Kathleen
Looking out an upstairs window, I can feel my heart racing at the sight of my husband’s car pulling up.
He looks up at me, locking his gaze with mine, and I realize I had a lot more courage thinking about confessing to shipping Sofia off than actually going through with it. I’m not quite sure how my husband is going to react. I blatantly went over his head to send the girl home, and he’s not going to like that. My mind is already manipulating how I’m going to exploit the fact that I may have saved the girl’s life and, in doing so, prevented a gangster feud between him and the Ramirez brothers.
In my world, you learn to do what you have to do to keep your family safe. If I had to do it all over again, I would do the exact same thing. Watching Natasha attack my son proved to me that she’s in love with him, and I have no doubt she would have killed the girl. Natasha isn’t just a jealous woman with a bad temper. She’s a trained hit woman who not only knows the art of taking an enemy down, but she can eliminate any evidence of the kill as well. She has the reputation for being the best cleaner in the business. Not only did her father train her to be a Bratva enforcer, she went to college for forensics too. She is a force to be reckoned with.
The issue isn’t going to be that the girl is gone. The issue is going to be that I went over my husband’s head to get rid of her. I purposely harden my resolve by reminding myself, over and over, that I very well may have spared my family from a major problem with a known gangster. I’m certain the Ramirez brothers wouldn’t have been happy if Natasha sent the sister of one of their dancer’s home in a body bag.
“Where’s Natasha?”
His voice has a razor’s edge to it. Shit! This is not good.
I turn and eye my husband with my chin tilted up in defiance, my newfound steely determination firmly in place.
“She’s in Nikita’s bedroom, probably in his bed.”
“And just how did you manage that? What have you done, my nosy little wife?”
He moves to stand in front of me, a look of skepticism etched onto his stoic face. I feel small looking up at his huge form.
“I sent that girl back to Antonio where she belongs.”
I clip the words out in my most confident voice, like I know I did the right thing, and I’m not going to argue about it.
“You went behind my back and worked with a killer to get her home?”
His eyes have taken on the cold, steely, bluish-grey color they get when he’s pissed, but now I have something new to contest, and that’s the fact that I had no interaction with Antonio.
Damn, I did good… Okay, maybe this won’t be so bad. I didn’t go that far. I didn’t talk to Antonio.
“Of course I didn’t. I just sent her back to her sister.”
“Behind my back?”
“Yes, you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
I gasp in fear when his hand closes around my throat. The movement is so quick that I never see it coming. He raises a brow, sardonically eyeing me. It’s the look of a man daring me to cross him.
“What. The. Fuck. Happened?!”
“Well, I figured after Natasha jumped on our son with her claws out, and he slammed her into the wall to kiss her, it was a good time for Sofia to go.”
“Let me guess. You invited Natasha over so you could try to fix this by having a little heart-to-heart.”
Damn, this guy doesn’t miss anything.
My husband is very good at reading people and filling in the gaps. After twenty years of marriage, the man can read me like an open book. As soon as I open my mouth to speak, he places a finger over my lips to silence me, giving me a look of warning.
“Don’t lie to me, Ptichka.”
“Yes, I did,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve.
“Do you even know if the woman made it back to her sister?”
“Yes, I called to confirm her arrival.”
I answer assuredly, like I know how to handle business. As far as I’m concerned, I do.
“You called who?” His voice is a low menacing growl.
“I called her sister. I got the number from Sofia before she left.”
Okay, this is good—still no contact with another man—I’m so relieved I didn’t have to interact with Antonio. Glazov would’ve blown a gasket, and that thought isn’t something I want to dwell on.
He leans down so he can whisper in my ear.
“I think you like pushing me, I think you like getting spanked, and I think you instigate shit with me on purpose, don’t you?”
“No,” I lie, trying my best to keep a straight face.
“Liar,” he whispers.
His voice is a deep rumble, a mixture of impending danger and burgeoning sensuality. He begins nipping at my ear as he whispers threats; it only makes the mood more ominous.
“How about I make you a deal? I’ll open your robe and slip my hand between those milky white thighs. If you aren’t wet, then I won’t toss you down on all fours to fuck you from behind while I smack that tight little ass you have from working out so much. I think you and I both know what a huge fan you are of a good ole fashioned angry fuck. I also think you intentionally take it to the edge, knowing you’re going to piss me off.”
His voice is still a low murmur, and what was only a slight moistening between my thighs a moment ago, is now a case of fully turned-on, wet and ready to be roughly taken.
I jump when he slowly slides his hand between my legs, running his fingers over my opening as he chuckles.
