Mafia Prize

Chapter 6

6

“ W hat do you want?”

We’re in the same private room as last year, but the decor’s been updated since we were here. This time, the walls are covered with mirrors. The furniture is different too. A Saint Andrews Cross is in the corner, but it’s not what catches my attention. No, it’s the chair in the center of the room. Underneath a spotlight rests a steel chair with stirrups and straps that wouldn’t look out of place in my gynecologist’s office.

I swallow hard and move toward it. “I think the more pertinent question is, what do you want.” I run my hand over the cold metal. “This is intimidating.”

“Are you afraid?” Intensity radiates off Andrei in palpable waves. He takes off his jacket, and undoes his cuffs, placing his diamond-studded cufflinks on a shelf. His rings follow. All except the signet ring of the Sidorov Bratva, a thick platinum ring with a carving of a firebird in flight on its face, which he leaves on the ring finger of his right hand. He loosens his tie, never taking his eyes off me, and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, his tattoo-covered forearms coming into view. “Do I frighten you?”

Yes. No. There’s something dark about Andrei tonight, something that terrifies me and excites me in equal measure. “I don’t know.”

He stalks toward me with a whip in his hand. The scent of him washes over me, something earthy and musky and very male. “You talked last time about choices,” he says. “About how you have very few.”

“I remember.” The butterflies in my stomach riot. He’s holding a whip, one he’s going to use on me. And once again, I’m not sure if I’m afraid or if I’m aroused. Or if there’s even a difference between the two emotions.

“And now you’re here.” He flicks his wrist, and the tails of the whip scour his forearm. “Submitting to me. If I wanted to whip you, I could. If I wanted to wrap my hand around my throat and choke you, you wouldn’t be able to stop me. Isn’t that right, Mira?”

There’s a hard edge in his voice that sends a shiver through me. My skin prickles with desire, and my breaths come in short and shallow gasps. My breasts heave, and Andrei’s eyes fall to my cleavage. A thrill runs through me. I found my dress in Venice, in a boutique in Dorsoduro, designed by Rosa Tran, the same designer who made Lucia Moretti’s wedding gown. It’s a corset dress, deep red velvet in color, the neckline scooped lower than I usually prefer. The skirt is floor-length, with a long slit up one side, and when I tried it on in the fitting room, I knew I was going to buy it and wear it for Andrei. For him to tear off my body.

“Answer me.” An order, cold and commanding.

His fingers brush the swell of my breasts, and the ache in my core intensifies. I can’t think; I can’t breathe. It takes me a second to remember his words. “You’re right,” I agree. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“Unless?” he prompts.

I search for the answer, and then it comes to me. “Unless I use my safeword.”

“Yes.” His eyes rest on me. “There’s a lesson here, lisichka, and you would do well to remember it. You’re in a cage of your making. If you feel trapped, then remember that you are the jailer.” He grabs my wrists and pushes them behind my back. “You can leave anytime you want. You just have to choose. ”

“That’s easy to say and a lot harder to put into practice.” Sandro Biraghi is hopelessly old-fashioned and will refuse to associate with the Caruso if our family is headed by a woman. Manuel will not choose Elisa over his family. If I take over from Renzo, I’ll be putting my happiness ahead of my sister’s. Even if I was willing to do that, the only way I’d become the head of my family is over Renzo’s dead body, and I will not kill my own flesh and blood for power.

“That sounds like an excuse, lisichka. You’re better than that.” He releases my hands from his grip and circles me slowly as if deciding what he’s going to do with me. “You never did tell me what you want.”

You. “I want you to fuck me.” Even that answer is too revealing. “Please.”

He laughs cruelly. “My cock is a privilege, Mirabella. One you need to earn.”

“How?” I lick my lower lip. “Can I earn it with my mouth?”

“No. You earn it with your obedience.” He stops behind me. “Take off your panties and hand them to me.”

I wriggle them down my hips, pick them off the floor, and hold them behind my back. Andrei takes them from me. “Did you wear these for me?”

