Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 12 – Nikolai

Two Weeks Later

Timur rubbed his hands with an arrogant smirk and pulled his chair closer to the table. His eyes lit with the unmistakable glow of a victor in an aggressive match. I scoffed, rolled up my sleeves, and adjusted the tilted angle of the chess board. We hadn’t even started yet, and he already looked like he held the trophy.

“Why do you always set yourself up for defeat?”

The sound of his laughter was just as I was used to—rich, haughty, and young. He ran a hand over his buzzcut, tilting closer to inspect the game that was yet to begin. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Definitely or what .” I pushed his head back with two fingers and positioned my elbows on my knees. “You just never get tired of losing. I used to love it—your silent way of respecting that I’m the boss—but it’s grown to be tiring.”

“I bet five that Timur’s going to win today,” Anatoly piped up on the black velvet sofa at the corner of the office. He touched the tip of his thumb to his tongue and flipped a page of the LA Weekly on his thighs, his reflection on the ceiling-to-floor glass blurring with the constant drop of rain pelts.

“Five what?”

“Five bucks.” Without lifting his face, he flipped another page, and Timur caught his blurry smile through his reflection on the glass. “There’s no way I’m staking more than that.”

Timur faked a snort. “Well, it is nice to know that you have that much faith in me. Doesn’t matter anyways. With or without anyone’s support, I’m taking Niko down today.”

“Losers fucking talk too much.”

He flashed his middle finger and mimicked my elbows on my knees.

I was sitting across from him, the chess board between us like a battleground, highlighting our obvious differences. It was a business-working day, but Timur preferred to show up in a striped short-sleeve polo, a vibrant pair of dark jeans, and a pair of black sneakers, strikingly opposed to my white dress shirt and pants. I was always the superior player, but Timur was no pushover. He wasn’t one to give up quickly on anything. Years ago, he developed a cunning mind and a talent for strategy that made him a formidable opponent.

I made my opening move, a classic pawn to e4. Timur raised an eyebrow, the victor’s smirk gone. He knew I was setting a trap but didn’t know what kind.

“I consider now as a good time to ask what your real play is, concerning the girl. Why do you have to marry her?” he asked as he played.

“If talking is your way to distract me….”

“I swear, it’s not.” He laughed, responding with a predictable e5.

I smiled to myself.

Every time.

This was going to be too easy.

“To take over.” I moved a pawn, keeping my eye on the board. “I intend to rule the Irish mafia.”

Timur paused his play, giving me a you’re joking look.

“I’m serious.”

He dropped his pawn, straightening up well enough for me to see the deep frown etched on the sides of his mouth. “Niko, that’s practically impossible. Even your brother didn’t think that far. What makes you think you can pull this off?”

I shrugged, maintaining eagle-eye focus on the pawns and calculating possible moves he could use to effect a win. “Number one,” I moved a pawn, “I am not my brother, Timur. You’ve always known, right from the start, that we were never comparable. I do my shit, and he does his.”

Timur weaved a counter-attack web, his pieces dancing across the board with a precision that made me take notice.

“Number two: Never say anything is impossible. It’s really not that hard when you take time to think about it. It’s a smooth play, I assure you.” I found myself on the defensive, my pawns under siege and my knights struggling to keep up. “Aiden is Ronan’s right-hand man, and, sadly, he trusts him. The good part is that Aiden’s got a lot of power there, so he has almost everything under his control, as well as a good number of loyal friends.”

As the game wore on, the tension between us grew, our hands moving as quickly as our brains did.

“Aiden’s not the only one with a grudge. Some men frown at Ronan’s tight fist.”

“He doesn’t pay them very well?”

“He barely pays them at all. Basically peanuts. They still stick around believing that, maybe, it won’t get all sour. Plus, they don’t exactly have other options. So, I’m working with Aiden.”

I moved a piece around. Timur’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in concentration. I saw the wheels turning in his mind, plotting his next move. I knew I had to stay one step ahead. “And in turn, Aiden is working with them so that when the time is right, we will strike. They will rebel against Ronan and certainly consider my juicy offers. For instance, a better pay. The Irish live for the money. There is no way they will turn me down.”

I sacrificed a pawn, a bold move that caught Timur off guard. He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. While he perused over all the possible strategies he could use to launch a counter-attack, I leaned back, watching him.

“That’s where my bride comes in. By reason of Cedric’s blood flowing through her veins, they will accept her, thereby, in turn, accepting me. Our children will have Gallagher and Yezhov blood and will be heirs to the Russian-Irish throne of power.”

He made a weak play, and I launched a devastating attack, my pieces working perfectly to corner his king.

“Fuck.”

