Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance (Russian Mob Chronicles Book 1)

My eyes lift when Mr. Fletcher enters the meeting room I’m pacing in. The miniscule skerrick of hope I’ve been clutching the past thirty minutes vanishes into thin air when he briefly shakes his head.

“Judge Ryder understands an error was made, but with the courts closed until Tuesday morning, he legally cannot move on his judgment.”

I slump into the chair and cradle my head in my shuddering hands. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. Who puts their address in the defendant’s details?”

Assuming my question isn’t rhetorical, Mr. Fletcher takes the empty seat next to me. “We all make mistakes, Justine.”

I glare at him, requesting he provide an example of when a member of his staff acted so heedlessly.

The tightness spread across my chest constricts when his eyes drop to his shoes. “Maybe not to this caliber, but it happens.”

If he were looking at me, I may have believed his false admission.

I scrub my hand over my tired eyes before locking them with Mr. Fletcher’s. “Can Nikolai stay at my residence while I camp at a hotel?”

The choppiness of my words shows I am aware of the answer to my question. My career title was the collateral Judge Ryder needed to agree with the defense request for house arrest. By separating Nikolai from the mafia lifestyle he was raised in, the chances of him following his bail terms significantly increase.

Although the document was filled in error, it could also be seen as a godsend. Without my address on the application, Schluter & Fletcher would have never secured Nikolai as a client, as our agreement would have been void the instant he was incarcerated.

Mr. Fletcher’s eyes follow me when I stand from my seat. “Where are you going?”

“I have a guest to prepare for.” I gather my belongings from the table before pivoting around to face him. “I’ve got knives, scissors, and razors to take care of.”

Mr. Fletcher leaps to his feet, the expression on his face anything but pleasant. “The Sheriff’s Department will take care of that.”

“I know,” I interrupt, nodding. “I’m talking about the instruments I’m planning to stash under my mattress to protect myself.”

I aim for my voice to come out playful, but the fear curled around my throat dulls my efforts. I’m not scared of Nikolai. I’m petrified at how quickly my walls crumble around him. He is the equivalent of a stranger, yet my body thrums with excitement every time he is within touching distance of me.

When a flare of panic ignites in Mr. Fletcher’s eyes, I assure him, “I’m joking. I just loathe delayed gratification. The quicker this weekend begins, the quicker it will be over.”

The worry in his eyes lessens.

“Besides, the more time you sit here comforting me, the less time you’ll have to work on my brother’s case.”

The weight on my shoulders eases when he nods. “Kirk is transferring Maddox’s records to my home office as we speak. I’ll begin working on an appeal tonight.”

Unable to contain my joy, I lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. My puckered lips freeze within an inch of his face when Nikolai’s threat filters through my mind.

Shame thickens my blood when I air kiss Mr. Fletcher’s cheek instead. Am I truly that stupid I think a stranger would know I kissed another man’s cheek?

Shutting down my worrisome thoughts for a more appropriate time, I align my eyes with Mr. Fletcher’s. “Thank you.”

The nerves in my tone are unable to contain my glee. I’ve been striving for Mr. Fletcher to work on my brother’s case since the day I started working at Schluter & Fletcher.

“You have my number, Justine. Use it at any time.” Mr. Fletcher projects his deep timbre through the rapidly closing door I’m gliding through.

“I won’t need it,” I shout back, my words confident. “You’re not the only one with four older brothers.”

I’ve got this; it’s in the bag.

When Mr. Fletcher’s throaty laugh booms into my ears, what once felt like a death sentence shifts to an awakening. If I survive seventy-six hours in the presence of a man whose ruthful glance turns me on as much as it antagonizes me, the possibility of my brother leaving the maximum-security prison he’s been detained in the past four years may reach fruition.

“I’ve got this,” I repeat, out loud this time.

The commute from the courthouse to my apartment building has me fidgeting in my seat. It isn’t just nerves making me a jittery mess, it’s the arctic blue gaze of Nikolai staring me down. He hasn’t spoken a word since I joined him in the back of the Sheriff’s transportation van twenty minutes ago, but he doesn’t need to speak for me to know what he is thinking.

He believes I placed my address on his house arrest documentation so he could make good on his promise of a weekend fling. I did no such thing. It was a mistake—a horrendously horrid mistake.

For one, I’d never risk losing my position at Schluter & Fletcher just to dance beneath the sheets with a client, and two, I don’t sleep with strangers.

