Sold to the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel (6 page)

T
he moon is
high in the velvety black sky when I am gently prodded awake. At first, I am confused and disoriented, thinking that I must still be in my bed at home. Is it really six o’clock already? I have to hurry downstairs to start making eggs and sausage for Daddy and Isaiah, my mother must be annoyed with me for oversleeping...

I sit up with a jolt when it dawns on me where I actually am: the passenger seat of my new husband’s luxurious Corvette. I blink my bleary eyes rapidly, taking in my chrome and leather surroundings, my puffy white dress, my hair starting to fray loose from my French braid. There’s a hand on my shoulder, and for once it isn’t my father’s. It’s lighter, gentler, yet it still feels commanding. Maybe even more so, since it won’t leave a harsh bruise beneath my pale skin.

My eyes follow the hand up the arm to the broad shoulder of Andrei Petrov, the man I am now married to, forevermore, for better or for worse. I bite my lip and avert my gaze demurely, suddenly ashamed. I can’t believe I fell asleep in the car. On my wedding night. My father would be furious with me for being so rude.

“Sorry to wake you,” he says gruffly, a faint Russian accent sneaking through.

I shake my head and offer a weak smile, trying to remember that I must be a perfect wife and partner. I must be docile and sweet and pretty. No matter how frightened I am, it is of the utmost importance that I maintain my willing, humble service to my husband.

It’s what God intends for me.

“No, no, I am sorry for falling asleep. Couldn’t have been great conversation on the ride here, with me unconscious,” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“I’m glad you were able to get some rest. You may need it.”

My heart skips at his words. I suddenly feel very warm and tingly, a strange sensation tickling between my thighs. Curiosity tinged with fear works its way through my body. I don’t quite know exactly what he means, but I have an inkling that it might not be very wholesome.

Andrei gets out of the car and rushes to open my door before I even get the chance to reach for the lever. He offers a big, calloused hand and after a second’s hesitation, I gingerly place my tiny hand in his. The rough texture of his fingers wrapped around my smooth, pale hand sends a tremble down my back. He gently pulls me up out of the Corvette and guides me to the sidewalk. Looking around, it hits me that we are in the city.

Staring up at the massive brick building in front of us, I stammer, “Is th-this really where you live?” I can hear distant sirens and horns honking, even though it’s the middle of the night. Back home, everything is silent at night. In fact, even during the day I rarely ever heard anything but chirping birds and the sounds of children playing outside.

“Yes. I imagine it will be an adjustment for you,” Andrei replies simply.

I turn to look at him, more than a little fearful. “I’ve never been to the city before.”

He raises both eyebrows in genuine surprise as he holds open the lobby door for me and I walk through into a beautifully furnished lobby, with dark wood paneling and sleek black chairs and couches. “You’ve really never seen the city before?”

I shake my head, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks. “I have never left my hometown. Except… that one time of course,” I say, feeling the embarrassment grow. He of course knows what time I mean.

“Not even for a day?”

Is it really so hard to believe? I’m beginning to feel a little attacked. After all, there was never really any good reason to leave town. My city is small and insular, of course, but it’s always had everything we needed. I wonder if my new husband is some kind of jet-setter.

“Not once,” I answer.

“How sad,” Andrei says, leading me to the elevator.

I dare not tell him that I’ve never been in an elevator before; I only know what they are from what I’ve seen in books. When the metal doors shut together, the two of us are left standing in a tiny, cramped chamber with mirrored walls. I can’t avoid looking at our reflections. We are surrounded by them. When it moves, my legs quiver, and he holds me a little tighter against his hard body, keeping me standing.

It strikes me now just how drastically different we are in every way. Andrei is frighteningly tall and muscular, and everything about him is cold and dark. He towers over my diminutive frame, and his dark eyes and black hair contrast sharply with my pale blonde hair and light blue eyes. We are night and day, the two of us.

I wonder to myself what will happen now that we are joined together.

What happens when the night meets the day? When the moon touches the sun?

An eclipse?

