Monstrous Urges: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

I used to hate moving. After my great-aunt Florence died, I did it more frequently than I would have liked, switching between cheap off-campus apartments to save money.

I knew I had the trust fund, and I knew how much was in there. But I never wanted to touch it unless strictly necessary. I think I always knew deep down that I wanted to use it to build a dream one day.

So, yeah, when I was a freshman at NYU, I could have bought a sick fucking penthouse near the park or in Soho and lived like a queen. At the very least, I could have stayed in the dorms. But it was cheaper to live off-campus, as long as I didn’t mind somewhat sketchy neighborhoods. As one location gentrified and the rent went up, I’d move to another sketchy area, all in the name of saving that nest egg for when I really needed it.

Hell, I didn’t even tell Gabriel and Alistair about the twenty-two million sitting in the trust until we’d decided for sure that we were going to set out on our own.

But moving meant starting over. And that always reminded me of when my entire life started over: when I had to relearn how to do everything. How to think. How to remember things.

How to grieve for parents I didn’t recall.

Anyway, that’s why I’ve always hated moving. Except this time, for the first time, there’s an odd sort of lifting feeling in my heart as it happens. This time, that whole “starting over” thing feels oddly hopeful and optimistic.

And yes, I fully realize the irony there, given that I’m moving into the house of a Bratva kingpin and potential psychopath who wants me to play his wife.

The only things I ask Fumi to pack up from my apartment back home are a few books, some clothing favorites like the Velvet Guillotine tour t-shirt I love to sleep in, and a couple of framed photos—me and Great-Aunt Florence, the brothers and I, a terrific shot of Fumi and me at her and Gabriel’s wedding.

But from the office, I request a lot.

I mean, I’m not really here as Drazen’s “legal consultant”. And though Fumi and Alistair—and Elsa before she gives birth—are going to be picking up a lot of slack back in New York, I’ve had a lot of my work shipped here for me to tackle from this side of the Atlantic.

Drazen gives me use of one of the several—and there are tons of them—unused rooms of his sprawling mansion; or palazzo, I suppose, since we’re in Italy. The huge, lime-washed room with terra-cotta tiles covered with a gorgeous blue and white area rug opens onto a balcony that looks out over the Tyrrhenian Sea toward Sicily and Corsica.

I mean, there’s worse places to work from home.

When the boxes from Crown and Black arrive, I get to work setting up my new office. I’m also expected to have sit-downs with Yaelle, Drazen’s female guard, who I’ve learned is one of his top underlings.

It’s not lost on me that not a single one of his men comes near me. There’s Milos with his gruff, somewhat leery look. But even he never comes that close, let alone touches me in even the most basic way. Like, not even a handshake.

Actually, I’m fairly sure that the only people who’ve touched me at all—again, even in passing like a handshake or brushing fingers while being handed something—are the only other woman who seems to be on this island…

…and Drazen. Except, he hasn’t touched me at all since that night he chased me through the dark and fucked me like an animal.

The fact that I’m crestfallen that hasn’t happened again since is a good little reminder for me to inquire about Dr. Jesnick’s schedule going forward for virtual sessions.

Over the next week, I settle into a routine. I wake up to find coffee waiting for me next to a pre-selected outfit, including underwear. The first day, I ignored the “suggestion” and put on something else. Drazen met me at the door as I was leaving my bedroom, glanced at me, and told me to change unless I wanted him stripping me at the breakfast table.

Honestly?

Tempting.

But also a little scary.

Most of the mornings, Drazen is there on the little veranda off the kitchen to eat breakfast with me—usually in silence, only punctuated by him taking random business calls or tapping away on his phone.

Terrifying Bratva kingpin he may be, I will say, the guy works. And that’s coming from my workaholic perspective.

As a lawyer, the guy would be insane.

After breakfast, Drazen usually disappears to locations unknown for an undetermined length of time. Part of me sorely wants to ask him where he goes, and what the daily schedule of a mafia king looks like. But on the third day, when he sits down across from me at dinner with blood still on his tattooed knuckles, I decide it’s maybe best not to ask.

During the day, I set up my office and organize the paperwork I’ve been getting from New York. I break for lunch, and I have those meetings with Yaelle, who gives me a crash course in the politics involving Drazen and the Iron Table.

