Possessive Boss, page 11
Then, again, maybe I should consider a little hostility when I perform—anything to get forced out of here. I'd rather be back at the house, cooped up inside, than giving a show to horny men.
"Dance!" Anton shouts when I don't move from my position on the platform. I feel like a wet noodle. I'm not the least bit graceful or sexy. Well, I don't consider myself to be sexy. I've got hips and curves. A kid came out of me, and I never got back to being a size two. Those days are long gone.
I swing my hips to the music, and a group of guys whistle and catcall at my moves. I don't like the attention, but Anton doesn't give a shit about what I want. He grabs the microphone, intent on humiliating me further. "Give it up for our virgin on the dance floor, Layla."
Do all the girls have fake dancer names? It's not the worst idea. Me dancing on stage, however, is.
A handful of guys hoot and clap. Everyone's attention is on me, including Bailey and Ava's. Both girls are shooting daggers at me, along with a handful of other dancers I haven't met, all female, all wearing similar attire and practically naked.
Each song gets easier, dancing, swaying, gyrating my hips, and accepting tips from drunk men looking for a bit of pleasure. I don't hate it as much as I thought, not as the night grows louder and rowdier.
I may be center stage on the central platform, but not everyone's attention is on me. It's a welcoming relief to dance and pretend no one is watching.
But they are staring, gazes lingering longer than they should, eyeing every ounce of my bare skin.
I glimpse at Bailey as she lowers herself on the platform, allowing the men to reach her G-string and insert a wad of cash.
I imitate her as if she were a piece of art and mimic the maneuver. A man with a sharp nose and thin, graying hair smacks my ass as he puts a one-dollar bill in my panties. "How much to buy you for the entire night?" he asks. His voice is rough and sends a disturbing chill down my spine.
"She's not for sale," Nikita seethes, grabbing the man by the lapels and landing a punch square across his jaw before shucking him out the door.
When did Nikita get here?
The club is crowded, and with the spotlight rotating between the platforms, it's hard to see more than a few feet in front of me. I suppose that's on purpose. They want me to pay attention to the customers willing to tip.
Nikita stalks back in a fury, his face red as he approaches the platform but stands on the ground below me. "My office, now!" he snaps.
My breath catches in my throat, and he offers me his hand, helping me down from the platform. He doesn't look the slightest bit happy to see me. Does he think that I'm not cut out as a dancer? Was he unhappy with my performance? I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of it.
His hand is warm and strong. He helps me down and doesn't let go of my hand until we're upstairs in his office. He slams the door shut behind us.
"What the hell were you doing?"
"Dancing," I whisper, surprised by his tone and anger. His face is red, and his nostrils flare as he glances me up and down. "Anton told me I had to dance. That he needed a girl to cover the floor."
Nikita laughs darkly and runs a hand through his hair. He steps closer, invading my personal space. He smells musky, and I don't intentionally do it, but I inhale, taking a whiff of his masculine scent. My insides swoon, but I hide my desire, not that there's much to hide. Can he see the wetness coated between my thighs?
"You are never to dance in my club again." Nikita is steaming, and he takes a step back, pacing the length of his office. He shrugs out of his jacket, handing me his suit coat. "Put this on."
Is he embarrassed to look at me? "I'm sorry I don't look like your other girls. Like Ava and Bailey." I slip my arms into the sleeves and pull the blazer tight across my chest, folding my arms. I still feel naked under his scrutiny.
"Do you think that's why I'm mad?" Nikita grabs my chin, his eyes pinning me as his gaze lingers on my lips. "No man deserves to look at you like you're a piece of meat and they're starving."
"I seriously doubt anyone was paying that much attention to me." I dismiss his comment. A few guys were leering, but I'm not the most attractive girl downstairs, or the best dancer.
"No one is to look at you the way I do," Nikita says.
My breath catches in my throat. "Excuse me?" I croak. My mouth is dry, and Nikita stalks toward me. I take a step back, bumping into the closed door. I inhale a sharp breath, and Nikita blinks several times before moving me aside and slipping out of the office, slamming the door shut behind himself.
