Chapter Thirteen #2
I kept moving over his dick until his dick stopped jerking and there was no more cum to swallow.
He pulled me up almost violently, attacking me with a feverish kiss. I kissed him back with equal fervor until we had to break apart for air.
“I can taste myself on your tongue,” he whispered against my lips.
I smiled in response, glad I didn’t fuck things up or embarrass myself.
“Was it good? Not as good as you’ve probably had before but…”
“Isabella, a blowjob has never pleased me as much as you did just now,” he answered, placing a kiss on my lips.
“The water is probably cold already,” I said, pointing towards the bathtub.
“We’ll just shower,” he said, holding me tighter. “Then order dinner and do anything but sleep in bed afterwards.”
I chuckled.
**********
“Sleep well?” Mikhail asked, walking briskly into the kitchen, dropping his briefcase on the dining table.
“Yeah. Good morning,” I answered, closing the fridge and turning around to face him as he approached.
“Morning,” he replied, kissing my forehead before giving me another kiss on the lips. “There’s still time for the day to get better.”
“Hm. Really? What are you talking about?”
“Just saying,” he casually answered, looking me over.
Of course, he hadn’t seen me since midnight.
After several rounds of tireless lovemaking, we’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms. But, before we actually gave in to sleep, he’d mentioned having to be at one of his warehouses early in the morning.
So, I woke up earlier to make breakfast. Like many other acts in recent times, I was honestly not sure if it was all for the plan or if I just really wanted to.
“You’re not wearing my shirt. Or my T-shirt,” he pointed out.
I laughed in surprise and amazement at how his expression was devoid of humor.
“You realize I do have an entire wardrobe of clothes, right?”
“You always make breakfast in my clothes,” he insisted. “I love seeing you in my clothes. They look good on you.”
His words made me think of how volatile he could be.
Mikhail’s mood could switch for the tiniest change in someone’s tone of voice.
Understanding that, deep down inside, he battled with feelings of inadequacy made me feel closer to him in a way.
It made me want to remind him at every chance I got that he was enough.
I stepped closer to the marble island he leaned his lower back against.
“So, you’re saying I don’t look good in this?”
I wore a simple, fitted cotton dress that stopped just above my knees. It had spaghetti straps and hugged my curves; it wouldn’t have been fit for the kitchen if the high slit at the back didn’t make moving around super easy.
“I mean, they look better on you than they do on me,” he answered. “Of course, you look good in every damn thing.”
“You really think so?” I inquired, my hand cupping the side of his face.
“I’ll rather show you.”
He pulled me into him as his lips landed on mine. His hands grabbed my ass and squeezed as his tongue explored my mouth. I tugged at the hair at the back of his neck, and he pulled me impossibly closer. We were soon out of breath and breaking apart, chests heaving.
“You’d better have breakfast before it’s too late,” I told him, chuckling as I reordered his hair.
“What if I want you for breakfast?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
But it was the hunger in those pale blue orbs that tempted me.
“Alright,” he uttered, letting go of me with a sigh. “We eat together,” he stated, going over to the coffee maker.
“Yes, boss,” I jokingly conceded.
He turned around swiftly. “You’re my wife. Not my subordinate.”
“Right. And that’s coming from a man who’d rather I hid beneath his body during an attack.”
“Isabella, protecting you is my biggest priority. I can’t stay sane in a gunfight when I know you’re unprotected.
I’ll do anything and everything to protect you,” he said, turning back to claim our coffee before he went on in a much lower, detached tone.
“Forgive me if that makes me less of the alpha male you fantasized about marrying.”
That made my heart drop. It pained me more that I didn’t know what to say.
He went out of the kitchen, two coffee mugs in hand.
Quickly, I dished out the food and found my way to the dining table, taking my seat to his left.
“I was going to come back to get it,” he uttered, his eyes on the food and not meeting mine. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I whispered.
Every swallow made me more uncomfortable. Mikhail ate silently, his hands controlling the fork with rigid movements.
