Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) by Nicole Fox (fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

“He has been taking advantage of you his whole life. What makes you think he’ll stop now?”

Bingo. Here’s the Erik I remember.

“Think of the pressure on you right now, Camille. Nursing school, your poor sick mother, your … other responsibilities. And all he cares about is himself.”

“You’re jumping the gun!” I snap. “We don’t even know what he wants.”

He waves a hand. “Prove me wrong.”

I unlock my phone and read the text. I drop it a second later, anger flaring through me.

“Well?” he prompts.

I shake my head.

“Nice fucking job, Erik. You ruined a beautiful evening. I’ve gotta tell you, I’m surprised you even care. What I do with my money is my problem, not yours.”

“But I do care,” he says with deep emotion, stunning me. My anger drains away, leaving something soft and vulnerable in its place. “More than you know.”

“Erik …” I bite down.

“What?” he urges.

“I just … What is this? What are we?”

I sound like one of those clingy women in a reality show, trying to fill airtime with melodrama. Yet the question is genuine, Real Housewives-esque or not.

He looks at me for a long time, his hands gripping the table. I get the sense there’s a lot he wants to say, but he’s pushing it all down.

Then he moves across the table and pulls me close to him. I grab his shirt and let out a squeal, clutching tightly as his lips press firmly against mine.

It’s clear what he’s doing: using sex to change the subject. Maybe I could defend myself against that if his touch wasn’t so damn electric.

He slides his hands down my body as our tongues come together, tingles dancing all around my mouth. He grabs onto my ass and squeezes hard, lifting me off my feet and dropping me onto the table. Gasping, moaning, I wrap my legs around him and push deeper into the kiss.

“Erik,” I moan when it breaks off, not sure if I’m trying to make him stop or begging him not to.

“You are so beautiful, Camille,” he whispers, his breath moving over my cheeks.

I try to return to the subject.

We can’t go down this path, I’ll tell him. It’s too dangerous for me to crack open my chest and let him have his way with my heart. We need to be careful. We need to remember that I’m just his employee, nothing else. But his lips are too tempting, his body a familiar fire pushed against mine.

This time, I’m the one who initiates the kiss, dragging him down on top of me as the plates shatter on the floor.

I know I’m breaking my no-contact rule as we sink deeper into the kiss, but I just don’t give a shit. I’m burning up with white-hot passion. The rules can suck it.

I lie back on the table and wrap my legs around his waist, tugging him closer.

He moves solidly against me, his manhood pushing rock-hard through his pants and grazing against my thigh, my belly.

“Erik …” I whisper.

He tears my shirt over my head and unclips my bra in one fluid motion. Then he grabs my pants and yanks them so hard I almost go flying, but he holds me in place, his hand gripping my abdomen almost softly.

The cool night air pricks my naked skin, teasing my nipples hard, making my pussy seem all the hotter for the aching contrast.

“No romance, remember?” he says, grinning mischievously.

Is he trying to drive me crazy?

“Shut up,” I snap, leaning up and giving him a nice whack on the chest. “Now get those clothes off!”

He laughs throatily. I let out a strangled cry and go to war on his shirt, ripping so that buttons go flying. At this rate, he’ll have no shirts left by the time I actually have this baby.

But I don’t stop tugging and yanking until he’s naked, too.

He wraps his arms around me and shoves me up against the balcony railing. When I let out a worried cry, he looks into my eyes with an expression that tells me he’d never let me fall. It’s crazy how much I can read in him now, this phantom stranger, this criminal I’m supposed to hate. This walking frustration.

“I need you,” he whispers, voice shaking.

I believe him. He says it like he’ll die without me.

I frame his face with my hands, handsome and animalistic and somehow affectionate all at once.

“You have me,” I tell him.

Bracing my lower back with one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to my pussy.

I open my legs wide and shift my hips toward him. The angle is awkward, but everything about us is awkward: the way we met, our budding relationship. Like everything else, we make it work.

I collapse forward and prop my hands on his shoulders as he drives up inside of me.

“Ah!” I cry.

He watches me the whole time. With each thrust, I could fall backwards down the two stories to the garden below, but he has a firm hold on me. A hurricane could smash through here and he’d never let me go.

His cock grinds right up inside me with sizzling intensity. I work my body in time with his thrusts, gouging my fingernails into his muscular skin. I bounce up and down as he pushes up harder, harder. If he let go, I’m not sure whether I’d fall to the ground below or just rocket up into the starry sky above.

I squeal when he lifts me off my feet and hooks his hands under my arms. He bounces me up and down on top of his cock, my legs flailing wildly with each thrust.

He kisses my neck, my cheek, finds my lips and then pulls back so that he can look at me again.

Putting on a show might have made me uncomfortable before, but I relish it now.

As the orgasm coils up my thighs, and moves like an earthquake through my pussy, I toss my head back and scream. I scream loudly so that the staff must hear it, so that