We ride the elevator all the way up to the ninth floor, and I cannot believe I’m even
inside
a building with so many floors, much less going to live in one. We step out into a hallway with hardwood floors and walk down a ways to a door labeled 905.

“Is this one yours?” I ask, looking up at Andrei.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “It is ours.”

My stomach does a flip flop and I gulp hard as the tall, powerful man beside me unlocks the door to my new home. My mouth falls open the second I step inside.

It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, with high ceilings and massive, wide windows along the stark white walls. The foyer opens directly into a huge, airy living room area, with the shiny, high-tech kitchen to the left and two doors leading to what I assume are a bathroom and bedroom on the right. The floors are made of a glossy, nearly black wood, and the furnishings are all variations of black and white. A small spiral staircase in the corner of the room leads up to what appears to be a sort of loft area. Crossing the room to stand in front of the windows, I draw back the heavy black curtains and gasp at the sight of the New York City skyline, an array of sparkling lights speckled in the pitch-black night like constellations.

Suddenly, I tremble at the touch of a hand falling at my waist. I swivel around to face my new husband, who is looking down at me with a tight-jawed expression. There’s something vaguely predatory flickering in his deep, dark eyes, and I inhale sharply as he raises my hand to kiss it with his full lips. Apart from my father, I have never felt a man’s lips on my skin before. In my dazed state at the wedding, I hardly perceived our first sanctioned kiss as husband and wife. My head was so fuzzy and filled with racing thoughts that it had simply passed me by. But now, alone in this apartment with the city teeming with nocturnal life, the sensation is startlingly pleasant, and I almost want to recoil from it. After all, pleasure is forbidden, and especially when it’s
this
kind of pleasure.

“Do you like it?” Andrei asks, and at first I think he’s talking about the kiss. Then I realize that he wants to know if I like the apartment. And I do, very much.

“Y-yes,” I reply, perhaps a little too quickly. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know the furnishings may be a little too simple to suit a feminine taste,” he admits, and he is partially correct. The apartment is utterly gorgeous, but it is a very minimalistic kind of beauty. The few items he does have are obviously of a very high quality, but he doesn’t have much more than the essentials. There is one black couch and one white chair. One massive flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Everything is monochrome and cold, very cold.

It’s the sort of aesthetic that reminds me of snow-capped mountains: breathtaking to behold but not particularly hospitable in practice.

“If you’d like, perhaps you could lend some of your warmth to the place,” Andrei added, brushing the hair back from my face and peering into my eyes as though searching for... something.

I instinctively flinch from his touch, and I see a shadow of regret cross his features. I immediately feel awful, as though I must do something to make amends.

I
must
be a perfect wife. It is my purpose in life to serve.

“Whatever you want from me is yours,” I reply diplomatically, giving him a smile.

His expression shifts into one that frightens me; he looks like a wolf about to devour his prey — and I am the unfortunate little white rabbit. My heart starts to pound rapidly in my chest and I back up ever so slightly, the coolness of the windowpane raising goosebumps up my spine. Andrei steps forward, coming closer to me, effectively pinning me between his huge body and the NYC backdrop. I draw a sharp intake of breath when he pushes up against me, his thick frame oppressive and imposing.

“In that case, I will tell you what I want…” he growls, leaning down so that his rugged profile is only mere inches from my own face. My heart is racing so fast I worry it might explode. Tracing my jawline with one long finger, he whispers, “I want
you
.”

And with that, he swoops in to press his lips against mine, and my breath catches in my throat as my whole body stiffens. His hand comes around to cup the back of my head and his tongue pushes gently into my mouth, a sensation I have never even dreamed of before.

“Andrei,” I gasp when he releases me for a moment. My mind is racing and I can’t manage to pin a single coherent thought in place. I can feel some strange, foreign warmth spreading from the forbidden space between my legs. His hand drops down to grope my backside, hard. I let out a soft squeal, feeling my cheeks burn bright pink. What is he doing? How is he making me feel this way? This cannot be what God intends.

“
Chyort
, you are so beautiful,” he says, his voice gravelly and low.