“Liar,” he whispers again. “I’ve always been one step ahead of you, and I always will be. Get your ass over on that bed, now! Let me clarify that for you, Ptichka… Get your ass over to that bed, and get on all fours.”
I swiftly turn and make my way to the bed, but I purposely leave my robe on, not wanting to be open and on display. It makes me feel vulnerable, and he knows it. That’s the reason he does it.
He slowly stalks over to the side of the bed and leans down, speaking slowly, softly, and deliberately. It’s all part of the art of building anticipation. My husband is a master at manipulating my body. Every order, every whisper, every cut of his eyes—it all serves a purpose.
“Eyes on the wall, Ptichka.”
I nod my head and continue to stare at the wall in front of me. Listening intently, I can hear the rustle of his clothing as he undresses. He takes his time as if he’s in no hurry. I sneak a peek, and out of my peripheral vision, I view him neatly folding his jacket and placing it over the chair. His low chuckle lets me know my transgression didn’t go unnoticed. I feel the movement of the bed as he positions himself behind me. I’m startled when I hear the rending of fabric, my robe giving way to Glazov’s razor sharp knife. It’s in that moment I realize that by sending that girl home to her sister, I may have bitten off more than I can chew.
“You fear what I may do to you, yet you continue to submit to my sadistic pleasures. Oh yes, my little Ptichka, your body tells me everything I need to know—the glistening of your lips, the puffiness, the clenching and tightening of your core. I asked you a question earlier, Ptichka.”
“Yes, I purposely taunt you.”
The prick of the knife’s point forces an involuntary gasp, and I will my body to be still.
“Please, Glazov, you’re scaring me.”
I groan as he slowly and methodically pushes two of his large fingers inside my opening.
“Fear is a wonderful aphrodisiac.”
“Please, Glazov, move the knife.”
“I wouldn’t dare think of it. You see, my little free bird, the knife is serving a purpose. It’s forcing you to be very still. If I wanted to watch you squirm, I would have tied you up in hemp and watched your body do that sensual dance it does when it’s bound in my rope. You are so wet.”
It takes everything in me to not push back on his cock when he begins rubbing the head up and down my opening.
“Fuck, Glazov, please put the knife away. I can’t be still. I’ll fucking beg if that’s what you want.”
He manages to toss the knife onto the nightstand and slowly push into me at the same time. A wave of relief washes over me, and it has nothing to do with fear, or the fact that the knife is no longer a threat. No, the relief I feel is because my body is filled with the only man I have ever, or will ever, love. I lower my upper body down, clawing at the sheets in a frenzy of need.
“Please, Glazov…”
He’s intentionally taking his time, keeping me on the edge of wanting more. My body latches on to him as he pulls back, all but fully exiting. When I attempt to push back, a sharp slap on my ass makes me stop. He’s proving a point. It will be his way or no way at all.
“You toy with me. You play with me, purposely rattling the cage of a feral animal poised for attack. You can’t help yourself, but you better learn because, in certain circumstances, pushing a man of my nature too far could be deadly. If I find out you were conspiring with Antonio Wayne behind my back, things are going to get very ugly.”
That does scare me, and I immediately defend myself with no regard for my dignity; all the courage and pride I was able to muster for this confrontation is gone.
“I swear I did not talk to that man, and if he says otherwise, he’s a fucking liar. You know he likes stirring shit up. He’ll lie if you ask him!”
My sheer desperation is manifesting in my quivering voice.
His fingers clench down on the sides of my hips, getting a firm grip, and I brace myself for what I know is coming. He’s driving into me using long, deep, slow strokes. I feel like he’s hitting my cervix with each perfectly timed thrust, and he’s talking while he is working his magic. He’s going to make my fucking head explode with the type of orgasm only he can give me, and we both know it.
“How do you know what that motherfucker’s temperament is?”
Now he has all but stopped fucking me, awaiting an answer. Now, I’m faced with two dilemmas. First, I have to make sure he knows I haven’t broken the first Bratva rule of our family: no talking to outside bosses or gangsters. Second, I need to get the orgasm my body is screaming for.
“Please… Please, I swear I didn’t.”
“Better. Not. Have!”
Each word is emphasized with a full rough plunge into my core. From tip to root, I can feel every single inch of his well-endowed cock.
I know that he knows I’m telling the truth when the intensity continues, and in a matter of seconds, my body is convulsing around him. I feel like every nerve ending is exploding in ecstasy. Oh yes, this is where I need to be. I am a puddle of pleasure beneath the body of the only man who has ever truly impassioned me. I am more in love with my husband today than I was the day I married him against my will.