suggestion, and his hand wraps around my neck, enough to cut off blood supply, but he's not crushing my windpipe. He's done this before. "Tell me, kitten, who was that man?"

My arms flail as I whack him on the side of the head, attempting to break free. He releases his hold, pinning me with his stare.

"FBI," I gasp. My heart pounds wildly against my chest as I catch my breath.

"He's with the FBI?" Anton glances me up and down, satisfied that I'm not lying. "What did he want?"

I'm not afraid of Anton. I should be considering he could kill and dispose of me, and no one would ever find my body.

I reveal the business card to Anton, proving that James is a federal agent. "He told me that you're Russian Mafia," I say.

"We prefer the term bratva." Anton's gaze tightens as he holds my stare. "What else did he tell you, kitten?"

"That I shouldn't trust you."

Anton chuckles under his breath. "You shouldn't. I'm a dangerous man."

"You don't scare me," I whisper, climbing onto his lap and straddling him.

"There are cameras," Anton warns.

But I don't care.

Let them watch.

"You've never been into voyeurism?" I tease and drag my fingers through his hair and down his jawline, gentle and slow. I don't want him to feel I'm a threat to him or the men he works with.

He grumbles and pushes me off his body. "You're distracting me." He stands and steps on the other side of the coffee table, keeping a solid distance between us. Anton rubs his forehead before stroking his jaw. He's restless and bothered by the information that I've given him.

Is he afraid that I'll tempt him if we're too close?

I need him to trust me, and if he thinks the FBI is watching him and I'm an ally, maybe he'll give me a little more responsibility and divulge some of the secrets he keeps.

"If you don't have anything else, I have more clients to entertain," I say. I stand, and he snarls at me.

"Sit back down."

I slump back down onto the sofa. I can't read if he's jealous or angry. He stalks toward the couch and shoves the table out of the way, coming to stand in front of me.

"Prove your loyalty," he commands.

I stare up at him. "Do you want a blow job?"

He growls and grabs me by the hair, pulling me down to lie on the couch as he straddles me. "Don't ever offer a man that in my club!"

With him holding a fistful of my hair, I can't get away or fight him. And I'm cautious about how I fight, knowing I could easily give away who I am or my FBI training.

"I want your obedience and your submission," he demands. His left hand grips my hair while his right closes in around my neck.

"You have it," I whisper, staring up at him.

He doesn’t squeeze. He finds my pulse point, his eyes entirely on mine. "You don't fear me," he says, the realization dawning on him that I'm not fighting to get away to break free or beg for my life.

"I have no reason to fear you. Should I?" I ask. My life is in his hands. It's a dangerous game, but he'll never open up to me if I don't show him that I trust him.

His mouth presses against mine, and his tongue pushes past my lips. If it were any other man at the club, I'd be repulsed by such behavior, but with Anton, I want him to touch me.

He's fully dressed, but I can feel his cock pressed against me. "I want you to fuck me," I whisper, trying to keep my voice down so that only he can hear me.

Anton growls before releasing his hold and climbing off me. Sweat beads on his forehead. The room is stifling. "Get back to work," he orders and pushes the curtains aside as he disappears out of the room.

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