I smiled. Checkmate was inevitable. He’d probably seen it but could do nothing to stop it.

As always .

We shook hands, and I smiled, a sense of satisfaction seeping in for outmaneuvering my opponent.

“Looks like I’ll just keep my five bucks.” Anatoly folded his newspaper and smiled at me. “I, for one, am glad that I only support winners.”

“Yeah, well.” Timur stretched, throwing an arm over the rim of the chair. “Have a little more faith in me sometimes. That might just be the boost I need.”

“Sure. You’re really about to hit the jackpot, Niko.”

“What jackpot?”

He pointed at the chessboard as if it wasn’t obvious enough. “Overthrowing Ronan, getting his people under your thumb, and in addition to all that, you get a hot wife.”

It was an offhand comment, but while he shared a laugh with Timur, my mind drifted to the first night I’d seen Rosalyn walk out of that building. Flaming red hair, a black dress that blended perfectly with the night, and those ridiculous flip-flops that didn’t match the occasion. That was the first night I’d fucked a woman and dreamt about it for days.

Anatoly’s deep, throaty snicker distracted my thoughts, and I sat upright to listen better. “What was that?”

Anatoly scratched his brow, repeating with a huff. “I said her bodyguard’s not so bad looking herself.”

“Hannah? That’s Aiden’s cousin. Don’t tell me you’re falling—”

“Falling?” He guffawed. Timur and I gave him a look that said we weren’t buying the fa?ade. “Who said anything about falling? Men like me, we don’t fall. We fuck. And I’m just saying she looks like she’ll be worth the fuck. Doesn’t mean I have to take permission from him. She looks perfectly able to handle this.” He pointed at his chest, earning a sneer from my cousin.

“The desire to fuck has never been the problem. It’s whether she finds you attractive enough to give you the pass.”

Anatoly acted offended, and they started bickering about which of them had better qualities to be a ladies’ man. Not being biased, but Timur had the win. There was always a higher chance of Anatoly scaring off the women with his looks than attracting them.

I was about to intrude in their playfully heated argument to state that point in Timur’s favor when my phone beeped beside the chess board.

I picked it up from the table. It was a CCTV notification, security footage from my fiancée’s room. I had it set up two days after her arrival. It was foolish to trust a woman like her not to do anything stupid, like trying to escape.

Ignoring Timur and Anatoly’s deep chuckles and rash banter, which had quickly changed from a smooth conversation in English to a Russian debate, I jerked from my chair, kicking it back when I opened it.

And all the blood in my body traveled south when she took off her clothes.

Chapter 13 – Rosalyn

Off goes the scrunchie.

Dua Lipa moved on the flat screen while “Levitating” reverberated on all four corners of the room, and I followed, shaking my waist and flipping my hair like a prisoner who could see the sun again after a hundred years of captivity.

Off goes the shirt.

Her pitch soared, and I threw my hands in the air, bringing them down in a spiral motion, dragging them down my strappy, low-cut bra, allowing them to linger on the waistline of my flared jean pants. I paused, my lungs heaving like I had run a marathon, my heartbeat thumping against my ribcage as Lipa dropped the climax of the song.

Rewind.

This striptease plot initially started with a revenge plan borne from a bubbling pit of frustration. To get back at Nikolai, of course. His betrayal still stung like the bite of ten jellyfish— not like I’d ever been stung by one before. But it stung, nonetheless. I wanted to get back at him, to make him know what it felt like to be left hanging at the edge of a cliff with no remorse and not knowing what would come next. But he was the one with the power. I had nothing but a well-furnished room in his house, and…that was it. No weapon, no resources, no connections. Nothing to bring him down with.

Except I considered my body as a weapon.

It was the lowest move, but I knew it would work. I remembered the first time we were in the same room together and the night at the party, in the bathroom. The tension was so thick that a knife could slice right through. I’d almost forgotten how he humiliated me in front of Tristan and granted him permission to take me on that wall. Then, thank God, I remembered the Taser in my purse. The attraction between us was as evident as the sun in the sky. Every touch sparked; every kiss journeyed straight to my core. Just thinking about it started a heat fest all over my body.

He didn’t know it, but I’d spotted the high-tech camera at the end of the room fixed between the ceiling and the wall. The head was so tiny that I might just have missed it. But living with Ronan had taught me to be vigilant for details, specifics, and things that could appear to meet more than the eye.

Perfect.

That was all I needed. He unknowingly set a trap for himself.

So, I turned on the television, selected the music channel, and set my plan in motion. I started with my hair, letting it down before I took off my shirt and jeans. I stood now, in the center of the room, in a pink sleazy bra and matching panties. He must have been expecting me to strip completely, but I had better plans. Another song came up, and I matched the energy, flipping my hair like an exotic stripper on a pole and swaying my hips like a professional dancer that I was not.

