Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) Nicole Fox (year 7 reading list .txt) 📖

right now, I feel like I’m in charge. It is a new, intoxicating sensation. I wriggle my hips from side to side, tempting him.

“Well?” I goad.

He steps forward, placing his hands on my ass. Even that is technically breaking the rule—touching my ass won’t get me pregnant—but I do not have it in me to stop him. His touch is too confident. He grips my ass cheeks hard and pulls me down the bed toward him.

When he guides his manhood to my clit, I bite down, suppressing the scream that tries to escape me. He massages it with the massive head of his cock, moving up toward my sex and then back down, stroking along my lips.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Excuse me?” he says.

I almost slap him. “I said do it already!” I cry.

He chuckles lightly. “Of course you did.”

He keeps toying with me, his cock nearly slipping inside of me, but then skirting back down to my clit. My pussy is pulsing now, sending urgent signals through me. I want him bad and he knows it. Does he want me to beg? I won’t, I promise myself. I can do this all day.

But the desire is building to unbearable levels. He presses my ass cheeks together, staring down at me as though he has waited his whole life for this moment. I push myself toward him insistently.

I am about to snap at him when suddenly he slides easily and deeply inside of me. I fall forward, biting down on a mouthful of sheet as his cock pushes deep. I close my legs around him hard, and almost draw blood trying not to cry out. I reach back, grab onto his side, and tighten my hand around the immovable muscle.

“Ah, ah.” He removes my hand. “Do not break your own rules, Camille.”

He slides out of me slow, and then pushes back into me with all the power in his body.

“Fuck!” I cry, juddering forward. My whole body is ablaze with the pleasure. The end of his cock finds places within me the last time did not. Maybe it is because he is not wearing a condom. There is nothing between us now.

I grip onto the bed and push backwards the next time he thrusts inside of me. He makes a snarling noise that urges me on. He’s not the only one who can direct the flow of our sex. I writhe up and down on him, my ass cheeks flattening against his sheet-rock belly. He leans over me, angling his cock, the engorged head sending tendrils of sensation moving through me.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as though barely able to restrain his voice. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yes, Erik,” I moan, losing myself now. “Fuck.”

My pussy is impossibly wet, the pressure building so hard that I can’t think anymore. I just grind up and down on his cock. He fucks me even faster, his hands squeezing my ass cheeks so hard he must be leaving imprints.

Then he reaches around and cups one of my breasts. Briefly I think about slapping his hand away. But his fingers busy themselves at my nipples, stroking, pinching lightly. Euphoric tingles erupt between my legs and in my nipples. I’m burning up, building up, higher and hotter and more and more.

He can read me so easily, picking up the pace even more when I let out a strangled breath. He is pummeling me into the bed, utterly in control. It’s the control that does it, the pressure consuming my pussy.

Everything is about to explode.

“Erik,” I whisper, muffled by the sheets. “Erik, Erik.”

“Come for me, Camille,” he says sternly. A command.

“I … fuck, I am, I am!”

The whole bed seems to shake as the orgasm tears through me like a tidal wave. It washes over my whole body as I gouge my fingernails down the sheets, biting down as my head throbs in time with the pulsating of my sex. He fucks me so fast now I can hardly stand it, the walls of my pussy grinding with hot friction.

Then he lets out a guttural growl. I crane my neck and watch him through sweat-stinging eyes as his face twists in the release, his eyes searing into me as though I am the only woman in the world. It magnifies the ecstasy boiling through me.

Both of us finish, panting, his cock wilting as he comes inside of me.

He collapses on top of me, his lips pressed against my neck, his breath caressing me.

The moment is almost tender. For one brief, blissful second.

But then he rolls aside and immediately sits up, reaching down for his shirt. I do the same, collecting my clothes, the atmosphere almost frigid now.

I wonder if I’ll ever get a real read on Erik, or if we’ll always be like this: rocking endlessly between hot and cold.

Then I remind myself I don’t give a damn what this asshole thinks about me. He can be as cold as ice for all I care.

This is nothing more than business. Well. Business plus a baby. Dammit.

8

Erik

Two days pass, during which I juggle Camille and the Bratva, attempting to root out those men who were loyal to Damir. The three who discussed assassinating me have been dealt with. But in this business, naivety means death, and I will not make the mistake of presuming that I have flushed out all the traitors.

Sometimes at night I wake with a start, either from a dream about Camille or a nightmare where hooded men come crashing into my mansion, intent on murder. It takes a lot of effort—too much effort—to banish these dreams to the back of my mind and move on with my day.

A boss must never appear weak. I learned that from my father.

I walk through the mansion to get ready for my meeting with Fyodor. The pretense is that he will keep me apprised of the disloyal ones who must be handled, but since his name could easily appear on that list, I will take what he says with skepticism.

I pause at the