The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva 3)

He rides me hard, protecting my hips from the side of the tub with his forearm around my waist. I lose my mind, crooning his name, panting, begging for release. His thumb finds my mouth. I suck it hard, hoping to bring him to climax, so I can have mine. It works. He growls and shoves in deep, bucking against my ass as he comes. I climax the moment he goes off, not needing the clit-rub he provides.

I scream because I can. Because it feels good to be as loud as I want up here on the roof.

When we both go still, Oleg’s heart beating against my back, he lowers his lips to my ear and bites gently, then kisses.

I hear his soft hum—the sound he makes for me when we get close.

I make it back.

He pulls out and turns me around, pointing at my chest, then his.

“Yep, I say softly. I’m yours.”

He arranges me in his lap in the water, still humming.

“Hey, guess what? We start our ASL class at the community college next month.” I researched it yesterday and signed myself up. I would’ve signed Oleg up, too, but he needs to get registered first.

He raises his brows.

“We’re both going to learn it, so we can talk easily. Otherwise, how are you going to talk to our kids?”

Oleg lets out a surprised puff of breath followed by a soft moan and blinks rapidly. If I didn’t know better, I would swear my big strong man teared up. He points at me, then does the grabby-hand sign for want, then mimics rocking a baby.

“Yeah, I want kids, do you?”

Another soft moan and blinking. He nods.

“I’m thinking, like, three or four. A big noisy houseful of kids. Because crazy chaos is my jam.”

Oleg laugh-sobs and leans his forehead against my cheek, rocking me gently in the water.

“Are you down.”

He makes his humming sound and stands up, lifting me out of the water. He stoops to pick up his keycard, leaving our clothes on the deck as he carries me to the door.

“Where are we going? Are you going to fuck me again?” I’m not usually the dirty-talker, but after reading all the things Oleg wanted to say to me last week, I figure I’m voicing his thoughts.

His eyes go dark with wicked promise.

I giggle and tighten my hold on his neck, kicking my feet with delight.

Epilogue

Oleg

“S-t-ory.” I work carefully to make the sounds come off my lips right. I’m standing in the doorway of Story’s music studio on the tenth floor where she teaches lessons and rehearses with the band.

Ravil got a speech therapist to work with me every week on learning to speak again. I make sounds with my lips to substitute for the sounds I can’t speak with my tongue. I fucking hate the way it sounds, but seeing Story’s face light up at hearing her name makes it worth it.

My girl whirls and smiles over her shoulder at me then takes a running leap, jumping into my arms. “Hi, Big Daddy,” she says in a low, breathy voice.

Aw, fuck. Now I just want to press her back against the wall and give it to her hard, right here, right now.

But, no. I have other plans.

“How did speech therapy go?” she asks, dropping a dozen kisses over my face.

“Goov,” I say. D’s are still a work in progress. “Marry me,” I blurt. I’d just practiced an entire sentence for an hour, but I buckled under pressure.

Story’s head jerks back to look at my face. “Did you just propose?”

“Yes. Will you?” The words don’t quite sound right, but she understands me.

She laugh-cries. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

I shift my hands to produce the ring I tucked in my pocket and show it to her. It’s a small, delicate ring with three slender diamond-encrusted bands braided together and three half-carat diamonds on top. Story’s not the type to want a big rock or anything too flashy. I wanted something artsy and sweet, like her.

“I love it.” She lets me slip it on her ring finger. “I love it so much.”

“Come on.” I carry her out of the music studio and into the elevator. When we get out, I go in the main entrance to the penthouse where everyone is waiting.

The assholes all heard me practicing for the last hour, so everyone knew it was coming.

“Well?” Sasha demands. Maxim holds a bottle of champagne in his hands, the cork ready to pop.

“Yes,” I say. I don’t put my lastochka down. Carrying her around is one of the biggest pleasures of my life.

The room explodes into cheers and whoops. Even baby Benjamin cheers and claps his chubby hands. The cork pops and hits the ceiling. Champagne spills on the floor.

“Pozdravleniya!” Sasha shouts her congratulations in Russian. Pavel, Dima and Nikolia repeat it, followed by Lucy, who has learned basic Russian faster than any of us learned English. Pavel’s girlfriend, Kayla is visiting from L.A. and she bounces up and down, as perky as she is sweet.