I fixed a finger between the elastic band of my panties, slightly tugging it down to show a glimpse of more skin. Then, for the element of surprise, I picked up my shirt from the floor, bunched it to a thick ball, and flung it with accurate precision to cover the camera.

But I kept dancing, and it had nothing to do with spite. When I started this revenge plan, I didn’t expect two things to happen.

The first one was actually enjoying the music and the freedom that came with living in Nikolai’s house. I was mad at him, yes, but I was away from that fiend of a brother, Ronan, and that prison he called a house. Although I was still trapped here, I didn’t feel the weight of the shackles bound on me. I welcomed the dance moves, the slow shakes of my head, and the rhythm of my feet.

The second thing I made no plans or expectations for was having Nikolai barge into my room looking like the mix of a sexy rogue gangster in an Armani businessman’s suit. His brown hair sat in a messy nest on his head, like he’d frequently run his fingers through, and a button below his dress shirt collar sat undone.

His presence sapped the breath out of my lungs. I stumbled, missing a step. “What are you….” I sounded like an airless pipe bag, so I cleared my throat and started over. “What are you doing here?”

Wasn’t he supposed to be at work or something?

His amused gaze met mine after he locked the door behind him, padding over to the television to turn it off.

“Clever you.” His thumb lingered on the remote button before he dropped it and turned around. My body tingled in awareness when his eyes ravenously swept from my head, past my bare stomach, and stopped at the aching spot between my legs.

I blocked his view with my arms, trying to shield my partial nudity. “Um….” I averted my eyes. “I deserve some privacy.”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk forming after he licked his lips. “Why so eager now to put them back on when the intent was to have them off in the first place?”

“Excuse me?” I had to act offended that he blatantly accused me of trying to seduce him when it was, in fact, true. “Why would I do something like that? This is my room, is it not? Although temporary, I believe I have the right to do whatever I want here, and that includes stripping whenever I deem fit.”

“Hm.” He pretended to think, burying both hands into the pockets of his pants. I dragged my eyes over the tall length of his body, secretly admiring the spread of his broad shoulders and the sharpness of his chiseled jaw that managed to snag my attention every time.

His steps toward me were calculated but efficient, and I barely had the time to think fast, to evade his rough hands cupping my chin or the dangerous look in his eyes when he stared at my lips.

“I’d say it hits differently when you strip for me.”

His lips. God, his lips. The full curves were as tempting as they were distracting. I pushed through the insane urge to lick them and focused on his face. “I would never....”

“You would never what? Strip for me?” He wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed himself against me. Hard chest against soft breasts, the bulge between his legs searing hot against the thin fabric of my panties. “How about I make you?”

I burned everywhere. Everywhere. I could barely breathe without inhaling him. A mix of pinewood and cologne. My heart raced, and my pulse quickened. The throb between my legs hammered worse than a headache, and my temperature spiked like a fever. I should have stepped back, pushed him away, or cursed him. I didn’t want this—I couldn’t stand this proximity, knowing that I was the reason for the reaction between his legs.

But I did.

The resistance wore off faster than thin ice close to a furnace, and my body slackened in his arms. The fight was no longer in me, but I said, “You can’t. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to.”

His smile was even more dangerous. More beautiful.

“What if I tell you I want you to?”

Shit.

This had to be the worst boomerang trap I’d ever set. I was falling fast, and, worse, I w anted to fall. I wanted to stand on my tippy toes and press my lips against his. I wanted the warmth of his tongue in my mouth. I wanted my hands in his hair, his hands on me, our legs tangled on that bed, him inside me.

Oh, my God!

I’d been bewitched, charmed by this backstabbing terror!

Fight, Lyn. Fight!

“And what about your friend, Katherine? Won’t she mind when she finds out?”

He outright grinned from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat, and I mentally slapped my forehead.

Why. Did. I. Say. That?

That was not a fight. That was an admission of jealousy. That night at the club, I’d spent almost one hour convincing myself that I wasn’t jealous of the brunette, with the long legs and her arms draped over Niko’s body like she owned him.

He didn’t keep the amusement away from his voice when he asked. “You remember Kathrine?”

I flashed a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “You remember the Taser?”

“Yes.” He dipped his face to my neck, chuckling against my throat. He kissed a sensitive spot, and I inhaled sharply when he pulled away. “I remember the Taser, amongst other things. Like how much I wanted your pussy that night. That dress you had on drove me fucking crazy.”

