Nikolai: Mine to Protect (Russian Mob Chronicles #4)
Nikolai: Mine to Protect – Chapter 3

Trey slumps into the chair across from me. His blond brows are furrowed, and the thick beard that’s had the whores’ heads in a tizzy the past three months can’t hide the tick in his jaw. He’s not happy about my request to cross the country, but he knows better than anyone the consequences of second-guessing my decisions.

“I told Justine she’d have the world when she claimed her throne. I am a man who keeps his word.”

Trey’s lips quirk as he struggles to hold back a grin.

“Now I keep my word,” I amend. “Things change.”

I give him a look that reveals I’m on to him. “You know that better than anyone. We don’t marry whores, Trey. We fuck them, spill our seed inside them, then go home—alone.”

“Fucked whores,” Trey corrects. “We don’t fuck them anymore.”

I nod in agreement. Why would I settle for half a dish when I have an entire restaurant at home, waiting to free me of my every craving?

My thoughts stray back to Trey when he continues, “Besides, Kristina wasn’t a whore.”

I raise my brow but remain quiet. Even though everything he is saying is true, I can’t help but rib him a little. Kristina wasn’t a whore because anything she did under Vladimir’s watch wasn’t done of her own volition. The whores at Clarks, though. . . they don’t prance around in micro skirts with no panties because they’re ordered to be there. They show up every day via their own choice. They hope limber bodies and perky tits will see them become a lady of the house for one of my men. It’s unfortunate for them my crew has more of a clue than they give them credit for.

No matter how well she gives head, a whore never becomes a housewife.

Scrubbing the bushy beard on his chin, Trey slumps deeper into his chair. “Don’t fucking start, Nikolai. I’m taking enough shit from the guys. I’m not up for more crap.”

His grumbled comment wipes the smirk from my face. “What shit?”

My confusion is genuine. I haven’t heard of any rumblings, and I keep my ear close to the ground when it comes to matters like this. It only takes one man to rule an empire. The same can be said for its downfall.

Trey makes a pfft noise with his lips. “Just the same shit we’ve been hearing the past twelve months. The whores are whispering in the men’s ears, worried your relationship with Justine hasn’t just seen their nail marks removed from your back.”

His response stumps me for all of two seconds. ‘They’re worried they’re being replaced?’

When Trey nods, I add on, “They’re not going anywhere. Whores are a part of our industry. Justine understands this.”

My pulse spikes when Trey halfheartedly shrugs. I’m not selling him anything, but he’s still not buying my reply.

“What?” My short tone is incapable of hiding my fury.

Although this contradicts everything I just said, Justine is my queen, so if she suddenly developed a problem with the whores my men lose themselves in every night, they’d be gone faster than I can snap my fingers.

Fortunately for all involved, what I said to Trey earlier is true. Justine has no issues with me keeping my men happy. An endless supply of whores keeps them happy. As long as their needs aren’t shoved under Justine’s nose like they were the first month she resided here, she has no issues with the way my men relieve their tension.

If only the same could be said in reverse.

The Popov housemaids took an instant like to Justine. She filled them with hope that the Popov entity was moving away from the bigamist rules Vladimir controlled it with. The whores and a handful of my men were not as welcoming of her arrival. Almost all the whores see her as competition, believing my addiction will be cured as quickly as I lost interest in them. My men see her as a threat to their livelihood.

Both are learning the hard way what I think of their insolence.

“The main compound is off limits because it is our home. I want Justine to feel comfortable here. But there are no limits at Clarks. If they want to fuck a whore an hour, so be it.”

I’ve recited the same thing to Trey many times the prior twelve months, and quite frankly, I’m over their concerns. Drugs, guns, money, and women are supplied to my men at my expense, yet they still whine about my request they keep their drug-fueled gangbangs on the downlow.

“If any of my men have an issue with my rules, they can bring it directly to me. But be warned, they won’t be breathing by the time I’m done with them. Everything they have—whores included—is because of me. I also don’t take kindly to assumptions that I’m being led by my cock.”

Trey smiles a pompous, revealing grin. He’s not here on behalf of my men. He’s stirring the pot.

His grin drops an inch when I growl, “You won’t be smiling when I slit your throat for goading me.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t goading, just testing a theory. Your reply pocketed me two freshly printed Benjamin Franklins.”

“Testing a theory? Whose theory?” I’m more annoyed than amused. I don’t like being placed under the spotlight, especially if the light is coming from men beneath me.

