Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) by Fox, Nicole (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📗

But, goddamn, a child being brought into our lives, into the violent, chaotic, and unjust world—it hits me now that it’s just another fear for me to carry around.

She touches my cheek, and when I look into her eyes, the fear fades.

I see how great she’ll be as a mother, how she’ll help me be a better father than my dad could ever be.

“Is that okay?” she asks. “And do you mind that I didn’t tell you immediately?”

“It’s great,” I say. “And it’s fine. I get it. We had a lot going on the last month. I was just thinking about how we’re going to protect this child.”

“We’ll protect him or her,” she says, “in the same way that we take care of each other.”

I kiss the spot underneath her ear. “Absolutely.”

Her thighs open wider. When I push into her, her tightness coaxes me in. It’s exactly where I need to be.

Her back arches to meet me as I move in her. My hands cradle the back of her head. She makes small noises in the back of her throat, somewhere between crooning and moaning. Her hands slide over my ribs and up to my shoulder blades.

Gazing down at her, she’s stunning. The white dress contrasts with her dark hair and the tiny muscle contractions on her face as I thrust into her makes me love her even more.

I kiss her lips, her throat, her clavicle. I thrust deep inside her as my tongue flicks over her nipple. As I blow against it, her body jolts.

I drive into her again, burying myself in her before I grind against her slowly. Her teeth sink into my shoulder, sending a spark of adrenaline through me. I grind faster against her. Her nails sink into my shoulder blades and her moans become longer and louder. I switch back to thrusting, catapulting into her. As she starts to move farther up the dress, I grab her hips, tugging her back toward me.

Her moans start to become higher pitched, her eyes squeeze shut, and her fingernails cut into my skin. Her body tenses underneath me, so I keep thrusting over her, feeling myself reaching the edge too.

When she comes, her pussy pulsates rapidly against my cock. The sensation and the pleasure on her face push me over the peak. The orgasm shatters everything in my head except the overwhelming ecstasy that carries me far longer than any orgasm ever has.

After several minutes pass, I gaze down at her, nearly gasping for breath. She looks up at me for a moment before her hand winds around my neck and pulls me closer to her. She kisses me, leaving her mark on my mouth.

I know that companies crash, empires burn, and that I will love her through all of it.

She is mine.

THE END

* * *

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Sneak Preview (Broken Vows)

Keep reading for a sneak preview of BROKEN VOWS by Nicole Fox!

She’s my fake wife, my property… and my last chance at redemption.

She’s beautiful. An angel.

I’m dangerous. A killer.

She’s my fake bride for a single reason – so I can crush her father’s resistance.

But marrying Eve brings me far more than I bargained for.

She’s fiery. Feisty. Won’t take no for an answer.

She makes me believe that I might be worth redemption.

Until I discover a past she’s been hiding from me.

One that threatens everything.

Now, I know that our wedding vows are not enough.

I need to make sure she’s mine for good.

A baby in her belly is the only way to seal the deal.

In the end, the Bratva always gets what it wants.

* * *Luka

Their fear tingles against my skin like a whisper. As my leather-soled shoes tap against the concrete floor, I can sense it in the way their eyes dart towards and away from me. In the way they scurry around the production floor like mice, meek and unseen in the shadows. I enjoy it.

Even before I rose through the ranks of my family, I could inspire fear. Being a large man made that simple. But now, with brawn and power behind me, people cower. These people—the employees at the soda factory—don’t even know why they fear me. Other than me being the owner’s son, they have no real reason to be afraid of me, and yet, like prey in the grasslands, they sense the lion is near. I observe each of them as I weave my way around conveyors filled with plastic bottles and aluminum cans, carbonated soda being pumped into them, filling the room with a syrupy sweet smell.

I recognize their faces, though not their names. The people upstairs don’t concern me. Or, at least, they shouldn’t. The soda factory is a cover for the real operation downstairs, which must be protected at all costs. It’s why I’m here on a Friday evening sniffing around for rats. For anyone who looks unfamiliar or out of place.

The floor manager—a Hispanic woman with a severe braid running down her back—calls out orders to the employees on the floor below in both English and Spanish, directing attention where necessary. She doesn’t look at me once.

Noise permeates the metal shell of the building. The whirr of conveyor belts and grinding of gears makes the concrete floors feel like they are vibrating from the sheer power of the sound waves. A lot of people find the sights and smells overwhelming, but I’ve never minded. You don’t become a mob underboss by shrinking in the face of chaos.

A group of employees in blue polos gather around a conveyor belt, smoothing out some kink in the production line. They pull a few aluminum cans from the line and drop them in a