Bad Apple (Part 1) (6 page)

Misha

The feel of a drunk and legless Irina splayed over my chest is heavenly, and I grin at her off-key rendition of Sinatra as I tip my beer back and enjoy the feel of her breasts caressing my chest.

I want to say I got her all to myself, but after managing to drag her to the door I was bombarded by a pack of screaming females, claiming they were hitting the town. So much for dinner at my place.

Why women require hours to style their hair and put on makeup is not something I want to know, but by eight I was desperate to see my angel. I almost ripped through my jeans when she exited the cab in front of Vadi’s night club and stood in the dim streetlight, revealing a black dress that hugs every single one of her curves and showcases her breasts and ass in a way that’s had me fighting off men all night.

And she’s drunk too, which makes her overly friendly. With everyone.

“Do you know I almost creamed my jeans the first time I saw ya, pal?” she asks suddenly, making the conversation around our private table halt immediately. “But I controlled it, and now I get to have you forever instead of putting flowers on your grave,” she trills, making the table howl, though I feel like chewing nails.

Damn woman.

“You could have me anyway,” I mutter, throwing back a shot and relishing the burn.

I’m well on my way to drunk, a state I haven’t been in in years thanks to my control and the plain unwillingness to lose control. Tonight I need it, though, because I feel like shit.

“No way! I like friends more. I can cuddle on your lap and not worry about anything.”

Oh Christ.

The others are laughing so hard I can hear them over the pumping music surrounding us.

“Angel, shh.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna go dance with the girls. Save my seat!”

Off she goes then, weaving drunkenly with an equally toasted Liza as my brothers keep laughing and then stop abruptly, looking over at me with remorse.

“We hurt her today, Misha. I do not like it,” Leo grates, shooting his own drink as he keeps Tatiana in his sights.

I don’t like it either, but my deadline is looming and with Irina’s insistence that we remain just friends, I do not have the luxury of time. I need her to need another location, and I need it soon before things become dire.

“She will be fine, Leo. The shop down the block is bigger and more suited to the amount of people who traipse in and out of her place all day. She’ll be happy and we’ll be okay.”

“And her family, Misha? That was harsh,” Vadim seethes, lifting a hand to order another round.

I feel terrible about that, but I need her to need me, and right now that’s all I’m going for. A happy Irina is my only goal, but to get her there fully I need her to be vulnerable. I need her to want me in her life.

She does now, and for that I am grateful, something I never thought I would be when considering a woman and my money. Stranger still is the feelings of remorse I have.

You see, I’m a mafioso’s son. I’ve dragged my way to the top of the heap using nothing but my wits, determination, and start-up capital I borrowed from my father—with a hefty interest rate, of course.

I never hesitate on a deal, and I never let guilt eat me alive after I’ve trampled my way over all obstacles.

I know that what I am doing is necessary, not only for my company or my family but for her, yet I still feel terrible.

“You’re digging yourself a hole,” Leo says again as we watch the mess that is our women dancing down below.

Irina can’t dance for shit, and her idea of rhythm makes a broomstick look loose. Nik is too uptight to be any more graceful, and Tatiana makes a stripper look tame, but they’re having such a blast that I can’t deny my amusement even as the music changes and they start going nuts.

“It will be fine, Vadi. I just need to get this first hurdle cleared and we’ll be okay.”

***

Irina

“I wan’t your…body!  Want it hot. I want your…loving! I want a shot.”

The feel of the showerheads pulsing over my aching muscles is heavenly as I try to sing my way through a raging hangover early the next morning. I am the worst example of hungover. I don’t lie in bed all day bemoaning my fate or even whine when my head feels like a bus ran over it.

I laugh in the face of a little liver damage and fake my way through the pain, choosing instead to focus on what I can do to get over the hurdle.

“Oh God, Irina, stop that caterwauling!” Misha groans again, for like the millionth time, his lazy ass probably still splayed out on my sofa.

I giggle again, wincing with a pout as my head throbs, reminding me of my overindulgence and my own stupidity in not hydrating like I usually do.

“No! You shut up.”

It was a little awkward when I woke this morning and stumbled into the living room to find the man passed out cold, wearing only black cotton briefs and a messy hairdo that made my nipples say a quick hello.

I’m feeling closer to human a few minutes later when I shut off the water and pull the curtain back, only to see Misha as he leans over the toilet and lets himself go, groaning out loud as his bladder releases and lets off a stream.

“You are a wicked woman, Irina, my angel. You got me drunk and now you’re standing there staring at my cock,” he mumbles grouchily, not bothering to look at me.

Thank God because my mouth is hanging open and I’m pretty sure there’s drool hanging out when he flicks his shaft and unhurriedly pushes it back into his briefs before washing his hands and sauntering back out.

When I can move again I scamper to my room, throw on some old jeans and a tank, and rush back out, needing to say something, anything, to get over my shock.

The man has a huge dick. Easily double the size of my pink nemesis.

“You don’t have milk.”

I pause in the kitchen doorway to see him leaning into my fridge, still in those boxers, only now I have an unobstructed view of his ass and his toned, muscular thighs. Jesus save my hymen, the man makes my vagina tremble with need with nothing more than a look and that damned ass of his.