“I — I don’t know wh-what to do,” I stammer softly, searching his handsome face for some kind of reasonable answer. I don’t understand what I should be doing with my hands, my lips. And should I really feel this good?

My entire body is surging with heat and — dare I admit it? — desire.

“Shh,
malyshka
, you don’t have to do anything. Let me take control.”

Before I can utter another syllable, his lips are on mine again, more forcefully this time. His hands rove up and down my body, squeezing my backside, my hips, and sliding up to cup my breasts. Part of me wants to revolt against this sinful assault and push his hands away, break away down to the street and run all the way home to my quiet town, back to my routine and my closed-off life. But the devil himself must have worked his way into my bones, because I find myself totally powerless, limp and pliable in the arms of this hulking, dangerous man.

And what’s more, I am even enjoying it.

When he dives forward to graze his teeth along my neck, I can’t suppress a surprised moan falling from my lips. I tremble at his touch, the drag of his teeth and suckling of his lips bordering on slightly painful to my tingling skin. But I don’t pull away, even when he brushes the hair off of my shoulder and slides the sleeve of my wedding dress down to reveal more of my collarbone. He plants a trail of hard, nipping kisses along my throat and chest, my breath quickening as his lips move downward toward my heaving breasts. I am not ample-bosomed by any means, as my frame is more slender and slight, but Andrei seems hungry for my flesh.

I want to whisper no, to protest this blatant sin, but I can’t find the words.

He hastily unlaces my wedding dress and pushes it down, the sudden onslaught of cool air on my exposed skin making me gasp. I am now clad only in a simple white lace bra and matching panties, and garters on my trembling thighs. Andrei lets out a raspy groan at the sight of me and I feel myself growing damp between my legs, to my dismay. I know, logically, that he has already seen me nearly naked before, in that horrible, dank basement. But this? This is completely different. It’s just the two of us, and I am not being paraded for sale.

I’ve already been bought.

I belong to this man completely and utterly, and my body is his possession.

So I don’t stop him when he unhooks my bra and tosses it aside, my nipples standing erect in the cool air. Andrei cups my breasts and drags his tongue across my right nipple, causing me to cry out with an unexpected jolt of pleasure. All of this is so foreign to me; I have never even touched my own body in this way before, as it is a terrible sin to do so.

But it feels more heavenly than sinful, the way his lips and fingertips caress and tease my breasts, nipping and fondling me until I cry out and clutch at his back, trying desperately to draw him ever closer to me. I’ve never felt like this before, and even though I know deep down that this is the devil’s work, I can’t help longing for more.

“Ohh, Andrei,” I breathe, my eyes rolling back in my head. He grunts his appreciation, his mouth trailing down my taut stomach in a ticklish path of kisses. When he reaches my panties, I hold my breath unintentionally, waiting to see what he does next.

I glance down at him to see his dark eyes fixed on my face, as though expecting some kind of signal. I know I should tell him to stop. But I can’t bring myself to do that.

“Please… more,” I manage to squeak out.

That is all he needs to hear before tearing my panties down my legs and spreading my thighs apart. I am panting with need when he does the unthinkable: he presses his tongue against my warm, wet folds, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my body. My hips jut forward instinctively, my body shuddering as he relentlessly sucks and licks between my legs.

A half-strangled cry bursts from my throat as I feel the tension mounting deep inside me. Tears moisten my eyes and my hands grapple to brace myself against the window. Somewhere, distantly, in the back of my mind, a voice is screaming at me that my naked body is pressed up against a window for all the residents of New York City to see, reminding me that I should feel ashamed of the position I’m currently in. But that voice is drowned out by the overwhelming, pounding rhythm of my heartbeat and the involuntary rolling of my hips against Andrei’s glorious, warm mouth.

Until I suddenly remember that this, all of this, is a horrible sin. My ingrained shame comes barreling out of the darkness to hit me so hard I see stars, my body drawing back instinctively. I can’t allow myself to enjoy something like this! It’s obscene! It’s unholy!