What the hell was that about?
TEN
Nikita
I almost kissed her.
That isn't the only thing that I wanted to do, seeing Lucy dancing on that platform, swaying those sexy hips, her perky breasts peeking out from the sliver of fabric covering her body.
What the hell was Anton thinking, putting her up on the stage to dance?
I guide her aside, and slip out of my office before my raging hard-on forces me to do something regrettable.
Lucy has given no indication that she likes me or wants anything to do with me. She's only sticking around because she needs me to protect her. And I'm not about to soil my reputation or hurt her out of some animalistic need inside me.
Even if she is fucking hot to watch and makes my cock pulsate with her gyrating hips.
I storm down the stairs and find Anton on the club floor. I throw back my fist and land a blow to his face.
"What the fuck, man?" he shouts. Anton is smart enough not to fight back. Not unless he wants to end up dead.
"You put her on the dance floor!"
"Who?" Anton's brow is furrowed until the realization of who I'm talking about hits him. "The new girl?"
"Lucy has no business dancing," I snarl, and he steps out of my way before I can land a second blow to his face. Not that I'm trying, but he's cautious. He takes several quick steps backward toward the hallway, and I follow him. If he's trying to get away, he will be sorely disappointed that I'm not letting him run.
"Two girls called in sick. A third quit recently. I need dancers, and Lucy has a smoking hot body. Didn't she look great on stage?" Anton quips with a wry grin. "Come on, man, thank me for it. You know you've been dying to see her tits and ass."
I land another blow to Anton's face, and while he attempts to duck, he's not fast enough. I spent months in high school wrestling and boxing. I'm well-versed in fighting, whether it's dirty or not. "Don't ever talk about Lucy like that again, and she's off-limits as a dancer."
"Why?" Anton doesn't know when to shut his mouth.
"I'm your fucking boss. I make the rules." That should be reason enough.
He rolls his eyes, and I restrain myself from kneeing him in the groin and making him double over in pain. "Stay away from her. She's mine!" I turn and head back upstairs, pausing as I reach the door to my office.
My heart hammers in my chest. Lucy is just on the other side of the door, waiting for me. I swallow my doubts, yank the door open and stare at her. She's wearing my suit coat, and she looks absolutely fuckable.
She's sitting at the edge of my desk, her legs slightly spread, and while she's wearing a thong, there isn't much under that coat. Lucy is irresistible.
I want to fuck her.
I slam the door shut behind myself, and she leans forward, her hands clenched to the edge of the wooden desk at either side.
The fuck-me pumps don't hurt the ensemble, either. Maybe Anton was on to something, dressing her up, showing her off. But damn, I don't want anyone else looking at her the way I do, the way I want to as I undress her and ravish her.
I long to hear her scream my name as I drive my cock inside her.
Exhaling a breath, she glances me over. "Am I in trouble?" Her cheeks are rosy, her green eyes dark with lust.
Gosh, I wish this was her doing and her fault. Then, I'd have a reason to bend her over my desk and punish her. But she's not the one to blame. Anton is at fault.
I stalk toward the desk, my fingers tangling in her hair, pushing her hair back out of her face. "You're not the one in trouble, Malish," I say.
"Malish?" she asks, tilting her head just slightly.
I don't dare tell her it's a pet name that means baby. She's mine. I don't want to share her with anyone. Her breath teases me, and I lean in but don't kiss her.
The heat between us could set the room ablaze.
Her breathing deepens. She's aroused, and whether it's the dancing or being this close in proximity, I can sense that she wants me. Like an animal in heat, I'm ready to ravage her. But I hold back long enough to ensure there will be no regrets. I'm not forcing this on her.
She works for me.
She's my employee, and she lives under Mikhail's roof. Let's not make things more complicated than they already are, given the circumstances.
"Do you want me?" Lucy whispers, her tongue swiping her bottom lip. Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but I hear all that she has to say and more that she's telling me without words.
