The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

But no. It was all a manipulation.

Damn her.

I sit up in the bed and swing my legs over the side. “Come here.”

She lifts her chin. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

My lips twitch, but I suppress my smile. I shouldn’t be amused by her fear. Except it makes my cock lengthen, thoughts of elaborate sex-filled punishments floating into my brain and smoothing out my temper.

I pat the bed beside me. “Come here, caxapok,” I coax. “I don’t bite hard.” I smirk. “Not you, anyway.”

Her jaw flexes, but she drops her large purse and walks over to the bed like I asked.

She’s a good girl at her core, I remind myself.

Or maybe not. I’d interpreted her virginity that way, but perhaps that’s just another part of her feminine manipulations. She’s never given herself to anyone because she doesn’t share. She uses blowjobs to ensnare men into her web, but they never get the prize.

I grind my teeth.

“Where were you going?”

Her haughty spoiled girl expression comes into place as she opens her mouth, and I snap, “Don’t fucking lie” before she gets a word out.

She closes her mouth again, flickers of fear and vulnerability in her expression.

“The truth,” I insist. “Or maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe the right one is, why were you leaving?”

She blinks rapidly, looking away. Her full lips shape a pout, and I find I want to kiss the fuck out of them, remembering how they looked stretched around my cock. “I...I just needed some space,” she admits with a sigh.

I’m torn between irritation and understanding.

“Space is a luxury neither of us have right now,” I snap then rein in my impatience. “Listen to me. Your father just died. There’s instability in the organization—massive instability. You inherited the biggest part of his wealth. I imagine there are dozens of men scheming about how to make a grab for that right now before the dust settles. Your father bound you to me for a number of reasons. One, marriage to me takes you out of the country, which makes it significantly harder to plot to kill you. Two, I know how to keep you safe. Many men in Moscow will remember my reputation.” I draw a finger across the ink on my knuckles, a mark for every kill.

She sits unmoving, those pouting lips taunting me.

“I have Dima working on tracking everyone who comes into the country from Russia and cross-referencing them with known members of the brotherhood. He’s writing a program for it now, but until that’s in place and until we see how things shake out in Moscow, I need to keep eyes on you at all times. I’m sorry, sugar. I’m not thrilled with it, either.”

Her gaze drops, and I sense her concession.

“Come here.” I loop an arm around her waist and drag her to sit on my lap. She sits stiffly at first. I pick up her leg and open it wide, so it sits on the outside of my knee and trace my fingertips lightly up her inner thigh. She shivers, her buttocks tensing over my cock.

She’s in another one of her body-hugging dresses—not the one she wore last night. This one is more casual, made of a soft, charcoal t-shirt material. It rolls up her thighs when I nudge it.

“I don’t know if you’re punishing me or you want to be punished, sugar, but you have to find another game. This one is too dangerous, da?”

She draws in a shaky breath. I do have an affect on her—that much I know. Last night, despite her very bold and in my face move of taking off for Los Angeles, she was nervous when I showed up. I sensed her trembling when she launched herself at me on the dance floor.

I continue to lightly tickle the inside of her thigh, tracing my fingers up and down, getting a little higher each time.

“Where were you going, Sasha?”

“I’m not ready to leave L.A.,” she says. I feel the thrum of her wild heartbeat through her back.

“No?” I nuzzle her neck, brushing my lips against her skin. “Then all you had to do was ask to stay. You think I could deny you anything after that life-altering blowjob you just gave me?”

“I shouldn’t have to ask,” she mumbles.

Before my temper flares, I remember how free and happy she looked last night with her friends. It’s true. She should be out living her life the way she wants. Finding her own joy. “You shouldn’t,” I agree. “But that’s not our reality. When things settle, I’ll let the leash off—I promise. Until then, you’ll work with me on this.”

She squirms on my lap.

“We can stay another day.” I let my finger brush the gusset of her panties, and her belly shudders in. “What did you want to do while we’re here?”