The thought of him leaving for work in his current mood, with the feeling that he was below the level of my ideal man, just didn’t sit right with me.
“You know nothing about the type of man I had marriage fantasies about,” I started, clearing my throat. Mikhail’s fork stopped moving, but he looked straight ahead, not turning in my direction.
“I told you, I grew up lonely in a big house. I hated the type of work my dad did, even when I had no idea of the details. Then, he started taking my brother with him everywhere, leaving me with no one to relate to in the house. It made me hate the mere mention of the mafia. Whenever I complained to my brother, he would tell me mafia men were too busy to be at home like regular men and that I would get used to it. I always knew I wouldn’t.
I imagined different scenarios where I ended up with a mafia man.
I could never see myself being happy with such men.
My visions either ended with me forcing them to issue me a divorce or strangling them with their fucking ties. ”
I heard a sound that momentarily stopped me from talking. It was the sound of Mikhail laughing- a brief, deep laugh. I chuckled, more from relief that he was now facing me.
“I never wanted a mafia man that conveniently kept mistresses while claiming to be joined with me in holy matrimony. I didn’t want a powerful man whose harsh treatment would have to be washed away with exorbitant gifts.
I never had teenage dreams about a mafia man I’d have to walk on eggshells around. ”
I swallowed, pausing for a second before going on.
“The type of man I always fantasized about was a man who would be soft for me, even if he was hard with others. I've always hoped to belong with a man who's vulnerable with me. A man who makes me love all my craziness even more because of how wholly he loves me. I always looked forward to marrying a man who treated me like a valued princess.” Holding his gaze, I divulged, “A man who goes haywire because he thinks I’m not safe isn’t below the bar. He’s a dream come true. ”
His mouth opened and closed again. My hand came over his on the table, and his other hand closed over mine.
“You’re a gift, Isabella,” he eventually uttered, his eyes on our joined hands as he massaged mine. “A gift I never thought I, of all people, deserved.”
Closing the gap between us, he placed a chaste kiss on my lips.
In that moment, the thought of the plan I had against him made me want to throw up.
**********
I was reading the book Mikhail had lent me from the study in his home office when I heard knocks on the entrance door.
A confused frown crossed my face as I folded the page and dropped the book on the stool beside the couch I occupied.
It was late in the afternoon, and Mikhail’s text, which he sent to me about thirty minutes ago, told me he hadn’t left the warehouse yet; he wouldn’t need to knock to come in, anyway.
Rising to my feet, I went towards the door.
“Oh, my,” I exclaimed happily as Emilia’s smiling face appeared in front of me when I opened the door.
“Hi, Isabella,” she greeted, stepping inside calmly. Too calmly.
“Yo, girl!”
My eyes dilated as I registered another voice. Emilia entered the living room, stepping to the side.
I poked my head out the door. And there she was, her pink crop jacket as bright as her grin.
Elizaveta Markova.
My closest childhood friend.
“Liza!” I practically screamed as she got to the door and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.
Her heels made her look even taller than I was. I had to look up a bit to see her face. She looked as stunning and sharp as ever, with her dark bob looking a bit darker.
“I missed you so much, Bells,” she crooned, shaking my shoulders with her hands.
“I missed you more,” I revealed, remembering to shut the door behind us. “How are you even here? When did you get back? How did you meet Emilia? Mikhail knows about this, doesn’t he?” I questioned, looking from Liza to Emilia, who leaned against the back of the couch.
“One at a time,” Liza uttered. “Shouldn’t you be offering us seats? Drinks?”
“Right. Come on in,” I urged, looping my arm around Liza’s as we all moved into the living room.
“I can’t believe you’re sitting here right now,” I gushed before turning to Emilia, who smiled at us from the couch beside ours. “Don’t mind me, Emilia. I’ve not seen Liza in several months. How are you doing?”
“Oh, it's nothing to apologize for. I’m actually amazed at how similar you two are.”
“We were cut from the same cloth, really,” Liza answered.
