Never had I thought I would find myself having a cup of tea with Mogilevich, let alone feel somewhat safe doing so.
The loaded gun on my lap brought me comfort, as did the surprising lack of disgusting comments from the middle-aged man.
"You'll stay overnight," he informed me matter-of-factly, unthreateningly sipping his tea and relaxed back against the couch opposite the one I had situated myself on.
Not once had any of his men so much as aimed a gun at me and, if nasty looks were disregarded, I wasn't held as an enemy treading their grounds.
The change was too drastic and suspicious.
Mogilevich was after something.
"What do you want in return?" I cut to the chase coldly and reached my cup on to the antique coffee table between us.
I placed my gun on to the velvety material of the couch beside me, its barrel aimed at Mogilevich, and rested my hand over it.
To be alone with such a man and knowing how he had acquired his power and wealth was unnerving, and my subtle threat hadn't gone unnoticed.
I wasn't here to play games. I was here to wait for the bullet in Mikhail's arm to be removed and the wound stitched, all so he could return to me.
A light smile distorted his features, and the genuineness of it was unnatural to the point of drawing my brows down in a confused stare.
"We can talk business tomorrow," he assured me, but I gained his attention on to the gun under my hand once I shifted in my place.
"There's no time like the present," I offered confidently with a tilt of my head, "I'd prefer to know now before I stay here longer than necessary."
"I'm afraid it's wisest for you both to remain here until we've taken care of the families after you," Mogilevich countered, dark eyes focusing back on mine.
He was taking me seriously.
Then again, it's the bare minimum for him not to demean me or act in any perverted manner. I shouldn't be this surprised. The Mogilevich men were as crazy as they come.
If he was planning on defending us, I, as future head of the Wellesley empire, would be left greatly indebted to him. I couldn't risk it.
"In return, Natalia, I wish for you to reconsider working-"
I was quick to interject. He had demanded I work for him during the first time I met him, the same night he had ordered Mikhail to cut my head off, fuck it, and send it to whatever relatives I had.
"I will never work for you. The world in which I would associate myself with human trafficking doesn't exist," I gritted out firmly, my gaze narrowing at him murderously.
"I wish for you to reconsider the decision your father has made," he clarified, remaining eerily calm, "to maintain an equally beneficial and strengthening treaty, in which I could consider you an ally."
I gaped at him and the absurd proposal he so comfortably made. Guilt rendered me speechless once I found myself considering it.
Banishment and disownment wouldn't be enough if my father were to ever find out, should I accept the proposal.
"You're asking a lot," I decided slowly, and he offered me an understanding nod.
"I am, yes," he agreed, "I hope helping you out of your current situation will prove my willingness for a treaty lasting more than a few weeks."
My father had been the one to end the informal peace treaty with Mogilevich, the one we were forced to make because of my miscalculations.
The sole objection to consider reigniting peace remained his involvement in human trafficking, and knowing my father's disapproval of their family, in particular Mikhail.
"And as I understand, your relations with my son are a fantastic foundation for a strong union of our businesses," he reminded me with a widening smile, and I reddened at the memory of him and my father having caught us in such a lewd act.
"My father has already lessened his involvement in trafficking, has he not?" I cleared my throat, resuming my confident posture.
"People? Yes," he confirmed, "for us to do the same, you may need to wait for a change of command."
Mikhail.
As if on queue the grand doors were opened behind me, and I glanced back to find the man in question entering the drawing room.
My eyes bulged out of my head, not at the bandage wrapped around his right bicep or continued shirtlessness, which left each beautifully sculpted and bulging muscle on view for the world to see, but at the woman hanging on his arm.
"Natalia!" she exclaimed joyously, removing herself from the stunting man to hastily shuffle toward me.
Her movement was restricted by heels adding incredibly to her already model-like body, as well as the uncomfortably tight and revealing dress she wore.
I lifted myself up to greet Angelina Jolie's long lost twin, only to have her frame crush against mine once she had rounded the couch and wrapped her slender arms around me.
"Maria, hi," I squeaked out, awkwardly in her tight hold managing to return the hug.
The couch shifted behind me with Mikhail's weight falling down on to it.
"I've missed you, principessa," her already seductively low and smooth tone purred, her stunning blue eyes with specs of green finding mine, "how are you?"
Inching her towering front closer, her manicured hands remained soothingly on the sides of my arms, before they trailed down to take my hands in to hers.
