Page 21 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Audrey

T he knock startles me. It’s gentle, barely there, but after the nightmare earlier… I can’t help my heart pounding in my chest. Waking up to an empty house in the middle of the day after dreaming of Sal hunting me down wasn’t ideal. It took everything in me to resist texting Konstantin…

And I’d failed.

I’m still holding my breath when I open the door, not sure what I expect—another shouting match, another bloody confrontation. Sal’s threats still ring in my ears, echoing from every surface of the house after that nightmare. Only this time around, he threatened to cut the baby out of me.

Instead, it’s Lev.

And behind him—three more men. All quiet, all enormous. All dressed in charcoal and black, as if the mob has a standard uniform. This gets a smile from me that I try to hide, and Lev quirks an eyebrow.

He doesn’t say a word, unsurprisingly. But the others… they nod at me, one of them giving the smallest smile, as if to say we’re not here to hurt you . Not unless someone makes us.

“Uh…” I glance behind me, at the house that I’m about to leave because of a silly dream. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never had nightmares before. “Is it… he’s fine with this…?”

Lev nods, then takes his phone out, typing effortlessly for a moment. A modulated voice sounds out: “Mr. Martynov would like you to spend the night at his home, Audrey, if you’re comfortable with that. He is unfortunately unable to stay here overnight due to a meeting this morning.”

It’s so professional, so unlike what I imagine Lev would ever speak like, that I just stare for a moment. When I’d texted Konstantin earlier to see if he could come be with me, there was no reply. I didn’t expect this.

“Is he mad?”

Lev doesn’t answer. Instead, he just gestures.

Come.

I stare at them for another second and then sigh. There’s no point in arguing. I don’t even change out of the soft cotton lounge dress I fell asleep in after working at the remote office today. I just grab my phone, a cardigan, and my purse.

When I step outside, Lev is already walking, the other men falling in around me like I’m some kind of princess—or prisoner.

It feels excessive. But… sweet. In a twisted, only-Konstantin way.

They’re protecting me. He’s protecting me. I’m not sure I’ve ever had someone do that, and it finally starts to dawn on me that maybe Konstantin really meant what he said. Maybe there’s a world where I don’t feel so alone anymore…

Or maybe you’re still dreaming, a small voice sounds in my head.

The car is sleek and black, idling beneath the streetlight even though it’s not quite dark enough for them yet. No license plate visible. The windows are tinted black, darker than what’s legal, but that’s never stopped Konstantin before.

The inside smells like leather and cedar and something else. Him, maybe.

I slide into the back seat and let the silence settle around me. The doors click shut. Lev sits across from me in the rear-facing seat, watching me like I might disappear.

I think I fall asleep again—somewhere in the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road. I’m exhausted, wrung out. The last few days have bled me dry. Turns out growing a baby does that to you—takes every ounce of your energy.

When I wake up, the car has stopped outside of Konstantin’s townhouse. Lev gets out, opens my door, and waits.

As I step out onto the sidewalk, hesitating, this suddenly feels even more ridiculous: texting a crime lord about a nightmare.

“He will arrive shortly. If you need anything, I will be down in the security room. You can use the intercom or text me.” That modulated voice again; I watch as Lev turns away, leaving me in the foyer, and heads down to a lower level.

Text him? Obviously he doesn’t know about Konstantin’s rule—that he be the only contact in my phone. Still, it makes sense… if he’s going to have Lev watching out for me, practically stalking me, I might as well have the guy’s number.

Just in case.

Slipping my shoes off, I wander the townhouse, or at least the floor I’m on, before making my way to the kitchen. The nightmare has worn off as I once again take in the opulence of Konstantin’s home. It’s exquisite. Nana would have died for this kitchen.

She also would’ve died if she knew who I was dating. Or… sleeping with. Ugh.

The kitchen is gorgeous, but it’s lacking something, and I realize what it is right away. There’s a sudden, overwhelming urge to give back, and even as I begin opening drawers and rummaging around, I mutter to myself: “Must be the hormones. This is ridiculous.”

But I find aprons hanging in a closet perfectly flush with the wall, all the ingredients I need, all the tools. Of course, I’m assuming Konstantin has cooks, and they would without a doubt make sure all the necessities were here.

After staring into the massive refrigerator for a few mindless moments, trying to ignore the expensive champagne and the urge to down a glass (not allowed), I juggle some peaches against my belly and let them roll onto the counter.

It’s not long before I have the makings for a peach cobbler, and the kitchen looks like a real kitchen. And smells like it, thanks to the cinnamon. The oven warms and when it beeps I slide the cobbler in, dust my palms on the apron, and consider cleaning up.

In another surge of emotion, I let out a small, panicky laugh. God, this is so silly. I went from padding accounts for a construction company this morning to hair tied up in a messy bun, barefoot, covered in flour.

Like some kind of Stepford wife who wandered into a mafia hideout.

But I feel safe. Like the nightmare never happened, like Sal never happened to me to begin with.

It’s terrifying.

And when I hear the door open and the unmistakable sound of Konstantin’s footsteps, the click of his heeled boots. My heart doesn’t leap in fear.

It… flutters.