"I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you." It's not a lie. At the club, the first time we met, I would have loved to have fucked her in my office. The fantasy is still there, primal.
She grabs me by the tie and pulls me closer. Her lips cover mine, and I let one hand guide her mouth closer, and my other hand wanders down into my suitcoat that she's wearing, between her thighs.
"You're wet," I whisper, feeling her coat my digits. "Is that from dancing or for me?" I ask.
She blushes and glances at my lips as I stand towering over her. "You," her words are soft and sexy. They're my undoing.
I push her panties aside, teasing her lips, and she buries her face in my neck. The moan is heavenly and loud. Thank god the music downstairs is loud, or undoubtedly someone would have heard her scream, even with the nearly soundproof walls.
I cover her lips, pushing my coat off her body, and rip away at the sparkly panties that barely cover her pussy lips. I want to lick, suck, and taste her warmth, but that can wait. Right now, the need to fuck her is overwhelming.
Lucy is an eager participant and slides her legs wider for me, letting me glimpse at her glistening pussy as I tease her lips and circle her clit. She gasps and bucks her hips, unable to hold still. The girl would do well to be tied down and fucked.
Her fingers tug at my belt, attempting to loosen the buckle, but she's practically helpless as I tease her relentlessly, driving her wild.
"Do you want me to fuck you like a good little girl?" I ask.
Her heavy lids open, and she nods, gasping for breath. "Yes, please."
I'm not ready to give in to either of our needs. I want her to be prepared for me when I enter her. I loosen my belt buckle and let my pants drop. Stepping out of my trousers, I glide two digits inside of her warmth. She tightens, and her hips move in unison.
"You're not to come yet," I command.
Lucy whimpers in protest.
"Not until I fuck you with my cock," I say.
"Please, please fuck me." She's restless and raspy. Her voice comes out needy, and her body responds in kind. A beautiful blush covers her chest, her cheeks, all the way down to her glistening, swollen pussy.
She smells incredible, like sex. I want to taste her, touch her, fuck her.
My cock throbs, and I want to fill her and drive myself inside her tight little hole, listening to her beg me to let her come.
Everything else around us disappears. The world ceases to exist while pleasure consumes each of us. I lean down, pushing the sequined triangle aside, taking her nipple into my mouth before plunging my cock inside her warmth.
Her fingernails dig into my shoulder, marking me. Is she claiming me as her own?
She's the only one I want. No other man will ever touch her again. I intend to make her mine forever.
I fuck her, listening to the sweet moans and gasps. The only sounds that reach my ears are hers as she tightens and spasms around me.
Lucy feels so good, so tight and warm. Her trembles bring me closer to the edge. "Fuck," I mutter, trying my damndest to hang on a bit longer. I don't want this to end, and she deserves the best fucking of her life.
"Come with me," Lucy whispers into my ear, and my erection pulsates, my insides nearly ready to explode at her words.
It's like fireworks, a crescendo exploding and erupting at the height of the climax.
Except, it isn't just fireworks.
It's gunshots.
There's gunfire and screams. The one-way glass mirror is riddled with the spray of bullets and screams from down below as the glass cracks and shatters.
I shield Lucy with my body, protecting her from the onslaught of gunfire, glass, and shrapnel spraying the office, pulling her down to the floor to protect her.
"What's going on?" Her voice quivers, and I give her my jacket to wear while she's crouched under my office desk.
I yank up my pants as the mafia bursts in through the office door, guns pointed in our direction. "You're coming with us," Otello shouts. His Italian accent is thick and rough as he gestures for his men to grab Lucy and me.
They shove a black cloth bag over my head, making it impossible to see anything as my arms are thrust behind my back and secured with metal handcuffs. "Don't you dare touch her," I shout at Otello. "I'll kill you!"
He laughs, not the least bit afraid of my threat.
I'm dragged down the stairs. I assume that Lucy is right behind me, but I can't see a damn thing with the thick black bag over my head. I recognize the direction that we're heading, out the back door. The music still blares over the speakers, but the area has been cleared. Are there dead bodies littering the ground? I stumble against something in the darkness.
