Page 63 of The Bratva's Bounty

I don't know how I didn't fucking crash with how well she took me for the remainder of the ride. I nearly pulled over a few times when she somehow worked my pierced cock down her throat, especially when I heard her struggling with it. Her sweet gasps and gags as she choked on my member were like music to my ears. It was so lovely that I couldn't help myself from reaching down and grabbing her head to keep her there a few times, which earned me some smacks to my arm and chest, but the consequences were worth it.

Thankfully, I managed to blow my load before I threw in the towel and pulled over—I did come very close, though. Right as I was slowing the car down to pull over, I felt the familiar squeeze and rush. So, I continued down the road while Nicole sucked out every last drop from me.

When she went to pull off, I stopped her by holding down the back of her head, forcing her to remain pressed against my pelvis. I couldn't tell what her expression was because of our positioning, but her confused hum and muffled protests made it clear that my antics didn't amuse her.

Relaxing in my seat, I patted her growling head. "Since you can't seem to get enough of my cock, then you might as well stay on it." I laughed teasingly, earning a smack to the thigh from Nicole. "Love you too,zhizn moya." My laugh grew louder with amusement the more Nicole reacted.

Luckily for her, we were close to home, so she didn't have to stay like that for long. I don't think she would've complained much, though, because her protesting died down rather quickly. Though, no doubt I'd be paying for this later tonight or within the next few days. But, again, it was worth it.

Once we got home, I took a quick rinse to freshen up and threw on a pair of dark jeans, a fitted tee, and some black combat boots, looking rather casual compared to Nicole's business-casual outfit, which consisted of a powder pink skirt with black edges, a black blouse with a blazer thrown over, and a pair of black ankle boots.

Nicole wanted to change when we entered the house, but I convinced her against it with a teasing idea. Dinner and a fuck in the streets. A little roleplaying never harmed anyone, so it didn't take much to convinceher to play out a date where she'd end up bent over in an alleyway and ravaged by me. The sweet and powerful businesswoman who's looking for love, only to come across a ruthless bratva boss who claims her in a not-so-romantic place after wining and dining her.

Of course, she only agreed if I agreed to one of her ideas, which was to reenact our little moment when she tattooed me. It seemed harmless enough of a trade to me, but in hindsight, I probably should have prodded her for details before agreeing blindly. Oh well, not like she'd kill me or something after all this time. The worst I could think of coming from the scene would be me ending up with her name tattooed on me this time.

After we settled into the car and hit the road, I double-checked with her on our destination. "Are you still sure about your choice?" Well, she had until we were sitting down in the place to change her mind, but I didn't want to end up parking and walking only to bust a U-turn and do the whole dance again. Not that I would nag her about it or make my displeasure known because it would lead us to a pointless argument.

"Yes, I want dim sum, and that's one of the best dim sum places," Nicole answered confidently, beaming at the road with an excited grin. "Seriously, it's the best in terms of quality and quantity for the price, and the atmosphere is so nice." Leaning over to my side of the car, she trapped my arm in hers. "None of the other places stack up to it, and a lot of them left me sorely disappointed. I mean, nearly thirty bucks for four small ass pieces of seafood shumai, and it tasted bleh. Honestly, if I'm paying thirty bucks for any kind of food, it better be a loaded ass plate and taste good, or it better give my mouth an orgasm with one lick."

Don't say it, don't say it, don't—

And my intrusive thoughts won. "You know, for a person who cooks like shit, you sure love food." I better start writing my eulogy because I doubt I'd be leaving this car alive.

Offended, Nicole scoffed loudly and punched my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. "I will put you in the corner, mister," she threatened me playfully. "And my cooking abilities have nothing to do with me liking food. Those two things are completely unrelated," she retorted sassily.

"You can't make good food, yet you enjoy it. I feel like enjoying food and being able to make good food for yourself goes hand in hand." That's how it worked, did it not?

