Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 5 – Rosalyn

No one said anything about the possibility of the tongue being a pain reliever. Maybe I could share that discovery because I was a firsthand witness that it was. His was.

The way he kissed me, tasted me, made me forget the reason I was so close to blowing over fifty thousand dollars that should have been for a wedding dress. My wedding dress. The way he held and touched me dampened all the painful memories that drove me to my brother’s enemy to offer him a proposal that could destroy everything Father had worked hard to build.

I had never, ever been kissed like this.

When he groaned into my mouth like a hungry lion feasting on delicious prey and drove his fingers into my hair like he sought solace, I saw the white puffy clouds through airplane windows and the brown, rich, earthen peak of tall mountains. He brushed the hair away from my shoulder and nipped on the tender spot on my neck, and my head fell back in bliss. I saw colorful meadows, daffodils, and sunflowers. I heard morning birds sing and smelled rich coffee and buttery croissants. I saw the sunrise, and I felt freedom.

A man like Nikolai Yezhov didn’t please women. The reverse was always the case; they lived to please him. But now, in this moment, I felt like a sacred being. He kissed me like he wanted me, touched me like the mere action was an intimate art of worship, and slowly began to lift my dress….

My eyes snapped open when I realized, and I pushed his chest with all the internal force I could muster.

“What are you doing?”

I took my time to look at him, like really look at him. I’d barely gotten a sneak peek at the auction and didn’t maintain eye contact long enough to notice how the dazzling brown in his eyes matched the coffee strands of his hair or how chiseled his bone structure was, as if the gods themselves had sculpted him in Olympus.

He had thick, moderate eyelashes, a full mouth that knew just how to work, and a body frame that could make me disappear if he covered me. He wasn’t wearing a jacket over his black dress shirt, so the expanse of his broad chest was on full view. The firmness was very clear. And knowing I’d felt just how hard those muscles were under that snug fabric caused a warmth to climb my skin, suffocating every other logical sense of reasoning and awakening instead a deep burning desire to feel more of him.

Now, even in the disheveled state, he only looked more dangerously handsome.

“What do you mean?”

The huskiness of his voice, still trapped with lustful desire, made me snap back to reality. With shaky hands, I pointed to the dress sitting above my knee, and he caught the movement. “You were trying to….”

“To what?” He blew out an impatient sigh and narrowed his eyes. “You made your proposal, and this is mine. If I will consider your offer, I will have you tonight.”

I was breathing hard now. This was not the plan. This part, getting physical with him—where I clutched my chest because I still couldn’t believe how insanely divine that kiss was. Yes, I wanted to charm him, share a glass of wine, and get him to help me escape from the nightmare of a marriage. But I’d never considered having real sex with one of the most dangerous men in the world. Nikolai Yezhov.

The sex was one thing. Offering him my virginity suddenly seemed too high a price for me to pay. But he wasn’t stupid; there were no mixed signals. I’d moaned in his mouth, breathed in his exhale, kissed his neck, combed my own fingers through his hair, and played with the buttons on his shirt, trying hard not to slip my palm underneath the fabric.

I wanted him as much as he wanted me, but…this man was Nikolai, dammit! A Yezhov! One of the top ringleaders in the Bratva! His brother was the Pahkan !

Rosalyn, wake up !

What would I be getting myself into if I let go of all my fears and inhibitions and gave into this tempting desire to be with him?

The movement on the couch made me realize he was getting up. Getting ready to leave. I panicked and, without thinking, reached for his wrist, halting him in his tracks.

He glared at my hand, and I yanked it away like I’d been scorched by a flaming torch.

Just great.

I’d insulted my inner feminist.

I tried to speak but tripped over my own words. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place. If I didn’t say something soon, he was going to walk out that door and would probably forget someone like me ever existed.

He’d forget my offer.

I didn’t want him to leave, and I couldn’t decide whether I was ready to accept his offer.