I’m forced to swallow some of my anger when Trey replies, “Rico. He’s so convinced you’re under the thumb, he bet two hundred dollars that you’d have the whores extradited to Russia before sundown.” His eyes lift to mine. They’re sparkling with concealed amusement. “He seems to have forgotten he’s the only one bedding a kitten too timid for our way of life.”

If it were any other man comparing Justine to a tiger, he’d be taking his last breath. But since this is Trey, a man I trust more than I detest, I let his comment slide. Just.

Besides, I did get the tiger. More than anyone will ever know.

After adjusting my position so Trey won’t see my raging boner, I ask, “Speaking of playthings, where’s Rico? I thought he and Blaire were traveling back to Ravenshoe this morning.”

“They are,” Trey agrees with a nod. “He just had some old memories he wanted to recreate before his flight.” He gives me a spirited wink, ensuring I can’t miss the innuendo in his thick, British tone.

Now I’m more amused than annoyed. The night they married, Rico’s little kitty convinced him to buy a brand-new bed so they could consummate their marriage on unstained sheets. Forever under the thumb, Rico did exactly that. The amount he paid to have their mattress delivered before they arrived from The Little White Chapel they wed at was highway robbery. But from the stories I’ve heard, he got his money’s worth and then some.

Although Rico officially ‘died’ four years ago, his room still sits the same as the day he left to uphold a promise he had made to Blaire months earlier. I knew possessions would never bring him back, but I couldn’t forget him as quickly as Vladimir did.

Vladimir didn’t even attend Rico’s funeral. He was his first-born son, yet he dishonored his life as if he were nothing more than a gofer. In a way, it was a godsend. Vladimir’s lack of empathy freed me from giving him a proper send-off when he fell victim to my knife. He was cremated in the house he was killed in, forgotten as quickly as he disregarded the years of torture Rico and I suffered under his reign.

Vladimir was born as a king, but he died a pauper. His name has not been uttered in my presence since his death. And if I have it my way, it will never be mentioned again. He haunted me relentlessly when he was alive, and I refuse to let him continue the torture after his death.

Annoyed by my thoughts straying, I get back to the task at hand. “Have the men traveling with Justine and me ready to move by this evening. I want to touch down in Hopeton before sun-up because every man knows a devil has never see the sun rise.”

Trey nods. “Who do you want at the helm while we’re gone? Zoran has shown great improvement since Andros gifted him to us. He still has a long way to go, but it might smarten him up a little.”

A dusting of dark hair falls into my eyes when I shake my head. “Zoran is a good kid, but he doesn’t have the balls needed for our line of work. I need a man who will kill without thought. One who will never second-guess any decisions I make. I need a man as ruthless and as brutal as me, while also understanding my greatest asset has blood running through her veins, not white powder, lead, or liquid gold.”

Trey looks stumped on who could fulfill my requirements. . . until I murmur, “I need you to cover me while I’m gone, Trey, to keep our ship on course.”

“I can’t. That’s not allowed.” He cocks his head to the side as his brow arches. “I’m British not Russian.”

I laugh as if his thick accent and pasty white skin weren’t already key factors in his reply. “I’m well aware of your heritage. It’s one of the reasons I made you my number two guy.”

He straightens his dark shirt as if he is wearing a suit. “And here I was thinking it was because of my roguishly handsome face.”

I lower my chin, barely concealing my smirk. Although now isn’t the time to act heedless, I can appreciate his attempt to stifle the tension thickening the air.

Once the pompous grin on Trey’s face fades, I say, “I need someone I can trust. We’re still on unsolid ground since Alexei’s death. If we’re blindsided by a second takeover bid, I need someone at the helm who’ll maintain control. I trust that man is you, Trey.”

Trey remains quiet. He’ll never openly admit it, but my rare commendation was as shocking for him to hear as it was for me to deliver it. I respect and trust him—he wouldn’t be my number two guy if I didn’t—but the rules he speaks of are well known in our industry. The Popov entity has never been left in the hands of a non-Russian. This is as controversial as Rico and me banding together to kill the matriarch of our sanction. It is unheard of.

I nod when Trey asks, “Are you sure this is what you want, Nikolai?”

I don’t appreciate him questioning me, but only a fool would take this position without some hesitation.

‘It is only for a few days. I’m certain even a vyperdusch like you won’t fuck things up that quickly.”

“Ah, you make my heart tingle with your sweet words.”

I toss the letter opener on my desk in his direction, smirking when it nicks his neck hard enough a trickle of blood can be seen. I wasn’t even aiming, yet I still hit my mark.

