Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) by Nicole Fox (classic fiction TXT) 📗

headboard of the bed against the wall, over and over, unrelenting and without mercy. I take him as best I can, and just when I think I might lose it all, he leans in and bites my shoulder again. The heat overtakes me and I come again, clenching around him as my body explodes with ecstasy.

His orgasm hits at the same time because he pulls me close to him and snaps his hips forward without a break. I feel him fill me, and as strange as these two days have been, I wouldn’t want this any other way. It’s better than the dream I had at the motel. It’s better than any fantasy I could craft on my own.

The real thing is so much better.

***

Roman eventually slides out and sits on the side of the bed, hunched over. When I have the energy to move, I push up on my knees and crawl towards him, draping myself over his shoulder. I fit perfectly over him, like we were made that way. Like I belong exactly in this position with him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He turns his head to look at me, and where I expect a scowl or sour look, I find the smallest smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “I just haven’t had sex that good in a while.”

I crack a smile and say, “That’s because you didn’t know me.”

“This sass ... I like it.”

I press a kiss to his warm bare shoulder. “I like it too. But you know what I’d like even more?”

“What’s that?”

“Sleep.” I usher him into bed and underneath the covers. Once he’s settled, I turn the lamps off and crawl under the covers with him. It’s a unique feeling, lying in bed with Roman. He’s a killer. He’s done horrible things. But when I’m with him, he only makes me feel good. I don’t exactly understand it, but right now, I don’t need to.

I just like having him around.

Chapter Eleven

Roman

Two weeks fly by in an instant. Normally, my days seem long and dull, empty, while I wait for another assignment from Mr. X. Something else to fill my time. Something for me to do to avoid sitting in silence. But with Lucy, things are different.

She wanted to learn how to fight.

After the shooting at the diner, she was shaken up, but she wasn’t defeated. Rather than going into a shell, she figured it was better to protect herself. Killing didn’t always have to be the only form of self-defense. It took me a while to come up with a few nonlethal techniques to teach her, but eventually I wrote up a sparring plan.

The first thing I taught her was punches. The proper way to hold her hand, punching through the target and not just at it, and how to perfect her form so that she didn’t hurt herself. She’s a fast learner. She picked it up easily, and soon we moved up to grapples and holds that she could escape from.

This took a little bit of practice. At first, she ended up getting so frustrated with me that she started to get teary-eyed. I had to give her pep talks, reassure her that she could do it, and then eventually she was able to work up the strength to escape my grip. The first time she did, she jumped up and down like a kid. It was adorable, I have to admit.

I have to remind myself that this isn’t some relationship I’m in.

Lucy isn’t my girl. She’s someone I’m working with and she’s been pretty damn helpful since we came to this house. She knows more than I ever expected, and because of her, I’ve been able to do plenty of research on him and figure out his schedule.

Something brought us together. It’s annoying to admit, but I might actually need her to help me pull this assignment off.

“Earth to Roman,” she says, punching me in the gut. The glove on her hand keeps it from hurting, but I blink and shake myself out of my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I mutter, holding up the pads.

She punches them back and forth with surprising force. Something tells me that she’s picturing Konstantin. When she sees those targets, she sees his face. I did the same thing. Every punch I threw when I spent months training, I imagined my uncles. I imagined the crunching of their noses, the howls of pain, and the blood. I wanted to see so much of it. I channeled my hatred for them into every punch I gave my heavy bag.

She sets her jaw and goes back and forth, left and right, over and over. She’s worked up a sweat, but even still, she looks beautiful. Finally, she drops her hands and undoes the blue gloves. She drops them to the floor, and I pull off the pads on my hands.

I watch as she grabs a bottle of water from the patio, drinking it down in three large gulps. The sun beats down on us in the backyard, but I barely notice the heat. Seeing her improve is the only thing I focus on. When she’s done, she walks back to me, a smile on her face.

“What?” I ask.

“I want to practice some holds.”

“Okay.” I grab her and jerk her forward, pulling her to my chest. I squeeze my arms around her, holding her the same way I would if I were trying to keep her from getting away. Lucy wiggles and squirms until she stomps on my foot and I loosen my grip. She now has some room to move around. Quick on her feet, she manages to slip out from my grip and grab me instead.

In a flash, Lucy knocks me flat on my ass. I’m too stunned to say anything, and in that time, she pushes me flat on my back and climbs on top of me. Her chest heaves as she pins me to the grass, and a satisfied smile appears on her face. It’s impressive how far she’s come in such