There are, apparently, five seats, occupied by the heads of five Russian Bratva families: Solovyova, Nikolayev, Nikitin, Antonov, and Belov. These are the people I need to impress when I’m “presented” to them soon: the people I need to convince that I’m Annika Brancovich.

Or maybe, it’s just that I need to convince myself that I’m her…

Drazen hasn’t said a word about his business with these people, or why it’s so important for me to impress them. But Yaelle is a way worse poker player than her boss. I haven’t guessed the details yet, but I’m pretty sure this involves a rivalry or dispute between Drazen and Vadik Belov, based purely on the hateful, venomous way Yaelle says the latter’s name.

After that, I eat dinner with Drazen, again, usually in silence. Then he dismisses me—I mean he literally says “you may go”—to my room, where I usually read or catch up on some more work before going to bed.

By day six of this routine, I’m going out of my mind. I do like having a schedule. But compared to the frantic life I have in New York, there’s so many hours of the day where I’m just doing nothing at all that it feels like I’m losing it.

At least I’m not sleepwalking. At least, I don’t think I am.

I’ve been aware the last few days of Drazen’s mood getting blacker and blacker. I have no idea what it’s about, but it seems to be business-related. By the fourth day, he’s glaring into his food as he eats in silence, occasionally checking his phone. By the fifth, he’s even more bitter. The day after that, he’s a downright tyrant, and toxic to be around. So I eat dinner in my room that night and send word to Drazen via Yaelle that I’ve got some work to catch up on.

The following morning, I open my eyes to see an outfit that wakes me up even before I can get into the coffee sitting next to it. An outfit that brings heat to my face and the words “hell fucking no” to my lips: a sheer demi-cup bra with matching sheer thong panties, complete with black thigh-high stockings and towering heels.

That’s all.

So, to quote the great Taylor Crown from four seconds ago: “hell fucking no.”

I’m not wearing this to breakfast.

Instead, I walk out onto the veranda, coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, in cute, comfortable linen shorts and a white collared top with the sleeves rolled up. Drazen’s glaring pure malice at his phone. When he slams it down and looks up to see me, his eyes get even angrier.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

I shrug as I sit across from him at the little metal table. “Clothes?”

“Not the ones I had laid out for you.”

I snort. “Very observant.” I turn to look out over the ocean, sighing thoughtfully as I bring the coffee mug to my lips. “I’ve been wondering. Who is it that leaves the outfits for me in the morning? I mean I would assume Yaelle, because I can’t imagine you letting Milos or any of your men into my room while I’m sleeping, considering you won’t even let them look at me when I’m awake. But is it you? I mean, I have a hard time seeing you as a secret expert on women’s clothing, but⁠—”

“Would you care to explain why you seem to be under the impression that it’s acceptable for you to break the rules of our arrangement?”

“Is dressing me a rule?” I snap.

“Yes,” he grunts back. “As is your obedience.”

Something twists and tugs in my core.

“What you laid out was hardly appropriate.”

“For?” he growls.

I shift in my seat, my bottom lip catching between my teeth. “For breakfast.”

I look away, but I can feel his eyes boring into me. Sure enough, when I look back, he’s looking at me with such ferocity that I shiver.

“What makes you think I wanted you to wear that because I thought it was appropriate breakfast attire?”

I clear my throat and sip my coffee. “I can’t read you at all, actually,” I mutter. “So I guess I assumed it was open to interpretation.” I take another sip. “All right, why did you want me to dress like that?”

“Because I’ve had a rough couple of days with work,” he growls. “Because I wanted you in what I picked for you, in here, on your fucking knees, with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

I almost spit out my coffee, my eyes ripping back to his, staring at him with heat on my cheeks. Drazen’s face stays completely neutral as he pushes his chair back from the table. My eyes go wide as his veined, tattooed hands drop to his pants, undoing the button and fly. My mouth falls open in shock as the man pulls his huge, thick cock out of the tight confines of his linen pants, his hand wrapped around the thick base and the fat head swollen and glistening with precum.

Shamefully, horribly, and instantly, I’m wet.