While Trey tends to his wound, I stand to my feet. “Offer for Rico to travel with Justine and me, but warn him I’m traveling heavy. His little kitty might faint when she sees how things truly operate in our industry.”

Trey gives me a look as if to say and Justine won’t?

“My ahren was born to lead. She doesn’t kneel for anyone.” My smirk finalizes the rest of my sentence: except me.

Leaving Trey to string together my demands as specified, I make my way to the room I’ve shared with Justine the past twelve months. She’s bunked with me since the day I saved her from the hell I was tortured in twelve years ago.

Unlike my wish for her to birth my child, we never discussed sharing residences as we got to know one another. Our relationship has been full steam ahead since the day we met, so why would a small detail such as an address on a driver’s license change that? Justine became mine the instant I took her on the couch I claimed her ass on last night.

Nothing will ever change that.

The scent of the bath oils slicking Justine’s skin lingers in my nose when I enter our room. She’s sleeping peacefully in the bed I placed her in after I bathed her last night. Although she was a very willing participant in our exchange, I know her willingness to submit didn’t come without pain.

I’ve been prepping her ass for months, but fingers, anal beads, and butt plugs can’t replicate the size of my cock when it’s on the hunt. He was even thicker last night, Justine’s eagerness to please me adding to his girth.

“Ahren.”

I track my hand down Justine’s silky red hair before rolling my fingertip over a dog bite on the back of her shoulder. I’m not sure she’s aware of this one’s existence. It isn’t in a place she can see without being a contortionist, and she doesn’t readily cover it as she does the others. If she did, I wouldn’t have noticed it when I pinned her to the door of her apartment within a minute of the sheriffs leaving us alone.

I don’t know what it is about Justine’s scars, but I can’t get enough of them. They show how strong she is, that she can walk through the gates of hell and come out the other end stronger, but I see more than that when I look at them. They reveal she’s a fighter, a woman above the greatest man. But more than anything, they show that perfection comes in all shapes and styles.

For too long, man has believed perfection is only seen.

They’re wrong.

It’s felt and heard even more than it’s witnessed.

Justine is living proof of that.

Don’t get me wrong, my ahren isn’t close to ugly. She hardens the cock of every man when she enters a room, but her insides are even more spectacular than her cock-thickening body and face.

After watching goosebumps rise on Justine’s skin from my touch, I say, “It’s time to wake up. We’ve got matters to attend to before our trip.”

That arouses her from her slumbering state. She raises her head an inch off her pillow before her unique-colored eyes slowly flutter open.

‘Good. . .afternoon?’ she greets me, aware it is past midday but unsure of the exact time. ‘Everything okay?’

My eyes drop to her chest when she rolls over to inspect the groove between my brows more intently.

“It is now.”

Her nipples bud when I brush my hand over them. She’s always been responsive to my touch, but I’ve noticed she’s even more receptive the past month or two.

“Are you still bare?” My voice is rough, dense with lust.

Too impatient to wait for her to answer me, I tug down the bedsheet covering the lower half of her body. My cock thickens when her beautiful curves are exposed to my avid eyes. The Popov housemaids’ adoration has added an appreciative layer of meat to her scarcely covered bones. Now the smooth swell of her hips matches the generous size of her tits.

“Don’t tempt me, Ahren,” I growl when she gives me a heated look, one that begs to be consumed. “You’re still recovering from last night. If I trusted myself to go gentle, I’d get lost in you, but an addict can never be accused of being modest when dabbling in their drug of choice. You are my addiction, Justine. One hit never suffices to curb my habit.”

I don’t often make mistakes, but I did just now. Justine is no longer looking at me in reverence; she’s glancing at me as if I am her savior, like I pulled her from the depths of hell instead of the other way around. The cause of my error? Calling her Justine instead of Ahren.

When her eyes blaze with lust, my infatuation gets the better of me. “Are you sore?”

A growl rumbles through my chest like thunder when she shakes her head. My heart isn’t pumping faster because of her quick response; I’m pissed she’s lying. She didn’t speak, but I don’t need to hear her words to know of her deceit. I can see it in her eyes, smell it on her skin. I can even taste it.

Spotting my slit lids, Justine pulls me down until I’m lying next to her. Remaining quiet, she plasters her gloriously naked frame to mine before balancing her chin on my thrusting chest. The anger burning me alive soothes when her bliss-filled eyes lock with mine. She’s sorry for her fib, but not apologetic about her insatiable appetite.