“I see that,” Emilia agreed, chuckling. “In the little time we’ve known each other, I see you’re not docile like the other women in mafia circles.”
“I’d rather be dead than be a mafia bride,” she answered before slapping a hand to her mouth. “I meant typical mafia wife. Not wives like both of you.”
I giggled, informing Emilia, “And that’s Liza in her truest form. Her mouth works faster than her brain.”
We all laughed at the brutal but absolutely true description.
“I came back yesterday morning, and before you yell at me about not being a good friend, I wasn’t sure of the amount of freedom you had.
We hadn’t exactly spoken since you got married, so I decided to just do some digging, you know?
I found myself at your husband’s warehouse yesterday, and the Pakhan and his beautiful wife happened to drop by.
Let’s just say it’s not so hard to prove that I’m really your childhood friend. ”
“Yeah. I remember you told me about your close friend who lives in Russia,” Emilia added.
“That came in handy,” Liza agreed, nodding. “So, yeah, there were conditions and whatnot, under the ‘nothing must happen to my wife’ guise. Anyway, Emilia and I decided to meet up and then head over here. She’s good people.”
“Of course, she is. What type of people do you think I hang around?” I asked.
“Izzy, you're a mafia soldier’s daughter. Who else but criminals of the underworld?” she asked, making us all laugh again.
“I heard Bells, and now you said Izzy. How many nicknames does this young woman possess?” Emilia inquired.
“You just sounded like your husband,” I pointed out, my chuckle morphing into a giggle as I watched her blush.
“Bells, Izzy, Bella, they are all her nicknames,” Liza answered.
“Noted,” Emilia stated as she stood. “I’ll get drinks and snacks.”
“Bella, I came as soon as I could after hearing news of how your dad disappeared, and you were forced to marry one of the Lobanov brothers,” Liza revealed as Emilia went into the kitchen. “How are you doing? How have you been?”
“Yeah, he obviously had some debts and ran into hiding rather than face them,” I said, sighing. “I’m fine. Better than I thought I would be, really.”
“Does ‘fine’ mean you’re not looking to break free of his chains? The man is fine, but that doesn’t make him an angel.”
I chuckled.
“I’ll break free by making it look like I don’t want to,” I disclosed. “My life is complicated now, Liza.”
“With a father like yours, I always knew this was bound to happen. You being stuck with a powerful mafia man because of him.”
She was right. She used to joke about it every now and then.
But the not-so-strange thing was that being married to Mikhail seemed less like bondage with each passing day.
“I'm so sorry about Giovanni. He was the sweetest,” she uttered, her voice heavy with the same sadness that suddenly made my heart heavy.
Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen, where Emilia was probably making popcorn, before she spoke.
“The main reason I had to come here urgently was what I heard about your father. He’s been trying to cut deals with the Italian faction in Brooklyn. From what I heard, he’s offering them Bratva secrets for protection from the Lobanovs.”
I blinked in surprise. The recent attack, which we’d learnt was the handiwork of the Italians, came to mind immediately.
Will Dad stoop so low as to cause harm to his own child?
“Are you sure about this?”
“A hundred percent, Bella,” she assured. “I'm extremely worried about you. I knew I had to come see you.”
I swallowed the chill that came with the realization that my dad was putting a bigger target on my back than ever.
“Thanks for this intel, Liza.”
“Anytime. I’m standing right beside you.”
“I like her. Emilia,” Liza revealed.
“How could you not?” I answered, chuckling.
“She’s real.”
Emilia walked into the living room carrying a tray.
“I was just telling Bella you’re real,” Liza disclosed as Emilia dropped the tray on the center table. “It's surprising how someone like you became a Pakhan’s wife. It’s a title women fight for in our circles, Bella can testify to it.”
“That tells you the Pakhan isn’t as typical as you think he is,” I pointed out.
“He’s not,” Emilia answered, an adorable smile on her face. “Popcorn and ice cream. What do you think?”
“Perfect! I like you even more,” Liza enthused.
As we laughed and chatted, the thought of my dad’s dealings sat at the bottom of my chest.