"I'm in a little bit of a pickle at the moment," I returned her smile, "otherwise, not so bad. Ripped out any extensions lately?"
She laughed, the melodic sound filling the extravagant room only the four of us were left in.
"I like you, Natalia," she told me, the smile on her painted lips shining brighter than the chandeliers hanging from the decorated ceiling.
"And just between us," she leaned in to brush her lips against my ear, her voice lowering to a slow whisper, "I've decided I like to pull hair more than rip it. I wonder if you would like to try?"
"Sit," the man sat behind me grumbled, unappreciative of the intimate reunion he was forced to witness.
"It seems you're not the only one in the family with a liking for her," Mogilevich laughed, teasing his son.
It was too strange experiencing this side of Peter Mogilevich. It was too strange being here in general, unguarded and too relaxed now that the giant Slav had returned.
It also seemed Mikhail wasn't the only one in their family with a fixation on pulling hair.
"Another time," I decided lightly, ignoring the rude command Mikhail had directed at me, "it's good to see you again, Maria."
With a quick call and pat of his lap, Mogilevich motioned for the Goddess of a woman to come to him. After a quick kiss on to my cheek she did, and perched herself on the man's lap with a blissful sigh.
I sat myself back down next to Mikhail who rested back against the couch comfortably, dark gaze focused on the gun between us.
Maria sent me a knowing wink, and I laughed quietly underneath my breath.
From there the atmosphere grew quiet and tensioned. I gathered Mikhail wasn't happy, but hadn't a clue as to why.
"Who do we go after first?" Mogilevich inquired, dark eyes moving between the two of us.
"Doyle," the man beside me spoke lowly, and the hint of menace lacing his words caused a cold shiver to run down my spine, "he sent kids."
"Right. I'll send a team after him tonight," his father assured us, and my brows pulled down.
Deciding not to question the sudden compassion Mogilevich should have for a child, the kind which remained hidden when his men were instructed to kill men, women and children alike, I kept my lips tightly pressed shut.
Maria sent me another wink and blew a discreet kiss. Before I could return the sweet compliment with a smile, Mikhail raised himself from the couch abruptly.
Thanking his father and muttering for me to follow him, he ended the surprising and confusing encounter I had had with his father.
--
The giant man fell down on to the bed with a low grunt. He lifted himself up to lean against its headboard, the dips of his deliciously rippled muscles all the more prominent under the dim lighting.
"I don't share, kukolka," he reminded me lowly, darkening gaze focusing on me nearing him from the locked door of what had to be one of dozens of bedrooms at Mogilevich's estate.
I smiled, delighting in the sight of his smooth concrete skin and stretched out legs.
"Don't tell me you get jealous, Mikhail Mogilevich?" I mused, placing one knee up on to the bed as I arrived by it. A wave of heat flushed through me as the subject of his dark and overwhelming focus.
He muttered gruffly underneath his breath, dismissing such a claim. His large hand reached for me and, as not to let his injured arm move around too much, I climbed up on to the bed and placed myself between his thighs, sat on my knees.
I gently took his hand in to mine and placed it down on to my lap, caressing its back to relax the muscles surely aching after having had a bullet removed. His other hand absentmindedly reached for the curve of my hip, unwavering eyes piercing in to mine.
My heart beat heavily in my chest, so enamoured with the lethal and intoxicating man before me now resting his head back against the headboard of the extravagant bed.
"Since when does Mogilevich of all people care about children dying?" I inquired softly, gazing down at his deliciously large hand and its fingers wrapping over mine, effortlessly shielding them from my curious eyes.
"I wonder, Natalia, is there more than your father's words to prove anything other?" he countered, tone lowered impossibly and the space between grew heavy with tension.
My heart squeezed painfully, frowning down at the beautiful structure of his hand. I left his question unanswered.
I hadn't an ounce of trust in Mogilevich, but trusted Mikhail with my life. The idea of my father spewing out propaganda to colour the truth was all too likely, given he had so easily lied to me for several years regarding his involvement with trafficking humans.
I shook those thoughts away, knowing any further revelations couldn't make me see my father in a worse light than I now did.
Once more Mogilevich was left the more rational of the two, viewing whatever Mikhail and I had going on as binding and mutually favourable. My father would never, his stubborness too firm for such
What even were we?
Was this as serious for him as it was for me?
He says he's mine and I'm his, but it would seem immature in the eyes of such a man if I began inquiring after a specifying label.
