Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (8 page)

A hand curls underneath my right thigh and as Roman is crawling toward me, Alek pulls my legs wide apart. For the millionth time, I am so glad the lights are off. I wouldn't be able to handle this kind of exposure.

He leans on one elbow at shoulder level and puts his mouth close to my hair.

“Marie, I’m going to try to be gentle with you,” he says hotly in my ear. I nod my understanding because I can't even speak right now. “But I'm not sure I can.”

I hold my breath. I’m not sure what that means, and I'm not sure if I'm thrilled or terrified to find out.

Fingers slip against my clit from behind. My hips roll, pushing myself against that warm, wet feeling. I hear Roman move something to his mouth and then there's a small tearing noise. That must be the condom. I listen to him pull it out of his mouth and then feel the motion of his arm as he must be rolling it over the head of his cock.

I want to look so badly. I want to see it, to see what is about to happen. To watch it invade me. But then again, I think maybe I don't want to see it at all.

He shifts his weight again, resting on one forearm next to my shoulder. I’m mostly on my side, but angled back slightly against Alek as though Alek is propping me up.

His thumbs flicker against my nipples and he pushes my breasts together for a moment, kissing the inside of each breast with a tiny, playful bite. His hips rest between my thighs and I feel him thrusting slowly against the sheet, trying out the suspense. Alek continues to rub against me, batting my clit more urgently as my body begins to tremble with anticipation.

“I… I want you,” I say tentatively. I think I’m supposed to say that. More importantly, I don't know how I can stop myself from saying it. I want this. I  want to feel the rest of this experience.

He groans again. It sounds like I've wounded him. Without another word, his hand snakes behind my lower back and cups me firmly. He guides himself with his hand and I feel Alek gripping my knee, holding me open. A wide, firm pressure nudges at my opening. With his hand, he slides the head of his cock up and down my furrow, circling it around my clit and making my hips buck over and over again as I blindly seek him. I want this.

“Tell him again, Marie,” Alek whispers in my ear from behind. “Tell him!”

“I— I want you, Roman!”

I lace my fingers behind his neck and pull. I want his mouth on mine. I want to inhale him, to feel him everywhere inside me. As he pushes harder and harder, I feel a stretching, a strange rearrangement of things that were barriers turning into things that are portals. My body naturally opens up, widens, welcomes him.

Suddenly he's inside me. With a groan, I feel his weight shift, rocking magnificently toward my core. My ankle automatically loops behind his knee and I drag him further inside me. The taste on his tongue changes instantly into something muskier, deeper. Something that tastes like food. Something I've been so hungry for my whole life and didn't even know it.

I drink him in as he begins to slide, rolling himself against me, pushing deeper and deeper with every thrust. Though I want it to last forever, I also want to speed ahead.

“That’s it, Marie,” Alek grunts behind me. “Take him!”

I feel my insides go bright and hot. As Roman is thrusting, I roll myself into him, matching every motion with my own. Matching every kiss with my own.

My body is begging him for more. He finds the middle of me, pounding me into powder. Everything in my hips loosens as I make room to take all of him at once. I feel myself clasping at him, driving him deeper with every thrust.

And then suddenly, I'm coming like I never thought possible. My core explodes in a bright, sudden blaze. Colors and patterns. Fireworks and fire. I hear my voice from far away as I yelp into his mouth and the moment I do, he hilts himself in me in one magnificent, devastating thrust.

He roars into my mouth as his whole body tenses and arches. I think it hurts. I know that I can’t stand it, but somehow I do. Alek holds me around my middle and bellows a command I can’t understand. Somehow I disassemble myself and wrap myself around Roman, letting my body ride his until he spent within me.

Roman falls heavily on top of me, pinning me back to his brother and then the mattress below. We lay there like crash victims, all in a heap, lurid and obscene. I take a deep breath and kiss the musky seam of Roman’s neck as his head falls against my shoulder and he pants heavily. He is salty and dense and I inhale deeply. This scent, I’ve never smelled anything like it.

I don't know how I ever lived without it.

We all lay there for long seconds, breathing heavily until our heartbeats slow down. I'm so utterly exhausted, yet strangely energetic. I want to talk to them. I want to say something… Thank you? Maybe ask their last names? I want to tell them this is not at all what I expected. I thought it would be awful, and it turns out to be absolutely magical.

But I know that's absurd. You probably shouldn't just start babbling right at this moment, right?

After a few minutes, I realize I'm going to fall asleep if I don't do something. They probably want me to leave. I probably should leave. I think that's what people are supposed to do.

Pushing myself away from them, pulling apart swathes of skin that seem glued together, I slowly try to sneak off the bed. They’re both breathing heavily, almost snoring. It sounds like a bear’s hibernation den, and is just as musky.

I pad toward the bathroom in my bare feet, my thoughts tumbling over each other in my head like water over rocks. It feels like a dream. Like a crazy, utterly insane dream.

In the bathroom, I finally dare to turn on the light. I'm a little bit of a mess. My hair is crazy, sticking up diagonally from the left side of my head in knots and snarls. And yet, I can't help but feel proud of every weird kink in my hair, the black smudge of mascara under my eyes, the red streaks on my neck and breasts and arms and waist where I was kissed so hard they almost broke the skin.

I stare at myself for a few long seconds. Look at me, a new woman. Brand-new. In a strange way, I feel a sort of ownership over my body that I never felt before.

I take a quick moment to pee and clean myself up, wincing at the soreness that's already settling into the skin. I'm definitely going to be feeling that for a couple days.

But it was totally worth it. After swiping at my face with tissues and washing my hands, using my wet fingers to comb through my hair until I sort of look like myself again, I think I'm ready to do what I'm supposed to do next.

