The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva 3)

She braces her hands against the wall and arches her ass up for me, making the hottest picture I’ve ever seen in my life.

I want to tell her how gorgeous she is. How incredibly hot and beautiful and mind-blowing, but I can’t. So I settle for fucking her with every bit of passion in my heart. Time slows. Or maybe speeds up. I can’t be sure. My mind slips away. My body and Story’s join, my spirit and Story’s commune.

I offer up everything I have to her—my strength, my dominance, my protection, but with it also comes every weakness—the stains of my sins, my disfigurement, my obsessive need for her. She receives it all. Like the goddess who knows it is all hers to have. To receive and transmute and return. She is love, itself. Or maybe that’s me. What I feel for her. I can’t tell because it all rolls into one magnificent outpouring of energy.

She comes first, but the moment she does—one squeeze of her muscles—and I come, too. I roar—forgetting to stifle, to censor my noises. I roar and slam home, my cum leaving me in hot ribbons of ecstasy.

I squeeze my eyes closed because the room spins. I forgot about my injuries—far too absorbed with my little minx.

I pull out and roll her over, then push back in for three more delicious strokes. I wring another orgasm out of my little swallow. She holds my gaze as she arches and comes beneath me.

I hum softly. Ya lyublyu tebya.

She goes still and blinks at me, almost as if she heard my thoughts.

My lastochka reads minds. Or I projected my feelings so clearly I didn’t need to speak. I bury my face in her neck, kissing her soft skin down the side, then across her throat. Worshipping my glorious swallow.

It was way too early for I love you. And Story is a flighty bird.

Story sucks on her cheek. “Oleg, I don’t—” I put a finger to her lips. Of course, she doesn’t love me. She barely knows me. It’s not something I would’ve said out loud if I could have.

She wraps her legs around my back to pull my body the rest of the way down onto hers like eye contact was too intense for her. I roll us both to the side to keep from crushing her.

She hides her face against my chest. “I don’t really do relationships.” Her words are muffled against my skin. Her breath moves the hairs on my chest. “That’s why I never asked you to take me home. Relationships always end quickly for me. I don’t do the love thing. My mom ruined her life chasing love.” She nuzzles her cheek against my chest, almost like a cat would. “And I didn’t really want us to end. I like what we had. You coming to my shows. Watching me. Supporting me. I liked it, and I didn’t want it to end.”

She sounds shaken.

I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight and hum again. Ya lyublyu tebya.

I don’t mean to project it. I didn’t even mean to think it, but it’s the truth. I love her. I don’t care if she doesn’t love me. Even if she won’t have me, I will never stop going to her shows.

Chapter 7

Story

I curl into Oleg on the low bed and rub my ass, which still stings from Oleg’s large palm.

"You spanked me.” There’s amusement in my tone. A tinge of wonder. “Is that like… your thing?” I definitely think it’s my new thing. “Do you do that with every girl you’re with?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Dude.” I pinch his nipple, and he gently catches my hand. “I asked you a question. Just because you can’t speak doesn’t mean you don’t try to communicate.”

He pulls me back in to snuggle closer against his warm chest and shakes his head.

“No? You don’t do that with every girl?”

Another shake. His hand slides down to grip my ass possessively. It makes my belly flip with excitement.

“Only me? Am I the first?”

Shrugs and nods. He strokes up and down my thighs, over the place where the buttock meets thigh.

“You were so reserved about making any moves with me for all those months. You just came and sat and watched. Now I find out you’re rough and passionate.” I lean up on one elbow to look at his face. He has light scars running beneath the stubble on his face. The guy has been in lots of fights.

“Hey, we need to figure out a way to talk to each other.”

He nods and reaches for the bedside table. I see he’s written out a list of the Roman alphabet letters with the Cyrillic alphabet symbols beside each one.

“You’re learning our alphabet.” My heart lurches a bit. “For me?”

His brows come down as he nods, which I interpret to mean, of course, for you.