My heart stopped beating— at least, I think it did. Was it right to enjoy hearing someone talk dirty as much as I liked listening to those filthy words pour out of Nikolai’s mouth?

No, that shouldn’t be right.

One look in his eyes told me it was intentional. He was trying to get me in the mood to strip for him.

“And all I wanted to do was shock you.”

He laughed at my lame comeback, and I wanted to bite my tongue because I found even his laughter sexy.

What is wrong with me?

“Let’s do something.” He stroked the small of my back and tipped my chin higher up so I felt the warmth of his breath when he spoke. “It’ll be like a game. I will kiss you, and to prove that you don’t want me, you have to ask me to leave. And if you don’t ask me to leave, I’m going to fuck you hard without a condom.”

I swallowed, and heat prickled at the back of my neck. Anyone with a brain knew he was setting a trap. I had a brain. I knew this game was fixed for his wins, but that tiny, relentless voice, nudging me to prove him wrong, made me nod. “Whatever.”

“So, a deal then?”

“Deal.”

Smirking, he cradled the back of my head and pressed his lips to mine softly. The kiss was so gentle at first that my lashes fluttered shut, and I sighed into his mouth. His mouth moved against mine with a drunken need. His thumb tugged on my lower lip, and he nipped and sucked, dragging his teeth to the base of my chin and then roughly to my throat, lighting trickles of fire in its wake. His hand rested on my thigh, and in a blink, my feet dangled from the floor, and my back hit the soft sheets.

He barely gave me any time to think. Blunt fingernails sought solace in the curve of my hip, digging deeper when he moved his lips back to mine and sought my tongue tenderly. I threw my head back, moaning as I relished the pressure of his weight on me. Even bracing himself on his forearms, he was heavy.

I jerked my hips, silently pleading for more friction, when he pulled away with a triumphant glint in his eyes.

“I’m done,” he said and made a move to push himself off me.

Done?

Instinctively, my legs moved on their own free will, wrapping themselves around his waist to keep him trapped. He eyed my hips and looked back at me with an arched brow. “Is there a reason you are holding me hostage?”

“I don’t….” Shame burned in my chest, but it didn’t burn hot enough, like his fingers slowly stroking the valley between my breasts. I clenched my teeth hard enough to cause a toothache. “I don’t want you to leave.”

His smile was almost infectious. “So, you want me to fuck you?”

I closed my eyes, refusing to see the look on his face when I nodded. “Yes.”

“Say it, princess.” His voice was hard. “I want to hear you say it.”

I huffed. “I want you to fuck me.”

His laughter reached my ears, but unexpectedly, it sounded more pleased than mocking. Like he was genuinely happy about the decision I’d made.

He lowered himself again, kissing my cheeks and prying my eyes open. “I’m only surprised that you’re not throwing in a quick condom clause. No longer scared of STIs? I have one in my pocket, just in case.”

There was a light squeeze in my chest. When he made the smallest gestures like rubbing my back or kissing my neck, or when he said sensitive things like this that weren’t meant to have any meaning, it was hard to believe that this man, this mobster, was dangerous.

I glared at him. “It was a deal. Unlike you, I don’t go around changing plans.”

That was what my mouth said, but my body ached to feel him, every inch and length buried inside me. I eyed his dress shirt and pants and grew more restless at the size of his erection strained against the fabric. My fingers itched to hold him, stroke it, and when I realized he’d caught me ogling, I croaked. “I want you to take off your clothes.”

The first time we’d had sex, he limited areas of his body and how far I could touch. And he was fully clothed. Now, I wanted to see him. All of him.

Judging by his guarded expression, I didn’t actually think he’d indulge me, so I was stunned into silence when he muttered, “Why don’t you take them off yourself?”

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he straightened up, his huge frame looming over me as he granted me access to his clothes. I rose to my knees and scooted closer to his warmth, feeling my fingers tremble while I reached forward, withdrew , and reached forward again to the black buttons on his shirt.

His fingers lightly brushed my cheek, taking back strands of hair behind my ear while I unfastened the first button.

“I’d like to kiss you while you work.”

It was a deep but gentle whisper, and I should have pretended not to hear it, but his charm had doubled its effect, making me obediently tilt my head back to offer him my lips.

In a heartbeat, he dove in, launching an attack, kissing me harder and rougher than before. I released multiple groans into his mouth, working his buttons faster, my head swaying from the impact. He put one arm around my back to steady me and skillfully unhooked my bra with the other. Aggressively, I peeled off his shirt, and at the same time, he tugged my bra off.

My breasts bounced in freedom, and he took a nipple in his hot mouth.