Opening the bathroom door slowly, I figure they’re probably asleep and I don't want to wake them. The light floods the room, tracing out a triangle on the patterned carpet. Carefully I tiptoe back to the bed, squinting to try to locate my dress and panties.

For some reason, I feel like I need to turn away when I get dressed. I slide my panties back on and knot the strings. It takes a moment to get the zipper all the way back up my dress but I manage it and then grab my handbag and shoes in one arm.

Turning around, I bite my lip and prepare a brief, dignified, whispered goodbye. Then I stop. My breath stalls in my throat. My heart beats twice, loud enough someone should have heard it, but they are still asleep.

Everything goes cold. There they are, laid out on the shiny satin bedspread, a tangle of arms and legs spread out and relaxed. The men I just slept with. Roman is closest. He's covered in tattoos from his knees, all the way up to just below his collarbone and then snaking down his arms. Shape after shape, layered on top of each other in strange patterns. Bones, spiderwebs. Words in Cyrillic characters. More words. Skulls. Is Alek the same? I can’t tell because I can’t look anymore. I have to stop.

I know those tattoos. Russian tattoos. They’re Russian mob. They have to be.

Oh my God, what have I done?

ROMAN

When I wake up, the girl is gone. I didn't expect her to stay, of course, but it still feels sort of strange that she just disappeared. I must have fallen asleep while she was still here which is something I don't think I've ever done in my life. Usually I like to watch them fall asleep and then leave while they’re passed out, before any questions can come up.

Once, I think Alek dozed off but I know I've never simply slept all night and just let a woman decide on her own whether or not to stay. I don’t want them deciding whether or not to go through my things or maybe leave a bullet in one of our heads as a thank you.

Strange, to say the least.

Hungry and cotton-headed, I leave Alek still snoring on the bed head for the shower. The room is nice. Bathroom is nice. The last couple of days we  have been staying in a loft apartment that belonged to the guy before me, the guy I was brought here to replace. Dimi. That sorry fuck.

It's a nice brick-walled place on the southwest side, private and secure in a building that used to be a corset factory. I like it well enough. Alek likes it better but he cares more about that sort of thing than I do. He said something about the kitchen set-up, the vintage of the floors. All I know is that it's clean and open, with a row of windows that go up to the ceiling. Much nicer than the one bedroom, cockroach-infested hole we had in Atlanta. The organization in Chicago is doing much better.

Just as I'm really enjoying this hot, steamy shower and the small bars of oatmeal soap in here, I hear my cell phone vibrating on the granite countertop. I watch the water and soap swirl down my front, obscuring my tattoos in sheets. The soap spirals around my feet and then twirls down the drain.

Snapping off the tap and grabbing a towel from the rack, I walk along the heated floor to the counter. It’s Stosh.

“Hello?” I say, rubbing my face with a towel.

“Good morning, Roman! You sleep well?"

“Actually, I did. Thank you for asking and good morning.”

“That's nice to hear. So glad you're settling in. Can you meet me for a coffee in twenty minutes? That bakery down the block from you?”

I shake my head, though he can't see me. Wiping the steam from the mirror I can see have got a few scratches, a few love bites. That girl… Marie? She was some kind of hellcat. You would never have known, just looking at her…

“Roman?”

“Ah, yes, Stosh. Excuse me, I'm just out of the shower now. Actually I'm not at home. I stayed downtown last night. Violet hotel. You know it?”

“Ah yes,” Stosh says with a sound of approval. “I'll send a car for you.”

“Alek too?”

There’s a pause. “Alek is with you?”

I make a noise that he can take as a Yes.

“No…” Stosh sighs. “No need for Alek at this point. See you soon.”

Disconnecting the call, I set the phone back on the counter and lean forward. Such an ugly face. It's a wonder that Marie didn't run away as soon as she saw me. What kind of a girl isn’t scared of a face like this? Alek is usually the one making eye contact.

And yet, she looked right at me. She's probably the first person in Chicago to look directly at me for anything more than a half second. That was a curious sensation. I wouldn't mind more of it. It's a pity I’ll never see her again.

Batting at Alek’s limp foot, I snatch my trousers off the floor and sniff at the shirt I discarded. He wakes slowly, blinking and rolling his head back and forth as he takes in the room.

“You up?” he mumbles, sleepy.

“Yeah, Stosh wants me.”

“When?”

I shrug and pull the shirt over my head. “Now I guess.”

“Me?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just me.”

Picking his head up off the sheet, Alek quirks an eyebrow at me in question.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” I answer. I toss him his clothes and turn to leave, flicking the wetness from my hair. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

***

The car lets me out in front of Sonya's bakery. The morning sun beats down on the sidewalk concrete so hard it's almost loud. I squint against the light and head for the striped green awning.

The bakery is filled with the sounds of chatting, the smells of kolacky and Swedish flop. I scan the room until I find Stosh sitting at the back corner table and head toward him. He gestures with his chin at the small wooden chair across from him.

“You like something sweet?” Stosh asks, pushing a cup of coffee toward me and gesturing at three plates of cookies and sweet cakes. I nod and drag an apple turnover toward me then think better of it and grab a slice of poppyseed cake instead.

“Good, good,” Stosh nods as I start to eat the cake. He pops a kolacky into his mouth and chews, the trail of powdered sugar dropping down his chin. “Sonya has the best cakes in the city. Anytime you need something sweet, just ask her.”

I nod. These are good cakes: not too sweet, a little chewier than your average American cake. Russians can have everything strong, even dessert.

“Everything all right, yesterday?” Stosh asks, his voice low.

I nod again. Everything was fine. “There was a second guy.”

Stosh’s eyebrows go up. He has those dead Polish wolf eyes. And people think I'm ugly.

“And what of him?”

“Taken care of. He was hiding in a drainpipe. In an alley."