How many people did they kill to get my attention?
We're thrust outside. The pavement is rough and coarse—gravel. One of the men yanks open a vehicle door, and I'm shoved inside. I'm in the back of a van, the metal floor at my feet. I attempt to sit up and hear Lucy struggling against the men, fighting for her freedom. It won't work. There are too many men.
A moment later, she's locked in the back with me. "Nikita?" her voice wavers and I exhale a breath, doing my best to remain calm.
"Yes," I say, exhaling a heavy breath. "Stay calm. I'll get us out of this situation."
"How?" Lucy squeaks. There's fear in her voice, her breathing, and the slight rattle of the handcuffs as she trembles.
"Just try to breathe," I say. She needs to save her energy for when we have to fight. And undoubtedly, we will have to fight to survive. The mafia isn't going to let us walk away.
"Do you have a plan?" Her voice trembles, and she exhales a loud sigh as she attempts to calm her breathing.
A plan? How about not getting killed? I don't make the joke aloud. I doubt she'd find it particularly humorous while we're restrained in the back of the mafia's van. I shift forward and maneuver the bag off my head to see what we're up against.
The van is dimly lit, and there's a dirty window out the back. The floor is metal. There's nothing but the two of us in the back, nothing that can be used as a weapon.
I shuffle around, and with my hands behind my back, I manage to yank off the cloth bag covering Lucy's head.
"Thanks," she says, glancing up at me. "Any chance you know how to pick a lock?"
I glance out the dirty window, the sunlight reflecting through the small space as I try to gather our location. We haven't been traveling far. Where are they taking us?
"Can we jump out?" Lucy asks.
She's bold.
"We're going too fast," I say as I notice us head onto the highway. "Is my phone still in my coat pocket?" I ask. Lucy has my jacket wrapped around her body.
"My hands are a bit tied up at the moment."
"You don't say?" I stalk toward her, keeping my footing as the vehicle shifts unceremoniously. The driver changes lanes, cutting off another vehicle and sending me right into Lucy.
She's flat on her back, and I'm lying atop her. I'd apologize, but I'm not that sorry about the position, just that we're in this situation, which isn't the least bit my fault. I didn't bring the mafia to the club.
Where the hell is Anton? Is he dead? I didn't get a look at anyone with that damn bag over my head. They should have killed me because when I'm done, they're all dead—every last one of them.
"Nikita, please tell me that's a gun in your pocket." There's a faint smile on her face.
"You're joking at a time like this?" I'm shocked that she can find a little sunshine in a dark situation.
I climb off her form, no easy task with my hands secured at my back. I kneel beside her as she sits, shuffling to lean her back against the vehicle's wall. The paneling clanks as she knocks against it with her metal handcuffs.
The scrape of metal against metal is unpleasant.
"Do you think I can knock these off?"
"No," I say. They're not coming off without a lock pick or a key. Smacking her wrists into the metal paneling, will only injure her. "Don't waste your energy."
"I can't just sit here and wait for them to kill us," Lucy says. She's frantic, and I don't blame her. It's not just anyone who snatched us at gunpoint. It's the mafia.
If there's any chance that Anton got away, maybe he phoned Mikhail for backup? "I need to get to my phone," I say, reminding her that she has my device tucked inside my coat pocket.
"Go for it," she says, pinning me with her stare. She licks her lips, and while I shouldn't be turned on right now, Lucy seems to always get under my skin and fire me up. Whether it's intentional or not.
With my back to her, I use my bound hands to open the jacket she's wearing. My fingers graze her bare skin, and she inhales a sharp breath. I'm not trying to seduce her, but I can't see anything with my back to her, and my fingers brush over her supple skin as I search for my coat pocket. "You're a little low," she says into my ear, "higher."
She gives me instructions, and I swear if this were sexual, she'd have murdered my ego with her up and down, left, and right fiasco as she eventually guides me to my interior jacket pocket.