His hand on my waist slowly gathered the material of my top in to its hold, the rough pads of his fingers brushing over each new inch of skin he exposed. It slipped underneath my shirt to feel my bare waist, both comforting and warming me sinfully.
To be so unguarded and unprepared on the enemy's territory, in Mogilevich's home, was incredibly unnerving. If and when my father would find out, banishment and disownment weren't punishment enough. But with Mikhail once more hidden away with me, the door of the bedroom locked to avoid any intruders, I let myself submerge in the warmth and security surrounding his presence.
"Can I ask you for a favour?" I all but whispered, fixed on his unwavering and heady attention, heart craving to break out of my chest and hand itself over to him.
"Anything, sweet girl," a light grin tugged up the corner of his mouth, a devilish glimmer in his stunning eyes.
"It's not what you think," I laughed uncomfortably, growing serious, "I need to save a girl. Faith. Julio's son kept us in the same room. I promised her I would get her out."
Mikhail's amusement faded, brows pulling down. To save someone sold for mere pennies was as close to impossible as it could get. Tracking her down from the hundreds of hands she would have passed through by now wasn't an option, yet still, even with the world burning around us, I had not once stopped thinking of her.
If I couldn't take down the entire inhumane and revolting business, saving Faith was the least I could do to sleep somewhat soundly.
His large hand on my waist guided me closer, until I shifted to sit with both knees on either side of his relaxed stature.
"Tell Ivan her family name, Natalia," Mikhail began lowly, but the relief of his help faded as quick as it had appeared.
"I don't know anything other than what she looks like..." I frowned, my promise to the poor girl slowly crumbling.
The giant Slav thought it over, and silence fell around the small bubble consuming us. His hold sliding to my lower back kept me to him, my chest close to brushing against his.
The position was in no way meant to be sexual, and the current circumstances and topic of conversation should have been enough to drive away the ball of heated tension gathering in the pit of my stomach, but it only coiled further. My breathing had deepened, partly with the calm I felt but for the most part under his darkened gaze, intoxicating each corner of my mind.
Gather yourself, Natalia.
"I'll send my men after her," he promised, and my shoulders visibly dropped in relief. Mikhail and his family had all too many connections in that disgusting world, and for once it would come in handy.
"Don't... hurt her," I managed to force out the words, barely above a whisper. My being continued to ache for her tears and pain in the hands of Julio's men.
My undivided attention shifted down to the smooth smile on his lips. The tips of my fingers itched to grab him and kiss him, but held myself back.
"I don't believe we're the men your father says we are," he decided, both breaking and mending my racing heart.
From what I had experienced, Mikhail and Ivan could be a little rough around the edges. Ivan had threatened me as an enemy, as any sane person would. Mogilevich had tried to intimidate me, as would seem easy to do from first glance, as had Mikhail. Neither had succeeded, and what I could only assume was respect from Mogilevich turned the world as I knew it upside down.
They all did bad things well, in particular the dangerous man whose lap I was so contently perched on, but I hadn't once witnessed the heartless murders and rapes of innocent outsiders my father claimed they did for the sick fun of it. They were the bad wolves in each story told by my father, but I had never felt as shielded and safe than in the arms of Mikhail Mogilevich.
"Where's your mother?" I wondered, and watched the gorgeous smile on his lips grow.
"She lives in Paris with her partner, Juliette," he explained, tone lowering impossibly as his hand began moving mine toward his lap mere inches from mine.
"Oh," I breathed out unevenly, much more focused now on his actions than the parts of his life I wished to know, "lovely."
My hand was gently pressed against the hardening bulge in his pants, and the low grunt at the pleasurable friction rumbling from his chest emptied my mind and washed a wave of heat over me, rendering me speechless and pliant straddling him.
"Maria told me-" I blurted out before my jumbled mind had caught up, and a stunning laugh slipped past the lips I craved to kiss. My breath grew laborious, left gaping at the man all too close to me.
"Before she was my father's mistress, she was my mothers," he chuckled to himself, "you may believe what you wish, kukolka, but he was never unfaithful to the likes of his wife."
"That's his villain story, then?" I squeaked out, heat creeping up my neck as my hand was pushed more firmly against the mind-boggling hardness of his clothed cock.
"As you wish," he grunted, the delicious sound forcing my thighs to attempt to squeeze shut, shifting with uncomfortably rising arousal on his lap.
All amusement faded from his darkening eyes, and I came close to drooling at the ravenous sight of him. I raised my free hand to his expansive shoulder to steady myself, so easily rendered close to quivering with need by just a few unrelated words from the sinful man.