“ Yes.” I sighed, throwing my head back. My fingers found purchase in his hair, and I ran my hand down the length of his back, feeling a subtle ache grow in my chest. I knew I would rarely ever get such opportunities to feel him.

Stars blinded my vision when he sucked hard, kneading the soft mound in one hand and flicking his wet tongue over the pebbled peak in his mouth. This insane rush of pleasure should have felt wrong, but it was quite the opposite. When he raised his head, he lay me back on the bed and parted my knees with one strong move of his hand.

The spread of midnight-blue butterflies choked on black thorns like a sleeve on his arm momentarily distracted me. They were beautiful and yet mystic. Nikolai Yezhov with butterfly tattoos?

A pang hit me.

Maybe a woman?

I shook my head, wading off the nasty claws of jealousy. I shouldn’t have cared if it was a woman, but there was definitely a story there.

Different scenarios ran through my mind like a hamster on a wheel, and he must have noticed my absence because he slipped his hand into my panties and pushed two fingers inside me. My eyes rolled, my back arched, and my fingers curled into the sheets.

A guttural groan rumbled at the back of my throat as I relished in the spark of desire that made his eyelids drop. “Fuck, you’re wet for me, princess.”

I was. I was dripping, soaking wet for him, but I couldn’t even speak. He felt so good inside me that I could cry. Panting, I rocked my hips against his hands, seeking more. But he pulled out and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

My heart galloped at the erotic sight. Without thinking, I cupped his neck and took my lips to his, moaning when the sharp taste of me hit my tongue.

“Eager,” he growled on my lips and ripped the panties off me like a beast in heat. I gasped and yelped when he slapped my ass. “ Perfect .”

I reached for his pants, unbuckled the belt, and impatiently squeezed my small hand against his big cock. His laughter vibrated off my skin, and I kissed him again. And again while he shrugged down the barricading fabric and his black briefs. His cock sprung out, and I ogled even more at the hugeness and strained veins.

If anything was eager in this bedroom, his cock certainly was.

I wondered what it would have felt like to have my mouth on him, to lick him like a lollipop and suck like a milkshake. Thinking about all the new things I wanted to try with him made me more delirious and even wetter.

I was definitely losing my mind, but I couldn’t— didn’t— want to stop . His scent was intoxicating, making my head swim and heart race a marathon.

With his huge hands, he grabbed my waist and flipped us so I straddled him. Our bodies molded perfectly. So perfectly that I doubted there would ever be a better fit than this. Sex experience had never been on the list of things I could brag about, but I had a feeling that I was going to love this position.

Niko wrapped my hair around his fist, pulled my head back, and bit a spot below my earlobe hard enough to form a hickey.

“Ready, princess?”

He positioned his tip at my slick entrance, and without waiting for his go-ahead, I slid myself on him.

Goodness, he felt even better raw.

“ God—yes!”

“ Fuck! ”

We mumbled at the same time, feeling the length of him stretch my insides and hit a sweet spot. He squeezed my hips and placed a feather kiss on my lower lip. My heart fluttered like flapping bird wings. I cupped his face, shared the breath between our lips, and took his upper lip in mine. I sucked, licked, and kissed hard when he growled in an unspoken satisfaction.

I must have been high on truth serum because, from the second he nestled inside me, I began spilling my guts. “I don’t know what to do, Niko.”

“I’ll show you,” he grunted through gritted teeth, pecking my lips.

“Okay.” He held me still and thrust into me, bringing me down at the same time so our hips slammed against each other’s. I whined and sighed. “Do you like it?”

He muttered something under his breath in Russian that strangely felt personal but didn’t answer me, just like that night. He repeated the motion over and over again, slowing down while waiting for me to adjust and later increasing his pace when I’d learned enough to match his rhythm. Soon, sweat formed runlets down our backs, our hair stuck to our skin, and our kisses turned sloppier with every second that skyrocketed us to that amazing climax.

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I didn’t want to say it, but…truth serum was powerful . “Nikolai, you feel so good.”

“Call my name again, princess,” he rasped.

In a heartbeat.

“Niko...!”

He slammed into me again, and I shattered like a glass wall into a million pieces, screaming as I came all over him.

He didn’t come.

I had a feeling that it was deliberate, but I didn’t bother to clarify.

Sudden exhaustion wrapped my entire body like a wet blanket, and I fell to the bed, my chest swelling with elation and strange satisfaction as my gaze fixed on the ceiling. Many emotions bombarded me, and I was beginning to think the moment was special when, from beside me, his movement rustled the sheets, and he lifted himself off the bed, leaving a coldness behind.

I refused to watch him.

Not when he quietly picked up his clothes and put them on.

Not when he left the room without a word.