When he steps into the kitchen, his eyes catch on mine immediately.

Then drop.

To the apron.

To the bump.

My stomach is just beginning to show, and I cover it self-consciously.

He stops walking, like I’ve knocked the air out of him.

“Audrey.”

It’s not a greeting. It’s a need.

I swallow, turning back to the counter. “I hope you like cinnamon. I didn’t ask.

I just… needed to do something. To take my mind off…

I’m sorry I texted you,” I blurt out. “I think the hormones are affecting my dreams. They’re so much more vivid, and I was alone in the house.

If this is weird or, Lev said you’re busy tomorrow, I can just go home… ”

Turning away, I try to ignore the heat of embarrassment on my cheeks.

Home.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, I feel him behind me. Not touching. Just… looming.

And then his hand is on my hip. Firm. Possessive.

The mess is completely forgotten. I lean into him, my back pressed to his chest.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you,” I murmur. “I thought it was silly…”

“It wasn’t silly. I didn’t want to text.” His voice is low. Gravel and silk. “If I could destroy your nightmares, Audrey, I would. You know that?”

I nod, and he presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his beard scraping gently.

“You look… domesticated.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t ruin it. Honestly, I’m not much of a baker. I can manage this and maybe chocolate chip cookies.”

“No.” His hand slides up, pressing flat over my belly. “I mean it.”

I close my eyes. The kitchen smells like sugar, but he smells like danger. Like power. Like inevitability. And when he turns me around, when he lifts me onto the counter without a word, I don’t protest.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, his hands pushing up the apron, the lounge dress, “I can’t chase your nightmares away, but maybe I can make you forget them.” His mouth finds the curve of my jaw. He kisses me like he owns me—like this was always the plan. And I want it.

Konstantin parts my legs and breathes, “I love the way you look like this. Coming home to you, barefoot and…” His hand ghosts over my belly again, settles between my legs, knuckles pressed against my center. “I want you.”

I whisper, “Then have me.”

Without hesitation, I pull his shirt over his head, only vaguely intrigued that it’s a t-shirt and relatively dirty. He smells of salt, sweat, musk, and dirt.

The combination makes me wet.

Not knowing what he’s been doing to get so dirty, for his muscles to be so tight as I run my hands over them, makes me want him. I want the safety and the danger and the man who sends four armed men to walk me to a car.

His fingers undo the knot of the apron, and it falls to my waist. Another twist, and the button at the back of my neck is undone; mouth devouring mine, Konstantin pulls the dress down my shoulders, exposing my breasts.

They’ve been heavier lately, uncomfortable, and I flinch involuntarily. His dark eyes find mine, asking me to trust him.

Leaning forward, I give myself to him. Without question.

His hands cup my full breasts, gently, reverently. This isn’t the punishing, bruising massage that has turned me on before, the grip that owns me as he bounces me on his cock.

He kisses along my collarbone, his free hand sliding up the skirt of the apron and my dress, fingers hooking into my underwear. I’m so exhausted, foggy, turned on, that all I can do is groan and wriggle as he pulls them down my legs.

The he nudges between my knees.

“You’re sure?” I ask, glancing down at my flowered belly and the dirty counter.

Konstantin growls. He doesn’t seem to care that the work jeans he has on are about to get powdered, not when he flicks open the button, undoes the zip, and hefts his already hard cock into his hand.

I watch as he pumps it once, twice.

A glistening of precum drools at the tip. The sight makes my pussy clench, and I scoot forward on the counter eagerly, holding onto his shoulders.

Wrapping an arm under my ass, he heaves me up and manages to drop me on his cock in one forceful move.

The sensation of being stretched and filled is so unexpected that I gasp, the nightmare disappearing from my mind, nervous system taken over by the surge of pleasure that rushes to my toes and the top of my head.

With a moan, I try to gyrate against him. Konstantin buries his face in my neck and bounces me on his hips, my thick thighs wrapped around him, trembling from the effort and from the toe-curling sensation of being pounded over and over.

“Mine,” he murmurs, kissing his way down my tender breasts. “Mine, mine, mine.”

It isn’t long before I come. All day my body has been exhausted, on edge, nerves wracked, and as his hands grip my ass it’s easy to fall over the edge, not even realizing as I mirror back to him: “Yours. Yours, yours. ”

When it’s over, when we both fall against the counter, Konstantin’s cum dripping down my thighs, it’s all I can do to stay awake.

He realizes and carries me gently to the bedroom, giving me a clean robe to wear. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulls up the comforter, then brushes a piece of hair from my face.

“I’ll kill him,” he says softly.

My eyes snap open. “What?”

“Sal. The moment you say the word.”

“I thought you already planned to,” I answer drily. Fully aware that I’ve already asked him once not to kill Sal.

His mouth twists. “That was the nightmare, wasn’t it? He was the nightmare?”

My eyelids feel so heavy, I’m not sure I can keep them open. I nod, hand searching his out under the comforter. In that moment, half asleep, I feel an odd mix of emotions: content; fulfilled; unsure; and like all I want, more than anything, is for him to hold me.

Before I have the time to fear that desire, sleep overtakes me.