Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) Nicole Fox (people reading books TXT) 📖

Fine. She wants to be a brat? So be it.

I intend to enjoy myself.

I decide to just ignore her completely. Once I’m settled in, I change into a pair of black swimming trunks and head down to the pool.

It’s a beautiful day to do nothing. Moments like this are rare in a life like mine. Since birth, I’ve spent most of my waking hours fighting and working for the Bratva.

So when the chance comes to laze in the sun, I take it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Esme making her way to the pool. She’s wearing a long, sheer white cover-up, but the moment she hits the pool deck, she discards it.

My eyes bulge when I see what she’s got on underneath: the skimpiest bikini I’ve ever seen.

It’s comprised of a thong bikini bottom and a bikini top that has hardly enough fabric to cover her nipples. The electric blue stands out sharply against her tanned skin like it’s glowing.

She walks around the deck towards me. Confident. Alluring.

And for the life of me, I can’t look away.

She seems to be aware of my attention because she’s definitely doing her best to put on a show.

She sinks gracefully into the deck chair next to me and starts rubbing sunscreen on her soft caramel skin.

I watch her as my cock jumps to life. A few minutes later, she’s all oily from the lotion and I’m struggling not to touch myself.

“Would you mind getting my back?” she asks suddenly, offering me the sunscreen lotion.

I raise my eyebrows. “You sure about that?"

She makes a big show of looking around the rest of the serenely empty pool deck. “Well, there’s no one else here to help me,” she says innocently.

I have to suppress a smile as I take the lotion and squirt some onto my hand.

She’s a cunning little vixen, I’ll give her that.

I really hadn’t expected this move from her. I expected her to rage and storm, curse me and spit in my face.

But this kind of manipulative play? It’s out of left field.

I’m used to waging war with my guns and fists.

Esme is ready to do it with her ass and tits.

That’s not a war I’d be upset about losing.

I apply the lotion to her lower back. Her skin is warm and soft to the touch. I take my time, moving my palm in broad, slow circles up the sides of her torso. It takes a huge effort not to squeeze a handful of her ass.

I move higher towards her shoulders blades, but she shifts and stops me.

“Wait.”

Propping herself up, she reaches behind and undoes the tie on the back of her bikini top. Her face is perfectly calm as she sighs and lies back down, cheek on the chair.

“That’s better,” she says dreamily. “You can keep going.”

I know she’s playing a game. And she knows that I know. But fuck—this is much more challenging than I would’ve predicted.

My cock is now painfully stiff and my jaw is clenched.

I make quick work of the rest of her. When I’m done, I snap the cap back on and hand it to her.

“Gracias,” she murmurs in that sexy Mexican accent. Her eyes flutter closed.

I lie back in my deck chair and try to calm myself down. It takes a full fifteen minutes for my erection to go down. When I happen to glance over and catch another sight of her ass tanning in the Hawaiian sun, it resets the clock.

Fuck this. I’m not sitting her and letting her screw with my head this way.

So I head for the kitchen, craving something sweet to drive out the image of my tongue pushing deep inside Esme’s pink little pussy.

I rummage through the refrigerator and the cabinet, but nothing is appealing. Not when what I want—what I really want—is right out on the pool deck.

Waiting for me. Tempting me. Daring me to devour her.

I look back out the huge living room windows to where she’s lying. No—she’s sitting up now, actually.

And as I watch, she unscrews something, tips the contents into her hands, and throws them into her mouth.

I drop the pitcher of sangria I’d been holding back on the island countertop with a harsh clank and storm outside.

“What the fuck was that?” I demand.

She looks up at me in surprise. “What was what?” Her voice is still sugary sweet. Innocent as could be.

Fucking liar.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“You need to relax.”

She goes to push her designer sunglasses back up on her nose, but I snatch them off her face and hurl them into the pristine blue water behind me.

“Do not ever tell me to relax,” I snarl.

Her face freezes. Not with fear, but with anger.

She puts her feet on the pavement and rises to her full height. “If you’re going to freak out about me taking fucking vitamins, then this marriage will be even shorter than I expected.”

Then, with one final searing glance into my eyes, she sidles past me and goes inside, switching her hips with every step.

“Not a chance, kukolka,” I rasp to myself when she’s gone. “You’re mine until the day we both die.”

29

Artem

Esme stays in her room for the remainder of the evening.

When dinner time comes around, she asks one of the house boys to bring her up a tray of food.

The disappointment I feel is palpable and unwelcome, but I decide to leave her be on the first night. If she doesn’t want to eat with me, I’m not about to force her.

Still, it’s a long night. I end up masturbating twice before I can finally sleep.

I wake up the next morning, wondering how Esme is planning on avoiding me today. My cock can’t take this kind of tease and denial much longer before I do something rash.

I’m finally starting to understand the term “blue balls.” It isn’t exactly a phrase I’m overly familiar with. Not until Esme Moreno came into my life.

When I get downstairs, I find Esme in the breakfast