“There are many factors to consider here. We can’t just…have sex like strangers do in movies.”

He searched my face, thick, dark brows wrinkled between his forehead like he was trying to figure something out. When he released an exasperated sigh, I knew he stopped trying. “What are you saying, Rosalyn?”

I nodded.

“Words.”

I swallowed. The decision had been made, but even in heated moments like this, it was advisable to be logical. “I am saying I don’t want you to go. I want this, but there are factors to consider. Tristan is almost sixty.”

“I’m forty,” he fired back without missing a beat and challenged me with one of those perfectly arched brows. My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach.

If I were to guess, I would have gone with thirty-five. Nothing about Nikolai gave the hint of forty.

“I…um…I turned twenty-one two months ago.”

I was practically a child before this man. That should have been a major red flag. A warning signal to jump ship, abort mission. If I couldn’t stand fifty-nine-year-old Tristan Gomez, what in the world made me believe that sex with Nikolai Yezhov would be as great as I’d already begun to imagine?

“Do I look like I fucking care about the age gap?”

Of course, he didn’t.

I shook my head.

He cursed something colorful under his breath in Russian, and it sounded as hot as it was aggressive. “ Words , Rosalyn.”

“No, you don’t.” I mustered courage, then closed the space between us, holding his gaze long enough to allow him to see the desire in my eyes. “I don’t have any experience.”

That forced a naughty smile to form on his mouth. He cupped my cheeks and rubbed his thumb in circles on my jaw. “I am a good teacher.”

Which led me to my next point.

“You clearly have more experience. Experiences. That means there’s a higher chance that you’re, um….” I suppressed a cough. What better way was there to say this? “Sexually Transmitted Infections are real.”

In a split second, his eyes widened. Right before he filled my ears with the most infectious and vibrant laughter I had ever heard from a man.

“You are so fucking cute,” was all he said.

And then he kissed me.

****

The clouds? The meadows? The sunrise?

Those were jokes compared to the intensity of fiery furnaces, boiling blood, and hearts banging from heated passion. At least, that was what I believed this moment to be—this moment where I was trapped in time with a sinfully beautiful man who could be my destruction.

My black mourning gown was pooled at our feet, laying still beside my lace bra while I stood before him naked with nothing but my hair for cover. Unlike most girls my age, I didn’t like thongs. They were most uncomfortable, and I thought Nikolai would mind, but he’d hastily tugged my panties down my legs, almost ripping them off before lifting me and placing me on the soft rug.

His hungry gaze burned every inch of me, from my face and my pebbled breasts to the low-shaven mound between my legs. I wished I could see through the unreadable granite expression on his face to know if he liked what he saw.

I wasn’t as tall as most of the girls men like him hung with or curvy enough to catch a man’s attention, but I’d always kept fit and thought I had a good figure. His silence was disturbing; however, I knew I’d first bite my tongue off before I sought any form of validation from him. I formed my own sustenance, repeating the words over and over again in my head.

This means nothing.

This is a one-night stand.

Tomorrow is a brand-new day. It’ll be like it never even happened.

Live in the moment.

He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my lips to his, kissing me deeply and sliding his tongue into my mouth. My fingers found purchase in his hair, and he paused, swallowing my sigh. He cupped my ass, molded the soft flesh to fit his palms, and buried his nose between my neck. Shamelessly, like a woman with no inner control, I moaned.

I jerked my hips to his, eager to know what that obvious bulge between his legs would feel like against my skin.

When I tried to reach for his shirt, he slapped my hands away, and when I moved to the belt buckle, he trapped my hands in a deadlock.

I could have resisted his hold, but his dominance forced my submission, and the flex of his jaw muscles made me hot everywhere. He let go of my wrist, nestled between my legs, and hovered over me, his weight snatching the breath from my lungs. He was big. Bigger than me, at least, and I liked it. I ran my fingers, feeling the width and lengths of his clothed body, shivering even more when he pressed soft kisses to my collarbone with hooded eyelids.

