Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva) by Nicole Fox (best e books to read TXT) 📕

A soft violin spills out of hidden speakers, filling the air with gentle chords and a brassy beat. Nikita pulls me reluctantly to my feet, guiding me away from the table.

Go along with the plan, I remind myself for the umpteenth time that night. Keep him happy.

Above us, the stars are out, dotting the sky. The air is crisp but warm enough I don’t need a shawl. Nikita wraps a hand against my lower back and pulls me in close to him. His body is solid as marble, radiating a heat that seems to seep into my bones. I shiver in spite of it—not from the temperature but from the effect this man is having on me despite my very best efforts. I feel slightly woozy as he spins me slowly across the paved terrace.

The music pulses and swoons as we revolve. My hand feels tiny in Nikita’s grasp. He’s an excellent dancer, effortlessly in control of both of us. I risk a look up and find him staring at me with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Annie?”

“Yes.” I duck my chin again to avoid his intense gaze.

“You move well. Are you a dancer?”

“No. Actually, I don’t dance much.” I bite my bottom lip. I always wanted to learn to dance. Always wanted to go to dance class after school like the other girls. But my parents couldn’t afford it.

“Well, you’re a natural.” Nikita bends closer, his breath tickling my ear. “I wonder what else you’re a natural at?”

A surge of heat zips through my body. My nipples pucker against the dress’ material and I grow wet between my legs. One sentence and this man has my body running on overdrive. He’s dangerous.

His hand on my back slips lower as we dance and when he pulls me tight against him once more, I feel his erection dig into my hip and moan. Audibly.

It’s a mistake, and instantly, we both know it.

The game I’ve been struggling to play is over. I feel like a mouse caught in the cat’s gaze. With one piercing glance, Nikita knows everything that’s been raging in my brain. He sees the fight and the desire. And he knows damn well which one is winning.

I’m not going anywhere.

His voice is soft but direct. “Do you like that, Annie?” He doesn’t blink.

I try to pull away to create more space between us, but he’s too strong. When I look up, his pupils are dilated and his jaw thrums with tension. My lips part for a moment until my gaze lands on his breast pocket. The keycard. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance I can salvage this situation. If we could just sit down at the table again, if I could just get him to drink a little more...

But that window of opportunity is closed. I know it, he knows it—hell, the waitstaff probably knows it. His taut body, his solid erection, and the power he exudes without even trying is making my body a puddle of need. It feels like my lips are disconnected from my brain.

“I, I ...” I stammer.

Nikita smiles. He knows he has me. He knows what I want.

“I’m done waiting, Annie.”

In one sweep of his arm, he knocks all the remaining dishes from the table and sends them crashing to the floor. Shards shatter and ricochet on the concrete slabs, shooting in every direction. He flings me on top of the table like I’m a weightless rag doll.

“Nikita,” I whimper, but nothing else comes out. I’m at a loss, my mind shutting down and giving over to the need between my legs.

Stupid, stupid girl, screams a voice inside my head, but it’s like it’s talking to me from down a well, it’s so faint and easy to ignore. The blood pounding in my ears, on the other hand, is overwhelming.

And so is Nikita.

My dress catches on the edge of the table when he throws me and hikes up to the tops of my thighs, exposing me to his touch. Nikita leans over me, nipping at my neck with his teeth. One of his hands slides up to where my legs meet. The other reaches up and cups my breast through the thin fabric of the dress. He gently squeezes as his hot tongue snakes around to the base of my throat. My hands find their way to his hair as his fingers push aside my thighs and find my clit. He rubs gently at first. I can feel my wetness soaking his fingertips. Nikita expertly drags his finger from my clit to my opening, drenching it in my juices. He lifts his fingers and pushes them onto my lips, the smell of my own saltiness gently wafting in my nostrils.

“Taste yourself,” he growls, his emerald eyes intensely staring at my lips.

I open my mouth cautiously and he slips his finger into my mouth, my tongue instantly picking up the foreign taste: salty, primal, hot, with a hint of a metal. He removes his finger from my mouth and cups my other breast, squeezing both of them roughly. His thumbs push across my erect nipples and my body quivers and bucks forward on its own.

Nikita pulls forward one of the chairs, sits down, and pushes my legs apart, exposing my pussy to him even more as he leans in, his face inches away from it. He dives in, his tongue splitting my lips apart and lapping up my juices.

“Feels ... so good,” I groan.

My back arches in anticipation. He swirls his tongue over my clit, building up my oncoming orgasm, making me moan louder and raspier, rhythmically licking, and finally inserting two fingers into me, stroking the special spot on my walls. My hands find the back of his head once again and as my hips grind against his soft tongue, each stroke and lick send bolts of uncollected desire through my body, make my back arch, and cause my hands