When I drag my eyes up it’s to see him grinning at me with a smug look that makes me blush.

“What are you having with milk? You take your coffee black and sugarless like the ‘real man’ you are,” I gripe, studiously avoiding his eyes as I walk in and grab a pan from the cupboard.

“Milk helps with a hangover, angel. I need milk.”

What a load of crap.

I snort and lean into the fridge, rummaging right into the back to grab the small carton of milk and a pack of bacon.

“Here, ya big baby. Don’t cry to me when your stomach curdles and you’re rushing to the bathroom to puke.”

He just grins and keeps watching me as I putter around getting a big, greasy breakfast ready.

“Mama would whip you right now if she witnessed this Western travesty.” He murmurs when I plonk a plate down in front of him and sit across from him, digging in with gusto.

“Your mama uses tongue to kiss perfect strangers, boy. She’s got no leg to stand on,” I retort, enjoying his snorting laugh as he spears his eggs and eats with a groan.

“She likes you and that’s the family way. Why do you think I won’t let my brothers kiss you, angel?” He chuckles, snarling when I narrow my eyes and tap my chin contemplatively.

“I wouldn’t mind, I think. Your brothers are hot. Especially Vadim and those wandering hands of his,” I joke, loving his filthy look and not too complimentary comments about his own flesh and blood.

“I’d kill him if tried anything with you, angel, and the little shit knows it. Let’s hope he stays smart or Mama will be a kid light.”

“You’re a hoot, Misha Novac. A freakin’ hoot, ya know that? So tell me, tough guy, what’s a guy like you doing wearing suits all day and making mergers?”

Not that I don’t see him that way, but the man is an enigma. I could just as easily see him as a thrill freak, adrenaline junky. Here’s the thing about Misha that I have a hard time getting over, the thing that makes me very aware of his unsuitability as a boyfriend or even as a friend.

He’s closed off.

One minute he’s smiling at me, and the next I see something in him that chills my core. I like him, but he’s too much for me.

He shrugs and continues eating as I sip my water.

“I like money, Irina, and I always have. It’s easier to live when you don’t have to think of such trivialities, and I like winning too. My sole focus has always been my family and success, and that will never change, angel,” he says seriously.

I take the words as a warning and shiver lightly when his eyes hit mine and I’m instantly trapped in the blue depths.

“You know we cannot be friends.”

I can see him overtaking me so easily, with so little effort that I’m breathless at the thought.

“You want to know why we cannot be friends, angel?” he asks softly, bringing my eyes back to his.

“Because you want to have sex with me?” I ask cheekily, trying to lighten the mood that’s suddenly fallen around us.

Those blue eyes meet mine and I freeze, suddenly uncomfortable and even more afraid of his answer. Gone is the kind, funny, amused Misha, and in his place is a man I have never met before.

His face is devoid of all expression and closed off in a way that frankly makes me itch to run. He’s looking at me in the most possessive way.

“Most certainly yes, I want to spread you out on my bed and eat you to my heart’s content before I fuck you into the mattress,” he says quietly.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He smirks, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed sigh that sets my alarm bells ringing. “But mostly we cannot be friends because I refuse to be just friends with my own wife, angel.”

I choke on my first sip of coffee and spray a dark stain all over the wooden table, coughing fitfully as I try to dispel the liquid from my lungs. Did I just hear him correctly? And why the hell am I not laughing my ass off like I should be?

“What?”

Misha just smiles triumphantly and raises his hand where a platinum band rests on his left finger.

“We were married last night, angel. You are mine.”

I don’t question him. For some reason, I know he would never lie about something this important. Instead, I let my eyes roll back as my faculties leave me.

Oh hell, I hope when I wake up this has all been a bad dream.

Misha

She’s out cold and not stirring as I silently pace the tiny apartment, battling back the irritation I feel at this response. It’s not great for my ego having my new wife pass out cold at the thought of being shackled to me.

I bet Lauren Duncan wouldn’t mind being married to me. In fact, I recall just a few weeks ago when she tried to trap me with a pregnancy scare that would have been laughable if I hadn’t been so pissed at the time.

“Oh God, please tell me it was a dream,” I hear from the sofa, my anger rising a little more when she lifts her head to look at me and promptly flops back down with a groan, her arm flung over her eyes in a dramatic pose. “What have you done?”

“Me? If I recall, you almost ate my face off when the justice of the peace married us. I have done only what you agreed to last night,” I growl, stalking her way.

I want her. Now. And she’s having a fit about being my wife.

“But I don’t even remember!”

“Too bad. I do and you most definitely said yes, angel.”

I’m on the move with her in my arms before she can make a sound, and I’m throwing her onto the bed before she can move. And then I let go of it all—the guilt and anger and desperation I felt last night when she was all over that little punk in the club, her ass grinding into him as they moved together on the dance floor.

“Misha—”

“I will have you now. Do not argue. I know you want me just as much, yes?”

She blushes and shakes her head at me, but I see the accelerated breaths she’s trying to calm and the way she keeps glancing at my cock.