Then I heard the steel clanging of his belt buckle and watched him lower the dress pants enough to ease himself out of his briefs. I bit my tongue to restrain all compliments from leaving my mouth. His cock was huge, and I worried for myself. I trembled and curled my fingers into the rug.

He noticed.

“Nervous?” he asked hoarsely.

We shared a look. He was pleased with himself, super proud that he knew his size was impressive.

“STI’s?” I managed to choke out. “I’m only concerned about that.”

And definitely not how hard and big he is or whether he will fit inside me. Or how badly I want to feel that straining erection inside me.

After an annoyed once-over, he produced a small shiny packet from the back of his pocket, held it up for me to see, and flashed a pretend smile. “Happy?”

Happy?

Happiness was underrated compared to what I was feeling. It surpassed elation or the mere experience of euphoria. This was real, like that exhilarating thrill a person felt standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into the calm blue waters over thirty feet below. But sue me, I still held a grudge.

No compliments.

“I guess that’s safer.” I lay back down, breathing harshly, waiting in anticipation while he tore the wrap, with my eyes glued to the ceiling and white-golden lights. Then, I accidentally murmured, “Can’t believe you walk around with a condom in your pocket.”

“Oh, but I do.” I could almost hear the sardonic smile in his voice. “Just in case some random sister of an enemy walks up to me to join her for a glass of wine with the proposal to kidnap her.”

He might not have meant what I heard, but I heard it anyway. I practically threw myself at this man. And before I was given a chance to change my mind, he eased inside me.

My nails flew to his arm, and I gasped at the same time he caressed my hip and muttered a tortured but satisfied, “ Fuck.”

He muttered more Russian under his breath, rubbing my hips, sliding his hand up to cup one of my breasts. His eyelids grew heavier. He moved his hips again, and his lashes fluttered before his eyes closed.

“ Fucking …good….”

The penetration stung, but I relaxed at the growl of raw pleasure rumbling at the back of his throat and never knew I could find watching a man’s satisfaction so intriguing. He slid farther until he hit my core, going as deep as he could. My blunt nails dug into his shirt in a vise grip. I choked on a bubble of air, and he waited for me to adjust. But I was not as grateful for the patience as he expected.

I jerked my hips, wrapped my legs around his waist, and shoved him even deeper. We hissed at the same time, and he let out a guttural bark that mixed English, Russian, and another language I couldn’t identify. I picked the vulgar pieces of English and laced them up together to understand what he said— pussy related— and a violent fire spread inside me.

He lifted my ass from the ground so my back was only halfway on the rug, then gripped my hips and slammed into me a little harder. I tried to lower my eyes to watch, but he pressed a thumb against my clit and rubbed roughly.

Spots blinded my vision, and my head fell backward, but he didn’t release me. Instead, he thrust harder. And harder. And faster. My breasts jiggled, and I moaned with no reserve. No caution. No fear.

He hissed, slapped my ass, cupped the soft flesh, and pounded into me like a man on a mission.

Every time I snuck a peek at him, my heart swelled with marvel at how a man could appear so calm and yet so rogue. He hoisted my waist, lifting me so he sat on his knees, and I straddled him.

Our eyes locked, brown melting into green. Harsh puffs of air from his mouth hit my face, and damp hair stuck to his forehead. I snaked my arms around his neck and felt his heart beat fast. Or maybe it’s mine. But this position made me feel more powerful than I had ever felt in my life.

So, I kissed him.

His eyes fell shut, and I moved against him, riding him at a slow pace, tasting the muttered Russian off his tongue when he cursed, loving the intoxicating scent of this man and how so easily he made me tremble. How he made me feel alive and hopeful.

My fingers found purchase in his hair, and I moved my waist even slower, harder. Enough to make us both feel the heat of my core. “Do you like it?”