“It was an accident,” I insist for the umpteenth time. “I meant to put down your address, I was just—”

“Flustered,” Nikolai’s smug grin doubles when he spots the heat creeping up my neckline. “Don’t be ashamed, Ahren. You have good instincts. You should be flustered. Scared. Praying to the gods you’ll survive me.” He whispers his last sentence with a risky edge that sends my heart rate skyrocketing.

The fear clutching my throat lowers to my sex when he adjusts the girth of his knees. His kneecap barely brushes my thigh, but my body reacts as if he’s kneeling naked between my legs, moments away from ravishing me.

His meekest touches aren’t the sole cause for my heightened senses, though; it’s the way he peers at me while doing it. I’ve never been on the receiving end of the glances he’s given me all afternoon. He looks at me like he wants to devour every inch of me—over and over again.

If I weren’t panicked about how one wrong move could be fatal for my family, I’d be striving to keep the gleam in Nikolai’s eyes forever. His motives may not be pure, but who doesn’t want to be treated at as if they’re the most valuable jewel in the world?

“His defense attorney,” I grumble under my breath.

While the sheriff’s department sweeps the floor of my building, Nikolai and I remain seated in the transport van. The bristling of tension between us grows with every beat of my heart. It grows and grows until it reaches a point I can no longer ignore. My skin slicks with sweat, and my insides do a weird, flippy thing.

Nikolai’s gaze drops to my neck before slipping over my paper-thin satin blouse. Air hisses through his teeth when he spots the buds of my nipples. I shouldn’t get satisfaction from his attentive stare, but I do. Nikolai Popov is clearly a breast man.

“Soon, Ahren. Very soon,” Nikolai promises when he notices me squirming in my seat.

Cocking his head, he returns his eyes to mine. He doesn’t speak, choosing instead to let his shadowed gaze reveal his intentions. His thoughts are as sinful as the ones streaming through my depraved mind.

I freeze, distressed by my body’s positive reaction to his threat, but unable to help it. I’m a woman with needs, and his attention is making me reckless—mindless. My mind is spiraling with endless possibilities, none of them suitable for an attorney and her client. Nikolai’s manly, virile scent is doing wicked things to my libido, and I can barely smell it over the lust in the air. I was certain nothing would awaken my libido’s prolonged stint of abstinence, so, although I’m disturbed it has chosen now to be aroused, I’m still grateful for its return.

I mentally slap myself. To survive this weekend, I need to be a cutthroat law intern, not a young woman whose cheeks flame every time her gaze collides with a pair of icy blue eyes staring at her with zeal.

When I’m given the nod of approval to leave the van, I crack open the sliding door and clamber onto the sidewalk as fast as my quivering legs can take me. For the first time in months, my lungs relish the bone-dry heat of Las Vegas. With the sexual tension thrumming between Nikolai and me so muggy, my lungs felt like they were drowning with every breath I gulped.

With four armed guards, an attendant, and a shackled prisoner, the elevator ride to the fifteen floor of my apartment is torturously long. Even with Nikolai flanked by armed guards, the friction between us is intense. My nape drips with sweat, and my heart wildly beats in my chest.

When the elevator dings, announcing our arrival at my floor, I charge out of the small confines. My need for fresh air is more extreme than when Nikolai had his hand clamped over my mouth. I’m startled by my body’s responses today. I’ve spent hours interacting with clients in tiny four by four cells, and I’ve never been bombarded with the claustrophobia I’m experiencing now.

My wobbly stride increases with every step I take down the dimly lit hall. I’ve always been house-proud but with most of my wage set aside to fund my brother’s legal fight, my apartment isn’t as glamorous as the residence I was raised in.

When I shove my key into the lock and swing open the door of my apartment, I’m pushed aside by one of the patrol officers. He’s so eager to rummage through my small space, he must have misplaced his manners.

“Smotret’ yego,” Nikolai sneers under his breath as he uses his torso to steady my footing.

I issue him my thanks with a tight smile, praying it will hide my flaming cheeks. I knew from seeing Nikolai shirtless this afternoon that his body would be firm, but I had no idea just how built he is. His athletic body is compact and tight, showcasing every cut muscle in glorious detail.

After enhancing his threat with a snarl, Nikolai shadows me to the corner of my cramped living room. His eyes drift around the space, taking in the unique qualities of my retro seventies apartment.

Although my apartment is dated, like many things, its age comes with benefits. For the same price of a brand new apartment on the same street, I secured a second bedroom and a massive eat-in kitchen. Although I’m years away from starring on Master Chef, my culinary talents have a chance of developing in my mammoth kitchen. If I could find a spare hour or two to cook in it.