“Outfit aside,” he growls, smirking. “Now is when you can get on your knees, come here, and open up that pretty mouth so that I can fuck it.”

My breath becomes ragged and choked. My face burns hotly as my eyes fixate on his dick before I manage to pull my gaze up to his face.

I’ll admit, for a hot second, I almost slide right off the chair at the thrilling mix of emotions that he seems to bring out in me: the potent cocktail of fear and excitement. The thrill of the commanding, demanding, dominant tone. The way him saying something like that, and doing something like that, makes me want to throw my coffee in his face and call him a pig.

But also how it makes me want to drop to my knees and do exactly as he commands.

Plus, after what happened the other night and then a full of week of nothing, I’ll admit it: I’m horny. And I mean, the man is a freaking god with a devil’s cock.

Still, something inside of me balks.

What the fuck, self. I mean, have a little self-respect?

So I shove the filthy impulse and the aching desire away. I swallow the lump in my throat and fill my lungs with air as I force myself to look away.

“Mm, I don’t think so.”

The veranda is utterly silent except for the soft cry of a seagull somewhere and the rhythmic crash of the waves at the bottom of the cliffs below.

I force myself to keep looking calmly out over the water when I hear his chair scraping back across the floor, to keep on sipping my coffee and ignoring him.

That is, until he becomes unignorable.

I whimper when I feel the fist grab a handful of my hair. He pulls hard, sending my breath gasping as he yanks my head around so that I’m looking up at him. My eyes bulge wide, my mouth falling open as I come face to face with the huge, swollen, heavy cock hanging thickly right in front of my face.

“You seem to be under the impression that our arrangement is a democratic one,” he growls. “One where you have a vote. Where your opinion matters.”

I start to open my mouth to toss something back at him. The second I do, I whimper as he grabs my jaw in his powerful hand and pushes his thumb between my lips. I reflexively go to shove him away. But his grip is seriously strong. And then I feel his thumb stroke over my tongue and across my lips.

The sensation is…electric.

Disorienting, too. But mostly, it’s such a sensual, weirdly intimate feeling that my pulse skips and my skin tingles.

My nipples tighten.

Drazen’s eyes lock with mine. He doesn’t say a word, but his thumb begins to push in and out of my mouth, stroking across my lips and tongue with every move.

My lips close around it as if on impulse.

“Good girl,” he growls quietly.

Fuck.

The raw, needy, achy throb inside me explodes back to life. My thighs clench involuntarily, and I shiver as I feel my sensitive nipples pebble against the cup of my bra.

Slowly, his eyes still locked on mine, Drazen slips his thumb out of my mouth. He keeps his hand cupping my jaw, his wet thumb pulling my lower lip down.

His hips push toward me. A breathy moan escapes my throat as I feel the swollen, velvety head of his cock push between my wet lips. I shiver, opening my jaw even wider as he pushes his thickness into my mouth.

Drazen grunts loudly, the deeply masculine sound thrilling me as he suddenly shoves his cock further into the back of my throat. I sputter and whimper, but when he pulls out and then does it again, that needy ache in me only grows hungrier.

His velvety crown pushes over my tongue, hitting the back of my throat again. His massive girth stretches my lips wide, forcing my jaw open. I shiver as his hand slides into my hair, and when he wraps it tightly around his fist, my core throbs.

“That’s a good girl,” he growls, his eyes stabbing down into mine as he towers over me. “Don’t suck it,” he murmurs darkly. “Fuck it with your mouth.”

I know it should be demeaning. Insulting.

But it’s not. Or worse, maybe it is, and that’s precisely what I like about it. Either way, as he growls the words and starts to fuck my mouth, the sensation that washes over me is pure lust.

Drazen’s hips thrust, his fat cock driving in and out of my wet mouth as he growls deeply and loudly. And fuck, that’s hot. Men hardly ever voice their pleasure, and hearing these grunts from this viciously dark and electrically terrifying man sends raw power coursing through my veins.

“Pull your shorts down. Now,” he hisses.

My skin tingles as I reach down, unbuttoning the linen shorts. My ass raises a little bit from the chair, but he never lets go of my hair, and his hips never stop slowly thrusting his swollen dick in and out of my mouth.

My shorts hit the floor and I kick them off.