His eyes snapped open, watching me with that familiar unreadable expression again, almost like he didn’t believe I would ask him that. Instead of giving an answer, he clamped down on my waist and made me ride his cock faster. He lowered his face to my chest, took one of my nipples in his mouth, and sucked hard.

I grew restless, rocking him harder, feeling a certain rise. With a moan, my head lolled backward, and I whimpered, seeing rushing springs, green trees, and golden sunlight rays shine between thick canopy trees.

“You’re coming, aren’t you?” He breathed against my neck.

But I couldn’t find words, not when liberation was so close. “Please…”

I begged. For that release, for that freedom. To escape from the prison that held me bound for fourteen years after Father’s death. Hot tears stung the back of my eyes, and I sniffled.

He kissed my shoulder with an order. “Open your eyes.”

I’d been fucked to compliance, so I did. I obeyed and got my mind blown the second I did.

We were still moving fast, breathing hard, and tasting the air between our lips, but his eyes managed to keep me locked in a space where I only saw him. I succumbed to a crazy urge and kissed his upper lip. His lips were so soft that I parted them with my own and slipped my tongue inside. The kiss was like an arrow to my chest.

And when he slid his fingers between my legs and touched my clit with a gentleness that pushed me to the edge of that cliff, I knew there and then that it was a silent promise. A promise to open up that cage and set me free.

With a cry, I shattered on him, and my head fell forward to the base of his neck. Then he pressed his face into mine and came inside me. His muscles shook, but he held me closer than I thought he would.

I sighed, allowing a haze to sweep me from his arms.

Liberation.

****

That same incessant buzzing, but a different day, certainly a different time, because I remember last night….

I shot up from the bed, my hand calming the pounding heart beneath my chest, as I looked past the lonely living room to the sun-kissed kitchen. The half-empty wine glasses sat still on the centerpiece beside the bottle, and my clothes were in the exact same spot.

The buzzing sound started again, and I snatched my phone from the centerpiece table, looking over the numerous missed calls from Hannah before picking up the incoming one.

She cursed under her breath, blowing a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

I rubbed my forehead and massaged a dull ache. “You were looking for me? I thought you had a tracker.”

“I do.” She didn’t sound pleased. “You disabled it.”

I sighed. I did disable it at some point between trying to convince Nikolai to kidnap me and then having him undress me.

“Now, before I tell you how much trouble you’re in, tell me where you are so I can come pick you up.”

A bitter chuckle left my lips, and I remained silent.

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did.

He was gone.

Chapter 6 – Nikolai

The last time I fucked a woman, I forgot what it felt like the second I pulled out of her. It was an empty void, a chasm that allowed the chill to echo through. Nothing but hard grunts and screams of pleasure. She’d begged for more, but I was done. And I’d been done for a while until... her.

The Irish princess walked into the picture with no makeup, a simple dress, fluffy slippers, and a killer smile that ruined my night in the most unimaginable way possible. I’d never have thought such a night possible.

Eyes glued to the ceiling, I kicked my legs up, lay back on the sectional sofa, and knotted my fingers over my groin, rewinding the events of last night. My jaw and fingers clenched. I wanted to stop thinking about it. About all of it. How her petite body quivered in my arms, how sweet she tasted and felt. The smell of perfumed oil on her hair and fair skin. Tiny, dark beauty birthmarks scattered across her back in an eerie symmetric pattern that rivaled a masterful work of cosmic art.

When she breathed in my ear, slipped her warm tongue into my mouth, fisted my shirt, and clung onto me for dear life. I forgot nothing, not even the warmth of being inside her, despite the limitation of that fucking condom.

STIs my fucking foot.

My lips curved upwards to the side, and I scoffed. She was na?ve, and cute, and no longer a virgin. I’d gotten her rid of that virtue and didn’t need a reminder of the implications that would follow if her brother or husband-to-be discovered that the package had been tampered with.