With a rake of her teeth over her lower lip, she murmurs, “I’m a little tender, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Her words are as confident as the woman I see in her eyes.

Heat creeps across her cheeks when I brush away the curl hiding her eyes from my view. “Because you’re so strong, Ahren. So fucking strong.”

Smiling in a way that stops my heart, she weaves her fingers through my hair that’s been recently trimmed. “Because of you, Nikolai. Only you.”

Stealing my chance to rebut her inaccurate statement, she seals her mouth over mine.

Our kiss starts tender. . . until she unleashes her naughty side. She nips at my lips, cheeks, nose, and chin before lowering her mouth to mark me with her “taken” stamp. Whether it’s scratches from her nails dragged down my back or a hickey on my neck, I wear her marks with pride.

While she sucks on my skin as eagerly as she does my cock, her hands fiddle with my belt. Unaccustomed to me wearing a belt, it takes her longer than she’d like to undo the clasp.

Pulling back, she stares at me with wild, lusty eyes. “You may not take anything not willingly given, but I swear to god, if you don’t hurry up and give me your cock, I’m going to scream.”

Smiling at her eagerness, I murmur, “There are devilish thoughts in the most angelic mind, Ahren. Yours are clearly no different.”

Teeth, lips, and hands go in all directions as Justine strives to strip me as bare as her kisses make me. My defiance of her every command increases her eagerness. She tugs at my shirt violently, popping several strands of cotton in the process.

“About time,” she grumbles when my shirt is the first thing to go.

My cock is aching to be inside her, but I’m enjoying the fruits of my labor too much to free it from its confines. My ahren is ruling her empire, taking charge of her realm. I’m not going to interrupt this for anything.

While her needy eyes bore into mine, Justine’s hands skate across the ridges in my stomach that have grown astronomically from the numerous workouts she instigates daily. We fuck like rabbits yet still crave one another more than anything.

After tracing the head of my dragon tattoo with her fingertip, she refocuses her attention on my belt. Her cock-thickening scent increases with every loop the black leather slides through.

Once she has it removed, she dumps it on the ground before wrestling with my zipper. My jeans have barely hit my knees when she straddles my hips. She wastes no time gripping my cock to guide it toward her drenched slit.

When her wetness hits my knob, I bite out a string of curse words. “Oh, Ahren, you’re fucking saturated.”

Any reply she’s planning to give switches to a moan when I jerk my hips upward. I love that she’s taking charge, but I can’t help but demand my share. The sting of her nails digging into my pecs is only one tenth of the heat radiating from her cunt when I take her to the base of my cock.

I loved fucking her ass. It was tight and hot, and just the fact I was claiming a part of her no man ever has made it even more enjoyable, but nothing can compare to the greedy sucks of her cunt while begging for my spawn. I’m under her spell in a minute, the sensation of her riding me from above mimicking the euphoria I felt the first time I claimed her as mine.

Unlike last night, this fuck is hard and violent. Justine slams down on me repeatedly, our bodies moving in sync despite our frantic speed. Our rhythmic movements prove what I’ve always known: we were designed for one another. Her body was crafted to be devoured by me, and my body was machined to drive her to the brink over and over again.

As sweat dribbles down Justine’s cheeks, I raise my ass off the bed. I widen her pelvis with my hips, allowing her to take even more of my cock. Satisfied her new position will have her screaming my name in no time, I jackknife my hips on repeat. Her moans ramp up to a level I haven’t heard in weeks.

“Ah. . . shit . . .Christ.”

Her moans are lyrical gold to my ears. It pushes me harder—recklessly and without constraint. I fuck her greedily, endeavoring to mark her body with my scent before filling her with my spawn.

“Come on, Ahren,” I beg a short time later, incapable of holding back for a second longer. Her cunt’s frantic quivers have cum sitting at the crest of my cock, begging to be released. “Give me what I want. Scream my name while your cunt milks me of my spawn.”

With a breathless moan, Justine shatters like glass dropping on a tiled floor. My name tears from her lips as her eyes roll into the back of her head. I watch her in awe, the urge to bang my chest the strongest it’s ever been. It must wait, though.

My ahren deserves more than a man who fucks her purely for his own pleasure. This isn’t about me and my ravenous need to have her constantly screaming my name. It’s about giving her what she deserves. Whether fucking her to the point of exhaustion or slitting the throat of any man who dares look at her the wrong way, my ahren comes before anything and anyone—myself included.

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