“You do, angel. I can see it in the way your blush spreads to your breasts and the way your nipples peak. Are you wet between your legs?” I growl, pushing my briefs down in a blatant display of control that has her pupils flaring brightly.

She wants me. I can see it, scent it, taste it on the air as I stalk towards her, my control almost fracturing when she licks her lips and her thighs clench together.

“Misha, I—”

“
Nyet,
wife,” I murmur, grasping the hem of her ratty shirt and pushing up, ignoring her protests as I divest her of the offensive fabric and attack her pants.

She’s going nuts by the time I have her naked, and I almost laugh at her embarrassment, just barely holding back when she tries to cover herself and shield what is mine.

“No, angel, let me see what is mine,” I murmur throatily, pinning her hands to the mattress beside her head, my knees cradling her hips to keep her still.

“Don’t…”

I don’t listen to a word as I lower my mouth slowly and give her an exquisitely gentle kiss before pulling back to survey the bounty beneath me.

I have the crazy urge to wrap her up and hide her from the world, from all eyes except mine.

“You have a wondrous body, Irina Novac,” I breathe, leaning down to run my nose from her neck to her breasts, paying attention to the scent of her skin as I flick my tongue out for a taste.

I keep that up for a good while until she’s writhing beneath me, her breaths panting and uneven before I pull back and look up, holding her eyes as my mouth opens gently over her nipple.

The contact is explosive, and I growl my approval when she moans long and loudly and pushes herself closer, demanding more.

I give it immediately, loving her hard nipples over and over till she’s keening and I feel crazed for her, and then I pay homage to a belly and thighs that are soft and comforting.

My face goes to her flesh and I revel in her silky drag over my face before venturing lower and resting my cheek at her mons, trying to regain myself.

“You are so beautiful, my angel,” I whisper, opening my mouth and breathing in the musky scent wafting from her wet folds. Irina, my angel, moans again, and I look up to meet her dazed eyes, needing that intimate contact as I lower my mouth and flick the very tip of my tongue over her core, growling at the feel and taste of her petals enveloping my tongue.

“God, that’s….ahh”

I breathe against her flesh, licking and sucking, drawing out her cream in a frenzy when my balls start aching and my cock is throbbing with my heartbeat.

When she’s screaming, pulling at my hair, and so wet that I feel her thighs slide over my cheeks, I rear up and kiss her as I place my crown at her core and push in slightly, my teeth grinding.

She feels so good, so right when I regain control and push in again. I feel my brow bead with sweat and my arms tremble. But she’s with me, I see it in her flushed face and the look of absolute adoration she gives me when I finally settle and fill her fully.

She was pure, and just knowing that has my balls threatening to explode. I want her to love sex with me, to crave it as much as I do.

So I do her right, pulling out slowly and going back in with care, pumping, circling, over and over till I feel, see, and taste nothing but my wife. I’m submerged in bliss when she lets go beneath me and throws her hips back at me, her cries spurring me on as I feel the fluttering deep within her go from small tremors to hard, sucking swallows.

“Misha?”

“Shh, my angel, let it go, feel it,” I grate through my teeth, letting myself pound into her welcoming warmth.

It feels so good as I wrench her hips up and bang into her, seeking her climax as brutally as I seek my own.

When she does finally tense and scream her release, her sheath squeezing my shaft, I feel that last piece click into place and I release into her, praying for all I am worth that my seed floods her womb and does what my desperate, crazy mind needs it to.

I come for ages, more than I ever have before, my jerking thrusts sending every last drop as deep and hard as I can get it. It’s painful in its intensity, and so raw that when I finally regain my sense and find the strength to move I realize I’ve collapsed on her fully.

“Angel, sorry, I—”

“Don’t you dare move a muscle, Misha Novac,” she snarls breathily, her legs locking around my hips to pull me back into her. “I just had sex for the first time and I need cuddling.”

“I should cuddle you, angel, without killing you. Let me turn.”

But she refuses, pulling me in closer and sighing so loudly, it ruffles my hair where my face is plastered to her neck.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” she finally says after minutes of nothing but silent intimacy, her legs unwrapping as she pushes me away.

“Angel—”

“Why? Why go to all this trouble for a screw—”

“
Nyet
! If I had wanted just a screw or a good time in bed, you would have been under me moments after we met, Irina. Never say these things when you speak of yourself again, angel. I will not allow it,” I yell, my glow completely vanishing.

Last night I looked at the smarmy prick touching her, her mouth curving in a friendly smile, and I felt my world crumbling at my feet. I had to do something.

“Misha. This is crazy. We got drunk and got married in a heartbeat, though only God knows how that’s even possible.”

How? I’ve had plan B ready and waiting since I walked into her shop and saw the world’s best ass taunting me. That damn marriage licence has been burning a hole in my pocket for days.

“We will be good together, angel. We’re friends, yes? And we’re good in bed,” I purr, rolling into her with a growl against her pink nipple.

Her shudder of need gratifies me, settling some of the nerves I’ve been battling all morning and I grin, holding myself over her to meet her eyes.

“We can have a good life, angel, we can.”