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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 needmore.
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.”
CHAPTER7
MIRA
In October of that year, the pakhan of the Nekrasov Bratva approaches the Sidorov with an offer. He proposes the union of the two largest Russian crime families, and of course, the deal will be sealed with a marriage. To mark the merger, Andrei Sidorov will marry Ekaterina Nekrasova.
A month later, I put off the inevitable and begin the process of arranging my marriage with Dominic Palermo. Dominic’s father is dead, and he is the head of his family, but it’s considered unseemly for the groom to be negotiating, so his mother, Pia Celestina, negotiates on his behalf.
She’s not happy to see me in the room. “Why is she here?” she demands, directing her question to Renzo.
To my shock, my uncle stands up for me. “It’s her marriage,” he says. “And her life. Why shouldn’t she be here?”
“It’s not done, that’s why,” my future mother-in-law hisses. She stares at me, her expression cold and forbidding. “Your family gives you too much freedom, Mirabella. Don’t think things will stay the same when you join ours. A woman’s place is in her home.”
My heart sinking, I refrain from pointing out that Pia Celestina is clearly not at home. There was a part of me that hoped my marriage wouldn’t have to be a prison sentence but an alliance between equals. Dominic is who he is and that’s not going to change, but I hoped that his family would be better. That part withers and dies. “Yes, Signora Palermo,” I say meekly.