It’s the last time we’ll ever do this. There’s no room for lies. I meet his hungry, heated gaze in the mirror. “Yes.”

“And the dress?”

“Yes,” I say again.

“It’s a beautiful dress.” He tucks the panties into his pocket. “But not as beautiful as its wearer.” He moves my hair away and trails a finger down the back of my neck. “Do you want to come tonight, Mira?”

“Yes,” I reply immediately.

He chuckles. “That was quick.” He kisses my neck and unzips my dress. It falls to the floor, leaving me naked. Andrei growls appreciatively. “So beautiful.” He cups my breasts from behind, his thumbs brushing my nipples. “Your body was made for pleasure,” he says into my ear. “If you want to get fucked tonight, you’ll keep your eyes open and watch yourself in the mirrors.” He squeezes my breasts and pinches my engorged nubs hard enough that I whimper. He doesn’t stop. He plucks at them again, and I lean into the pain, letting it melt into bliss. I start to close my eyes, and then, just in time, I remember his threat.

“Good girl,” he says approvingly.

He turns me around and sucks a swollen nipple between his teeth. A flash of pure heat goes through me. “Andrei,” I whimper. “Please. . .” It’s so good. I think I could come from this sensation alone, from the feel of his tongue and his teeth on my throbbing nipples. A familiar tightness starts to spiral through me, and I force myself to keep my eyes open and watch our reflections. His dark head dips between my breasts, lavishing them with his attention. The contrast between his suit-clad body and my naked one is heady.

“Please, what?” He lifts his head up, and a smile creases his face. “I saw the way you looked at the chair when you entered the room. Did you wonder what it would feel like to be tied down on it?”

“Yes.”

“You get to find out now. Sit down.”

I plant my ass on the seat and position my calves on the leg rests. Already, I feel exposed, and I can tell they’re not as far apart as they’re going to be. Andrei buckles my knees and ankles in place. “Keep watching,” he warns, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “No looking away.” Once my legs are restrained, he pushes a lever. The leg rests spread apart, and with them, my thighs, until I’m splayed wide open, my pussy completely exposed to Andrei’s predatory gaze.

He moves away and returns with the whip he had earlier. “Hands behind your head.” He trails the tails over my naked breasts. “This is a suede flogger,” he says. “It can be pleasurable.” He flicks his wrist, and a thousand stings erupt on my bared breasts, leaving me hot, needy, and aching. “Or it can be painful.” I clench in anticipation, waiting for a brutally hard stroke on my skin, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Andrei slides a finger between my folds. “What about this turns you on, I wonder,” he muses. He lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking it between his sensual lips. “Is it being tied up, or is it the threat of pain?” The flogger lands on my breasts again, sharp and hot, and immediately after, Andrei pushes a finger deep inside me. “Tell me, Mirabella.”

I groan out loud. It’s so good. “Both.” Nothing feels like Andrei’s touch. Nobody owns my body the way this bratva king does.

Don’t make him something he isn’t. He was ruthless enough to cast aside his father for power. You would be wise not to forget that.

He notices my slight withdrawal. “What is it?”

“What would your mother say if she knew who you were fucking in a BDSM club? Your sister?” He starts to reply, and I hold up my hand. “Don’t tell me that you don’t tell them about the women you fuck. That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” He straps cuffs around my wrists and fastens them to hidden restraints at the seat of the chair. “You’re more concerned with what my family would think than I am.” He pushes his thumb inside me and presses it down on my lower lip. I open my mouth and suck his finger, tasting my juices on his skin. “Unlike you, I’m uninterested in sacrificing my life in service to my family. It doesn’t matter what they think. If we’re together, then they will treat you like their own.”

I don’t believe him. Andrei Sidorov might be happy enough to fuck me, and he might even enjoy my company. But we can never be together. This is a man who craves power so much that he deposed his own father. And the Caruso name is a liability, not an asset.