“Touch yourself,” Drazen murmurs darkly. “Panties to the side, and two fingers fucking that greedy little pussy.”

Jesus.

My pulse is humming in my ears, my core clenching tightly as my hand drops between my thighs. My eyes raise to his, my cheeks heating as my fingers slip under the gusset of the panties and tug it aside. I shiver and whimper as a finger slips up and down my slick lips.

Instantly, Drazen reaches down, rips open my top, and slides his hand into my bra to cup one of my breasts. He viciously twists my nipple, making me gasp and choke on his cock.

“Two fingers, my little slut,” he grunts. “Not one.”

My eyes roll back as I do as he says. My back arches, my thighs quivering as I add a second finger.

“Fuck yourself,” he growls. “Let me hear how messy your greedy cunt gets while you’re swallowing my cock.”

I moan around him as he starts to thrust harder, my fingers sliding easily in and out of my wetness.

“Take them out.”

I don’t even think about what he’s saying or ordering anymore. It’s like I’m in a trance—like he’s cast this spell over me that takes away reason and self-control.

I whimper in protest as my fingers slide out from between my legs.

“Now bring your hand up. Show me,” he murmurs.

I raise my hand and show him the glistening slickness on my fingers, my eyes watching his as I moan around his cock.

Slowly, Drazen slides himself from between my lips.

“You’ve made a fucking mess of your fingers, my little slut,” he murmurs. “Clean them off.” His eyes glint hungrily. “On my cock.”

I shiver as our eyes lock. My hand drops to his cock, and he grunts as I drag my fingers up and down his shaft, wiping my own arousal off on him as my face throbs with heat.

“Now clean up the mess you’ve made of my cock,” Drazen says slowly, his voice rumbling and deep as his eyes stab into mine. “With your tongue.”

And I do. Shamefully. Eagerly. With him, I submit, willingly surrendering all the control I usually have on my life and the world around me. My tongue extends from my mouth as I lean forward and drag it up and down his cock. I taste myself as I lick his dick clean, feeling him throb under my tongue as his hand tightens in my hair.

“Good girl.”

I whimper when he suddenly shoves his cock back into my throat, his muscles clenching.

“Play with your messy little cunt, baby girl,” he snarls. “Two fingers while I fuck this pretty mouth.”

My eyes roll back. Heat, shame, excitement, and fiery lust explode through my system as I eagerly thrust my fingers into myself. The lewd wet sounds of his cock ramming over my tongue and my own fingers fucking my pussy fill the veranda. Drazen’s thrusts get harder and faster, and the heat building inside of me throbs hotter and fiercer, until suddenly, I can’t stop it.

My face caves with shame and desire as I explode, my walls clamping down around my fingers as I grind my palm into my clit. I spasm in the chair, writhing and twisting and whimpering as he fucks my mouth with a snarl on his lips.

With a low grunt, his cock swells even harder and thicker between my lips. I whimper when I feel the first thick sticky splash of his cum filling my mouth and roping across my tongue. He pumps and explodes again down my throat before he pulls out and groans as he strokes his glistening cock. His hot cum splatters across my tongue and my lips, dripping down my chin and onto my cleavage before he pushes his cock back between my sticky lips again. Another rope of cum lands across my tongue as he grits his teeth, our eyes locked.

Slowly, Drazen pulls his still-hard cock from my mouth. I’m shaking from a mix of confusion, shame, and the aftershocks of my orgasm as his hand gently cups my jaw again. His thumb drags over my chin, pushing his cum over my skin until the thumb slips between my lips.

He doesn’t have to ask. Instantly, my tongue swirls over it, tasting his cum.

He does it again with another streak, then another, pushing all the cum he’s just sprayed over my lips and chin into my mouth as I lick his thumb clean like a complete whore.

Fuck me, I’m loving every single filthy second of it.

When he’s done, Drazen’s eyes are still locked on mine as he tucks his cock back into his pants and zips up.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, bringing a pleased flush to my cheeks. He leans down, his mouth teasing up my neck until his lips brush my ear. “Wear what I fucking tell you to wear, when I tell you to wear it,” he growls quietly. “Or next time, it’ll be your tight little asshole that I empty my cum into.”