“Nice.” Nikolai’s lips quirked. “Small as fuck, but nice.”

I smile at his backhanded compliment.

Over the next twenty minutes, the patrol officers go crazy, ridding every nook and cranny of my apartment of illegal instruments. Although grateful their search is thorough, it would be nice if they handled my property with more diligence. My bric-a-brac items don’t have a high monetary value, but no amount of money can replace their sentimental worth.

Not even five seconds later, I pray for a sinkhole to appear and swallow me when one of the officers ruffles through my lingerie drawer exposes that my lack of personal time has led to an extensive collection of self-pleasuring toys. Some are still in their original packaging. Others. . . they leave no suspicion on their appeal.

“Don’t say a word,” I growl in warning when Nikolai swings his wide eyes in my direction.

Ignoring my sneered demand, Nikolai snickers, “Take them with you. Justine won’t need them.” He rocks on his heels, his haughtiness at an all-time high. “She’s got everything she needs right here.” He doesn’t need to grab his crotch to emphasize his statement.

The officer shrugs before dumping the drawer of sex apparatuses onto my bed. His hands delve through the vibrating butterfly clips, silver beads, and an epic black dildo as if it’s something he handles every day.

“On second thought, maybe we should keep them,” Nikolai groans under his breath.

His voice is full of command, but the tugging of his lips gives away his true composure. He is a lot more playful than I realized. Ruthless as a missile locked on its target—but playful nonetheless.

When shredding jingles into my ears, I crank my neck to the side. An officer is yanking my couch cushions so roughly, he has torn a corner seam.

“You do realize we’re on the same team, right? I work in the justice system,” I grumble, angered at having my privacy invaded in such an unjust way.

The blond officer with his hand shoved halfway down my couch grunts. “You’re not one of us. If you were, you would have let that scum rot in jail,” he sneers, proving he doesn’t just enjoy pushing women around—he gets pleasure from verbally taunting them as well.

“I didn’t invite him into my home. It was a mistake. . .” Words fail me when a shimmer of silver catches my eye. Nikolai is using his thick forearm to conceal a letter opener he just slipped off my writing nook.

“Put it back,” I implore softly, afraid of what he is planning to do with it.

The letter opener isn’t sharp or overly pointy, but after Nikolai’s disclosure of how quickly he can kill a man with a pen, I’m not willing to take any chances.

Acting like he didn’t hear a word I spoke, Nikolai locks his eyes with the officer. “Only a coward makes threats from a distance,” he taunts, his words as volatile as the veins bulging in his neck.

The unnamed officer straightens his spine. “Coward? You’re calling me a coward?” He moseys over to join Nikolai and me, his steps full of arrogance. “I’ll show you how much of a coward I am.”

My hand darts up to muffle a breathless scream when he throws a jab into Nikolai’s stomach. Nikolai doesn’t flinch from the brutal blow he endured. He doesn’t even grimace. He just smiles an evil smirk that relays his every intention without a peep sounding from his lips.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Nikolai teases, his full Russian accent on display. “My deduskha hits harder than you.”

My eyes dart to the officer’s colleagues when his fists firm, praying they will stop him from issuing Nikolai his own form of justice. Although the non-offending officers’ eyes spark with amusement from their exchange, they continue rummaging through my belongings, neither encouraging nor discouraging their team member’s prejudiced punishment.

When a second flash of silver topples past Nikolai’s wrist, I launch into action. My frantic leap sees me landing in front of Nikolai’s body, not only saving him from being struck a second time, but also thwarting his attempts to gut the parole officer with the letter opener he is now fisting in his unrestrained hand.

“If you so much as ruffle another hair on my client’s head, I’ll have you arrested for police brutality,” I warn the officer, my tone guaranteeing my threat isn’t idle. “You are not here to prosecute my client. You’re here to sweep my house. If that has been done, I suggest you leave.”

Although wary of what Nikolai’s response will be to me interrupting his quest for vengeance, I will not stand by and watch another man assaulted without cause. I witnessed my brother’s vicious arrest without speaking a word. I won’t do the same thing a second time.

The offending officer sneers at me, the utter disgust on his face unmissable. Having no clue I just saved his life, he snarls, “I’ll leave a body bag with the receptionist. It will save me carting one back here tomorrow.”