"I like you," I decided to throw fears of coming across as immature out the window, "a lot."
A devilish grin ghosted over his lips, fixing my focus on to them.
"Kiss me," I managed to utter out before I had hastily pressed my lips to his, close to panting.
With shaky hands I removed myself from the astounding bulge in his pants and began fumbling to open his belt, heart racing and mind repeating his name on a loop.
The heat gathering in the pit of my stomach and between my trembling thighs grew unbearable, and I desperately clawed at the man, needing so much more than he was now giving me.
"I need you," I mewled, pathetically aroused, and the sinful man only grinned proudly.
"Despair suits you, my sweet girl," he taunted gruffly, the hunger in his impossibly lowered tone easing the humiliation his words would've have caused in any situation other than right now, "feel how hard you make me."
Melting with each deliciously guttural syllable leaving his lips tantalisingly brushing against mine, my wrist was grabbed roughly and pushed back against the pulsating hardness. An immobilising groan rumbled from his chest, and drawing in a proper breath became an impossible task.
As violently as he was watching me pant and plead, his belt was tugged open in one swift motion and the fly of his dress pants unzipped. With one final movement his cock sprang free, the heavy appendix resting against the muscles coating his lower stomach.
Like a bitch in heat, I drooled.
Standing proudly, the droplet of pre-cum on his tip winked at me, and wetness pooled pathetically between my clenching thighs.
Dark and unholy attention solely on me, he guided my quivering hand to wrap around the base of the solid cock, as thick as my wrist and pulsating in sync with each erratic breath slipping my lips.
"I promised to fuck you senseless, Natalia," his wickedly gruff and all too confident tone brought me back from my racing thoughts of him, and I found the pleasure glimmering in those beautiful dark eyes, "I'm afraid I'm too injured for that."
I was too aroused to mind his tease, the giant Slav ever so pleased to have me in the palm of his hand. I watched him motion to the white bandage wrapped around his right bicep, and my eyes narrowed in on him.
"I want you to ride me," he concluded, before the palm of his left hand collided brutally with the side of my behind, eliciting a pleasured gasp from my parted lips. His eyes darkened both at the sound and my shaky fingers tightening around the base of his cock momentarily.
I would be left senseless with our without Mikhail's dominant arm in its best shape.
I was rendered a pathetic pool of molten lava on his lap, the thought of fitting that monstrous thing inside me in the new position both frightening and exciting me.
"Strip," he demanded, and I scrambled away from him to awkwardly remove my leggings and underwear.
Never once did I falter as the object of his piercing focus, only making each breath and movement more laborious than the last.
By the time he had me back on his lap, shamelessly bare from the waist down and earnestly pulsing for the impressive endowment saluting my heaving chest between us, my shirt was tugged over my head with a displeased grumble at how I could have left it covering my body.
"So wet," he grunted menacingly, slipping his expert fingers between my trembling thighs to torture me as I shakily attempted to unclasp my bra.
I whined out pathetically and, instead of taunting me further, with one quick tug the bra was snapped in to two from the front.
The overly expensive item fell down behind me, and the moment his hungry lips latched on to my erect nipple, I decided he could break every bra I owned.
With his large hands squeezing my hips, moving my body to trap his cock between us, I grabbed at his hair, sighing out moans and eyes fluttering shut as his tongue circled the nub as if it were my clit. The muffled groans vibrating against my burning skin confirmed he too imagined my nipple as something much wetter, pulsating and far more desperate for his attention.
His savage hand collided with my bare behind, and I moaned out gratefully. He all but growled for me to sink down on to him, and mindlessly I managed to raise myself up on to my knees, his hold remaining on my hips.
My hands slipped down to his tensed shoulders, hazy gaze directed at the minuscule space between us. I watched him position the head of his painfully hard cock between my thighs, hot breath fanning over the skin on my neck.
"Show me how much you like me, kukolka," he ordered gruffly, as lost as I was with his hot lips brushing against my skin to send a delightful shiver down my spine.
Gripping his shoulders to remain somewhat coherent and afloat, I slowly lowered myself, biting down on my lower lip to stifle the blissful moan at the feel of his tip entering me.
Mikhail cursed passionately, his large hands tightening on my hips painfully. I felt the muscles of his thighs clench, the sheer size of his frame making it close to impossible not to just fall down on the furious cock.