I was still on the verge of reminiscing when heavy footsteps stomped on the rug. I angled my neck to catch the intruder, who was sitting down on one of the sofas. Anatoly flashed a strange-looking, mismatched smile, and my eyes traveled back to the ceiling.

“You look like your old, young self again.”

“Meaning?”

His rough tone punctuated the quiet and was accompanied by the rustle of papers, what I readily assumed to be a business magazine or wrinkled newspaper he readily produced from the deep pocket of his jacket. “When you lived for the free life: parties, girls, sex. ”

Refusing to glare at him, I closed my eyes. But he wasn’t giving up easily.

“Big hangover?”

“Something like that.” A warning hint for him not to press further, but my relationship with Anatoly had crossed the line of master and servant a long time ago. He only followed orders when the situation demanded that he did. Otherwise, he was just going to wear his heart on his sleeve, and that came with lots of things to say.

He hummed, and I sensed another prodding from the small distance.

“Booze?”

He knew I didn’t take beer.

“Wine.” Red wine. “I drank too much.”

He chuckled, and I was forced to open my eyes and sit upright. When I did, his happiness grew even brighter. Today, he wore a yellow shirt on black dress pants and sported a fresh trim on his head and face. Whoever advised him had gotten it all wrong. Yellow was certainly not his color. It fueled the urge to strangle him more. Now, I glared at him, wishing I could rip that sunshine-yellow shirt off his chest.

“If you have something to say, then why don’t you? Scared I’m going to put a bullet in that blabbing mouth of yours?”

His laughter was harder and cheerier than the yellow glow.

“Just a hunch, but does that red wine have anything to do with the Gallagher princess?”

And her voice came back to me like an uninvited messenger, bearing a message of dangerous promises and forbidden territories.

Do you like it?

Only the na?ve virgin— non-virgin —princess would ask such a sensitive question in the middle of heated sex. I remembered the genuine curiosity and concern in those eyes, searching to know if I enjoyed our little rendezvous as much as she did. Wanting to know if she made me feel….

And stranger was the speed at which an honest answer nearly tumbled out of my mouth.

I didn’t like it.

I fucking craved it like an addict to blow.

A throaty rumble made me blink, and I found Anatoly sitting expectantly, waiting patiently for an answer. If I responded, it meant I was considering her absurd proposal, but if I ignored his question, I could move on, forgetting that last night ever happened.

“She wants me to kidnap her.”

The smile fell off his face, a frown replacing the bubbling joy that once was. He dropped the magazine and folded his arms, with an inquisitive brow arched at me, repeating slowly. “Rosalyn Gallagher wants you to kidnap her.”

“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

He scoffed. “It is crazy. If you asked me, I’d say it’s a trap.”

“It could be.” I rubbed my knees while he looked at me as if I had grown two heads. His thick brows furrowed, and the frown etched deeper when he saw what I thought I hid behind my scowl.

“You’re considering it.”

“Let’s just say, you’re not the only one who thinks the marriage to the Mexican is a cruel punishment. She does, too, and doesn’t want to be a part of it; and we both know Ronan is past the point of being reasoned with. That’s where I come in—swooping in like a villain before the wedding to save the day.”

“Don’t know, Niko. If Ronan finds out, hell could break loose. We can take him, but I don’t know…. This plan smells fishy.”

I laughed at that. “Funny, the only thing I could smell yesterday was wine.”

And scented oil.

Anatoly remained in a stillness that meant he was brooding. I allowed him, taking my time to review the situation. After a moment, his shoulders moved, and that sunshine smile was back with a bolder confidence than the first time.

“At the end of the day, you can do it. You can snatch the princess from right under their noses, and no one would suspect the Bratva.”

Involuntarily, I mimicked his sunny smile, rising from the sofa with a sudden idea that hadn’t come to me before. Anatoly was right; this wouldn’t be my first rodeo. No one knew better how to get the job done than me.