After tossing a set of handcuff keys into my chest, he nudges his head to my front door, demanding his team follow his showy exit.

“Have fun with her,” he mocks as his evil eyes connect with Nikolai’s slitted gaze.

Handcuffs falling onto wooden floor boards rings through my ears at the same time the latch on my front door clicks into place. My heart launches into a mad beat when the heat of Nikolai’s body curls around mine not even two seconds later. He once again moved so agilely, I barely registered his approach.

“You should have let me teach him a lesson,” Nikolai murmurs into my neck as his arm wraps around my stomach. “Spineless men like him don’t deserve to breathe.”

My chest flattens on the wooden paneling of my door when Nikolai nudges my ankles apart with his feet. He slips his leg into the gap between my thighs as his hands roam my body. Air traps in my throat when he tugs my satin blouse out of my high-waisted skirt. I try to fire off a demand for him to stop. I’m screaming the word “no” on repeat in my mind, but Nikolai continues talking, stealing my inhibitions with every syllable he speaks.

“If my desire to taste you wasn’t stronger than my urge to slit his throat, he’d be quivering his last breath right now,” he growls in my ear, his voice dangerous and thick. “But my needs are too strong to ignore. After years of pussy on tap, my cock grew bored—nothing could gain its interest. Except you. One glance, and I was done. I knew I had to have you.”

His words excite me more than I can explain.

“Then when you spoke. . . Fuck. In a room full of men, my cock turned to stone. I’ve never been so fucking hard.” He grinds his pelvis into my backside, strengthening his statement. He is primed, jutted, and extended well past the swell of my lower back.

I remain quiet, trapped in a trance, dazed and incredibly confused. My brain knows this is wrong, but my body reacts positively to every touch Nikolai awards it with. It silently moans when the scruff on his chin digs into my collarbone as he nips at my neck; my hips match the rhythm of his grinds when he rubs his erection on my ass, and the heat between my legs competes with the lust roaring through my veins. But even with this feeling oh-so-good, I also know it’s wrong—very, very wrong.

“Stop. We can’t do this. This isn’t right. I’m your attorney,” I mumble when guilt crashes into me.

“We’re making the best out of a bad situation. How can that be wrong?” Nikolai replies as his hand slips under my bra to cup my engorged breast.

He expertly tweaks my nipple, proving my assumption of his sexual capabilities is spot on. He is barely touching me, but my orgasm is hovering, threatening to erupt at any moment.

Hearing my husky moans, Nikolai murmurs, “Tell me again you want me to stop.”

My lips twitch, but my pleas remain entombed in my throat. I’m so clouded by lust, I doubt anything could burst the heady bubble surrounding me.

I freeze when Nikolai’s free hand moves toward an area that will expose my true desires. If he feels how damp my panties are, any chance of stopping our exchange will be thwarted. I honestly don’t know if it’s something I should encourage or discourage.

“Stop. I need a minute to think. Oh, god, Nikolai. We can’t do this—”

My blubbering rant tapers off when he groans at the mention of his name. From his reaction, you’d swear he’s never heard his name moaned before. With a panty-wetting face and mouth-watering body, I highly doubt that is true.

“You want me to stop?” He tries to hide the disappointment in his tone. If it wasn’t for the covetousness thickening his timbre, he would have miserably failed.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” My words are whimpered with confusion.

I can’t believe the opposing viewpoints pumping into me right now. Is it possible I’m so incredibly aroused, my morals have been left for dust? Or do I genuinely believe there’s something so great sparking between Nikolai and me that I’m willing to give up everything to find out what it is?

Suddenly, I stiffen like a board, disturbed by my stupidity. Nikolai is a client. There can never be anything more between us than an attorney/client relationship. Furthermore, it was my unwillingness to be another notch on a severely serrated bedpost for my current predicament.

It’s also why I’ve lived the past four years riddled with guilt. I have no doubt one night with Nikolai could erase months of horrid memories, but it would never be substantial enough to push aside the love I have for my family. My brother sacrificed his life for me, so I must do the same for him.

“Stop, Nikolai. Please stop.” I arch my spine, pushing back from the door I’m pinned against. My fight is a pointless endeavor; a woman my size is no contest against a man as virile as Nikolai.

Deciding this may be the one time words will triumph over actions, I say, “This isn’t what I want. This isn’t why I brought you here. It was an accident. A mistake. I was flustered. Have you never had a lapse in judgment before? Have you never made a mistake?”