Deciding I was going far too slow, his grip on my hips cruelly impelled me down, knocking the air out of my lungs at the agonising stretch of him filling me to the brim. I choked out a cry, nails digging in to his shoulders.
He grunted with feral pleasure, rough hands keeping me firmly in place while I struggled to adjust to the sheer magnitude of his cock in the new position.
His lips once more enveloped my erect nipple, hand joining in to brutishly mould my breast to his will. Low and murmured praises from his lips vibrated against me, the intoxicating flicks and circles of his tongue blurring the painful stretch out of my mind.
"Sweet girl," he groaned out at the feel of my walls clamping down around him mercilessly.
My heart threatened to beat out of my chest, my lungs constricting as breathing became a luxury I barely had access to.
Enveloped in flames of pain, pleasure and raw craving, I carefully raised myself up, eliciting a grumbled curse from the man deliciously lapping at my breasts. Slowly, I lowered my hips, sliding myself back down on to him.
With my hands situated feebly on his shoulders, grasping at the small amount of control I still had over my muscles, I repeated the action. I moaned out mindlessly, head lulling back as his hold on my hips returned to guide my motion.
The brutal man let me take this slow, my body too overcome with jolts of immobilising pleasure from each heavy push of his cock inside me, each delicious grunt leaving his glistening lips and each lewd touch to even think about bouncing on him like the Duracell Bunny.
Mikhail's knees raised and my torso was forced to press against his, my breasts heavy with need and rising with each rapid breath. The giant man grabbed my behind in to his hold, hooded and dark gaze meeting mine.
I melted at the sight of him, both arousal and adoration washing over me with the force of a tsunami.
His fierce eyes burned with lust, craving to ravage each inch of me to satisfy the mutual and unbearable burn for the other. Wordlessly his ferocious eyes promised to keep me, to die for me, and I was driven to the brink of insanity.
Mikhail Mogilevich, I think I love you.
My limp and quivering frame was lifted just enough for his cock to slide a few inches out, until it plunged back in unforgivingly. The brutish man rumbled, the sound far too indecently wonderful for me to comprehend.
I grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him, praying it could convey at least half of the things and feelings I was too afraid of speaking aloud.
"Such a sweet cunt," he praised lowly, slamming in to me and weakening each muscle perfectly, "tell me you need to come, sweetheart."
I gasped for air, the heat coiled in the pit of my stomach threatening to unwind all too fast. I needed to hold on, needed to feel and hear him longer.
"God, I need to-" I whimpered breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut and forehead pressed against his now, unable to continue the heart racing kiss when his impressive cock hammered in to me so expertly, so fiercely.
"God couldn't fuck you the way you deserve," the giant man grumbled, the blasphemous statement sinful enough to break the first wave of sweet relief over my aching body, "my name, Natalia."
"Shit, Mikhail!" I cried out, my entire frame wracking with the sparks of building pleasure bursting through my being, shattering the world around me.
My walls clamped around the feral sweeps of his cock, and Mikhail took this moment to strike his large hand against my behind once more, the ensuing tightness around him locking him firmly buried inside me, unable to continue thrusting.
With a sinfully overwhelming and guttural groan, he joined in my pleasure and cursed loudly, releasing heavy spurts of heat inside me.
With my heart racing, addictive ecstasy relaxing each part of my spent body and pants of air leaving my parted lips, I slumped against his solid chest.
"Fuck, kukolka," he grunted hotly, one last time pushing my pliant hips down to meet the final piston of his, exhaling with the satisfaction consuming him, "go shower. I need to taste you."
An exhausted laugh bubbled past my lips at the absurdity of his order, weak and content against his concrete frame rising and falling with each breath.
"You're relentless," I informed him softly, smiling to myself.
His strong arms wrapped around my limp form, firmly holding me against him. I slowly felt the hardness of his cock between my clenching walls soften, but the giant man seemed incessant to remain buried inside me.
"Don't you get tired?" I wondered quietly, sighing with content as I melted in to him, heart thudding rapidly against my chest and floating on a cloud of Heavenly relief.
"Of you? I could never," he assured me solemnly, and a kiss sweet as honey was placed on the top of my head, over my unruly hair.
My state of pure relaxation grew to the point of my consciousness dozing off momentarily. I listened to the calming beats of his heart, safe and secure in his possession, and silence filled the peaceful bubble around us.
I was in love with Mikhail fucking Mogilevich, and the thought didn't bother me one bit.