The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

It all settles in. Ravil’s grand bluff. I think some part of me knew it all along. It’s why I wasn’t scared of him. How I knew I was safe, and he’d take care of me. Why I didn’t rebel. He was toying with me. But my needs, my happiness were never at stake.

“I want to. I think it will be perfect.” I gasp and catch Ravil’s head again as he flicks his tongue rapidly over my clit.

“Anything you want,” he says. “I mean it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.” He lifts his head. “Except for your freedom.” His blue eyes shine with wicked promise.

“How about perogies?”

“I’ll have them made for you by midnight.” He stands and reaches for his phone.

“No, no—wait. Sex first. Then food. They’re closely tied, but I need you first.”

His smile is so warm it heats my entire body from the inside out. “You need me?”

I nod. “Please. Pozhaluysta.”

He quickly strips out of his clothes, holding my gaze. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He kneels on the bed behind me. “Hands and knees.” He gives my ass a swat.

Satisfaction ricochets through me. Like I’d forgotten in such a short time how much I liked his dominance, but my body hasn’t. It celebrates the spank. The heat and tingle of the print he surely left on my skin. The shock of sensation. The surrender, knowing he’s in charge now, and whatever he chooses will be amazing.

I climb onto my hands and knees, and he enters me from behind. He steadies me with one hand on my hip as he wraps the other around my long hair. “I never liked missionary, but I would’ve picked it this time if we could.” He tugs my hair back to lift my head. “After Benjamin comes, I will put you in every position possible,” he promises.

He pumps in and out, gathering steam, then rolls me to my side, catching my face between his fingers. “I need to see this beautiful face,” he says. “I want to watch you come, kitten.”

I grab his firm ass to help slam him in deeper, harder. My nails score his skin.

He snarls and leverages higher over me, pressing my top knee to my shoulder. It’s delicious. Deep and perfect. And then he starts rubbing my clit.

“Pozhaluysta, pozhaluysta,” I moan.

Ravil roars and slams in deep, rubbing faster against my clit with the tip of his finger. I come at once, waves of pleasure rolling over me, bathing me in love, in contentment, in warmth.

“I love you, Lucy. I love your adorable American accent. I love that you started learning Russian the day I moved you in here.” He nibbles my shoulder. I turn my face up to pull his mouth down for a kiss. “I love your strength. Your perfectionism. Most of all, I love it when you submit.”

“I love it when you master me,” I whisper. Words I never thought I’d say. But so true. He’s the conquering Viking who carried me off. And I’m the heroine who let herself be claimed—but not without struggle. And in the end, like in any good Viking romance, I brought the bad-ass hero to his knees.

Chapter 21

Ravil

“I told you no more heels.” I gently massage Lucy’s swollen feet. We’re on the sofa in the penthouse, her feet in my lap where I can rub them as she eats her bedtime snack of perogies and milk.

I’ve already fucked her thoroughly, both in the bed and in the shower afterwards, and her resulting glow makes me smug.

“They weren’t that high.” Lucy leans forward to feed me a bite of her meat pastry. She moved in with me but insisted on going back to work this week, her bedrest magically ending. “Will you hand me that pillow?” she points at one of the throw pillows, and when I hand it to her, she shoves it behind her lower back.

I shake my head. “I don’t like it, kotyonok. You work too hard. All for what—to prove yourself to a bunch of assholes who are idiots not to realize your true brilliance?”

“I’m thinking about quitting.” Her brown gaze skims over my face, as if she’s gauging my reaction.

“Yes,” I say immediately. “Quit. Rest. Swim. Enjoy the rest of your pregnancy.”

“I didn’t like being back,” she admits. “Everything felt wrong. The people, the environment. I don’t know—I just didn’t care as much about the things I used to.”

“Quit. Or work from home. Start your own business. Work part-time. You can do what you like, Lucy. Anything at all. When you’re my wife, you’ll be rich, kotyonok. You’ll own half of everything. So don’t let money factor into any choice in the matter.”

Her lids droop in the way I’ve grown addicted to seeing. The look when I can tell she feels loved. “I don’t recall you asking me to marry you.” A teasing smile curls her soft lips.