My words blurt out of my mouth so hard and fast, I fail to notice Nikolai’s exploration of my body ceases. Although his hand remains cupped around my breast, his index finger and thumb are no longer rolling my nipple into a stiff peak.

“A mistake?” he mimics, his voice the deepest I’ve heard. It sounds as if it was delivered straight from hell.

A throaty gargle overtakes the beat of my heart when Nikolai’s hand slips into my panties to cup my pussy. He deeply exhales, ruffling my hair with his breath when he feels how damp my sex is.

“This doesn’t feel like a mistake.” His words are as dangerous as quicksand. “This feels like a game—a taunt. I don’t play games, Ahren, not ones that don’t involve a weapon.” His tone is so low, only a hint of Russian heritage echoes in his reply.

“Is this a mistake, Ahren, or a game?” His deep voice is dampened with confusion.

“It’s neither. I’m just as confused as you. . .”

Any further explanation I’m planning to give is pushed aside when Nikolai’s thumb grazes my clit. One touch and I’m done. I’m burning up everywhere. My veins thicken so fast, I feel like I’m going to erupt like a volcano at any moment.

“You’re dripping,” Nikolai growls as the confusion in his tone is stripped away, leaving nothing but pure, unbridled lust.

My head lolls onto his shoulder when his finger slides into my throbbing core. My pussy hugs his thick digit, encouraging his pursuit no matter what objections my brain is citing. I need this more than I need to breathe. I need the release. I need to lose control. I need to be the old Justine for just one night.

“Please. . . Oh, god. Please, Nikolai,” I shamefully moan when the tip of his finger stops within millimeters of the sweet spot inside me, my needs too intense to ignore.

He groans before his finger flicks the sensitive spot begging for his attention. He works my body like he intimately knows it, finger-fucking me at a pace slow enough no friction can be felt, but fast enough any possibility of staving off my orgasm is impossible.

When my quaking legs become incapable of holding our combined weight, I lean more into his body. He takes advantage of my new position by worshiping my neck with as much attention as he is bestowing on my pussy. Every touch has my climax soaring, building so rapidly it’s frightening. How is it possible a stranger knows my body so well he has me on the brink of ecstasy within a matter of seconds? It’s truly outstanding how well in-tune he is with my body.

My breathless moans turn noisy when Nikolai growls, “Let me hear your screams, Ahren. Perhaps if the world hears how much you’re enjoying this, your brain will acknowledge the pleas of your body a little sooner next time.”

His cock throbs against my ass as his pursuit to unravel me ramps up a gear. I spread my thighs wider, giving him unlimited access to my soaked sex. My skin grows hotter as my throat dries. This feels so much better than I could ever explain.

It feels so good, I do something I haven’t done in years. I start singing a wickedly dirty song.

“Oh god, yes. There. It feels so good. Please. Yes. Yes. Yessssss.”

He grinds into me harder, his quest for release as potent as mine. “That’s it, Ahren. Nice and loud. I want to hear your screams ringing in my ears for days.”

I continue moaning without shame, not the least bit embarrassed.

I’m aching for him.

Dripping for him.

I’m about to lose every one of my morals for him.

When the pad of Nikolai’s palm slams down on my throbbing clit, I’m done. Sparks ignite in my womb as my pussy clenches around his thrusting digit. I snap my eyes shut as shudders overwhelm every inch of me. I’m moaning on repeat, my words as stuttered as my heart rate.

I’ve never experienced something so intense, so wild, so climactic. My orgasm sucks the life right out of me. I’m left panting without reserve, grateful Nikolai’s hold on my hip has saved me from tumbling to the floor.

It takes me minutes to return to the land of the living, and even when I do, I’m still dazed with arousal. I feel woozy and free, as if I have the entire world at my feet. Who knew a mind-hazing orgasm could eradicate years of negativity?

The hotness of Nikolai’s breath fans my sweat-slicked neck when he mutters, “Turn around, Ahren. Let me see what I’ve done to you.”

His rough voice leaves no room for argument. It also gives me my first hesitation of the past ten minutes. It’s a prompt reminder that our exchange isn’t a romp between two consenting adults seeking release after a tiring week. He is my client. He is also a replica of the man who instigated my family’s demise.

“I can’t,” I barely whisper, my throat scratchy from the screams I released during ecstasy.

He stiffens for the quickest second, revealing that he heard my mumbled comment. “Can’t or don’t want to?”

Mercifully, I’m saved from answering him when a feeble knock sounds at my door, closely followed by, “Justine, honey, are you there?”