He waits for me to respond, but I keep stubbornly silent. “Nothing to say, Mira?” he asks, frustration slipping underneath his mocking tone. “Very well. Have it your way.” He moves between my legs and plants an open-mouth kiss on my pussy. I jump in shock, and he lifts his head. “Keep still,” he says sternly. “Or else.”

He circles my clit with his tongue and thrusts his fingers into me. Restless need pulses through me like an insistent drumbeat. My pussy is heavy and swollen with desire, and his touch is driving me wild. Over and over, he licks my clit, the touch maddeningly light but pushing me closer to the edge.

More. I need more.

I arch my hips toward him, and he pulls away and spanks my pussy sharply. “What did I tell you about moving?” he demands.

Oh, crap. My muscles contract with pleasure at that slap, and I almost come. “I’m sorry,” I wail. He ordered me to hold still, and I moved. “I didn’t mean to be disobedient.” A tear leaks from the corner of my eye. I clench my fingers into fists and concentrate fiercely on holding off my orgasm. Not yet. Not without him. “I forgot.”

“Apology accepted,” he says calmly. He walks away from me and returns with leather straps. He ties me to the chair, immobilizing me completely. “I’m going to fuck you now, Mirabella.”

“Yes,” I gasp. Thank fuck. I almost close my eyes in relief before remembering I need to keep them open. “Please. Thank you.”

“So polite.” This time, he strips completely. I watch greedily in the mirror as his powerful, muscled body comes into view. Andrei is built like a bruiser. He looks like he could break a man in half with his bare hands. Some people—foolish people—look at him and assume the Russian bratva king is not that bright, more brawn than brain. They’re wrong. If you underestimate Andrei Sidorov, you do so at your own peril.

He rolls a condom on—he’s too smart to allow an unplanned pregnancy to complicate his life—and moves between my legs. He rubs his head over my slit, testing my ability to keep still. It’s impossibly difficult. I make myself wait patiently, biting my lip so hard I draw blood. “Good girl,” he says again.

Then he fucks me.

His massive, thick cock slams into me, deep and hard, stretching me open. His fingers grip my hips so hard I know I’ll have bruises in the morning. I don’t care—I want them. I want the marks and the soreness; I welcome them. They’ll be my souvenirs on the long, lonely nights that lie ahead.

Every deep thrust makes me whimper. Sets my body on fire. He’s fucking me hard. It’s raw and punishing and passionate, and I need it the way I need oxygen. I grit my teeth and hold on as he pounds into me, his breathing harsh and ragged. “Mirabella,” he whispers, never taking his eyes off my face. “You feel. . .” He squeezes his eyes shut, his face etched with desire. “Overwhelming. You unravel me, lisichka.”

So do you, Andrei.

Then his finger moves lower and pushes into my ass. I suck in a breath, clenching tight on instinct. “Relax,” he orders. “Breathe.”

I do my best to obey. The woman in the mirror is looking a little wild-eyed. “Are you going to?—”

“Fuck you in the ass?” A smile ghosts across his face. “I can’t decide if you’re afraid, lisichka, or aroused. And it’s a tempting thought.” He thrusts into me, and heat sizzles through every nerve ending. This feels wicked. He’s not in very deep, but I’ve never had anal sex. He’s fucking me at the same time as he pushes his finger into my ass, knuckle deep, and it’s too much. Heat curls down my spine as he picks up speed, his thrusts turning savage and uncontrolled. My orgasm barrels toward me with the force of a tidal wave, and then, as he buries himself deep into me with a groan of release, I explode.

I shatter into a million sharp pieces, and I know I’ll never be able to put myself back together again. Andrei Sidorov possesses a piece of me now, the most important one. He owns my heart.

“Will I see you next year?” I ask him when I’m dressed. “At the poker game, I mean.”

He answers his question with one of his own. “Will you be here?”

“Yes.” It’s foolish and unwise, but I already know I’ll seize the opportunity to see Andrei one more time.

“In that case, yes. I’ll be here too.”