"Honestly, have you been surviving on takeout your whole life?" Now that I thought about it, I only ever saw her eat out or order in when I stalked her. Her trash was constantly filled with local takeout boxes and bags, along with instant meals, chip bags, and all that jazz. Even now, unless I cooked, our meal was some kind of takeout or instant meal that only an absolute idiot could fuck up. Not that I was complaining; she could actually do quite a bit with some packets of ramen and some extra things.

Her nervous chuckle plucked at the air, making me roll my eyes and groan internally. "I mean, my family has a chef… And I lived with my parents up until they tried to ship me off to Vietnam…" she said sheepishly. "So, I never really had to cook for myself at any point in my life, and if the chef had the day off or something, then I had the money to eat out or order in," she added nonchalantly. "And when I had to live on my own… I just… I mean, the instant meals are easy, and making stuff from scratch is so much work and time-consuming and just ugh."

Rolling my eyes, I reached my hand up and pinched her face. "You are so lucky I'm a decent cook. I might not be a wonder chef like Stepan, but I make it work." It was rather adorable that my older brother thought his love for the kitchen was a well-kept secret. Actually, it probably could've stayed a secret if he was more careful about it. All of us have caught him in the kitchen numerous times over the years, and he may deny it all he wanted, but we weren'tthatstupid.

"Well, I'll leave the kitchen chores to you." Nicole chuckled softly and kissed the back of my hand after grabbing it.

"And the laundry, dishes, cleaning, and gardening," I added with a grumble, wondering just how the fuck I ended up with all the housework.

Yeah, I was definitely not the man of the house. Don't know how that fucking happened, but no point in arguing over it with Nicole. Besides, it wasn't even that bad to do all the house chores. It wasn't as if Nicole and I were slobs, and Nicole picked up here and there, which made things a little easier forme. Also, not like I had something else to do when I got home from work or during my free time when Nicole would be occupied in her office.

As tiring and boring as it got sometimes, I really had no issues with it. So, I really don't understand why so many men out there make such a big fuss about it. The other part that boggled me was the whole house chores being a woman's job debacle. Why sit around being a fucking lazy ass turd while your woman is stressing about? Why not help because you fucking can? Chores had no gender labels on them, and anyone who liked to argue otherwise was stupid in my books.

"I really love you so much, you know that?" Nicole buried her face into my arm with a giddy giggle.

Rolling my eyes, I let my hand fall to her thighs. "Oh, I don't know. I mean, you haven't put permanent cuffs on my wrists and ankles yet, nor have you tattooed your name on me yet," I snarked back with a snicker.

I could feel Nicole's body slither up my arm. Then, her breath hit the shell of my ear. My body shivered involuntarily at the sound of her wickedly playful whisper, "Oh, don't worry, your limbs are free for now because they're not done being made yet, and I ain't gonna tattoo my name on you because that's just a little too tacky for me." The heat of her body pulled away from my head as she returned to her seat. "So, my signature is gonna have to suffice," she told me matter-of-factly.

Slowly, my face scrunched in thought as her words sank in fully. I opened my mouth to ask if she was serious or not about the cuffs, but I quickly zipped it. Knowing her psycho tendencies, she'd just toy with me more rather than give me a straight answer. If anything, I might have dug my own grave with my jest before. So, might as well keep quiet and hope to God she won't act on it.

I mean, cuffs in the bedroom, fine, whatever; permanent cuffs, though, were a whole different story. The collar already pushed it for me. I don't know how Stepan does it with his wrist cuff, but personally, I didn't like the thought of such items on me 24/7.

Being a spoiled pet? Yes.

Being a slave? No.

Shoving thethoughts aside with a sigh, I lightly squeezed her plush thigh. "Why me?" I stammered rather hesitantly. "Of all the guys out there, why me?"

There was nothing special about me. Okay, let me rephrase that: there was nothing special about that was good. I was nothing but a huge pile of red flags. Granted, Nicole wasn't exactly normal, but still. I didn't see what about me was 'lovable' or relationship material.