Page 4 of Bratva King's Secret Twins
“Jeez, you’re too much of a charmer for your own good.”
The laughter that rumbles through his chest causes me to catch my breath, wishing to hear the sound again and again. “And you are too beautiful for your own good. A girl like you should be throwing the tips, not dancing for them.”
I pop my hip to the right, my nails wrapping around my hip. “What? You didn’t like my dancing?”
Nikolai’s eyes heat, his tongue poking out to brush over his lower lip before poking his inner left cheek and looking away.
“Oh my God, do you think I am a bad dancer?”
Nikolai’s hand loops around my waist, his hand spreading over my lower back, pulling me into his chest. The motion startles me and I drop the beer bottle. The scent of leather and fresh rain invades my senses. His eyes flutter to my lips, the boyish smirk spreading across his lips before he makes eye contact with my breathless body. “No, my love, I love your dancing.” His voice lowers. “I just would rather you do it in private for me.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think, not with Nikolai this close, and for the first time since the fourth grade, I fucking stutter. “W-well, i-if you wanted a d-dance. All you had to do was ask.”Jesus. Fuck. Get it together, Gwendolyn.
His nose grazes mine. “Dance for me.”
“When?” He slides his phone into my hand.
“Tomorrow. Let me take you out and show you the lifestyle you’re supposed to be living.” My mouth parts mindlessly, and I gather all the shallow breaths I possibly can as I type my number into his phone.
“Pick me up at 8,” I say. Nikolai lets me go, and I immediately feel the chill of the night consume me.
He winks at me, not even checking if I gave him my real number, the cocky bastard.
3
NIKOLAI
Gwen, my little hellcat, stands in a thin, skin-tight black dress adorned with sparkles in the bay window of the little two-bedroom house she and her grandmother Rose live in.
I am supposed to be here at 8, but I can’t help myself from getting here early when all I could think about was her ass in that sparkly emerald green lingerie set with fishnets and neck-breaking heels.
She looked magnificent as she stood in an alley, with a cracked beer bottle in her hand and mouth too sharp for her own good.
If she talked to me the way she spoke to half of the guys in that club, I’d have her writhing over my knee, her perfect bottom stained with my handprint as she begged for me to fill that filthy mouth of hers with my cock. I smile at the image of her big hazel eyes, almost brimming with tears, so turned on and frustrated with me that she curses my name, and I, in turn, punish her for it.
I bet she’s a brat.Fuck.I adjust myself in my slacks as I stare at her, continuing to mess with her curly hair. She keeps fluffing her black curls, spilling down her back in spirals. They are more airy and free than they were at the club, swaying along her spine as she smiles at herself in the mirror. I keep flexing my hand in and out, waiting to thread my fingers in her hair and pull her into me.
I’ve wanted to run my hands along the curve of her waist, grip her hips, and make her feel what she has done to me since I saw her dancing. She had every man’s eyes on her. Every man was fixing their cocks in their pants. Every man under her siren song, like the little minx she is.
She could be a modern-day Cleopatra, have men killing themselves just for a moment in her presence, and I could be her Caesar, but then I heard our modern-day Cleo speak, and she spoke like a warrior.
Men fawned over her, and she kept them where they belonged, kissing at her feet, so of course, when I saw that fucker try to rape her, I took his pinky. Fuck, I would have taken his life if she asked, but Gwen is a merciful queen.
I look at the time again: 7:55, which is early but a respectable early. I slide out of my Rolls Royce, adjust my suit jacket, and grab the bouquet of pink roses because Gwen texted me thatI better not be fucking unoriginaland bring red. Bringing pink was a minor submission, anticipating when I had her on her knees begging for me.
I knock on the peeling white door. A pair of wide eyes and the slick smirk of an old lady greet me.
“Oh my.” She fans her face, her eyes roaming over my body as I flash my most parent-friendly smile. “You must be Nikolai.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, kissing Nana Rose’s hand. “And you must be Nana Rose?”
I wink at her, and a warm smile spreads on her wrinkled face. A gasp leaves her lips. “Oh.” She points at me with her other hand. “You’re good. I bet you’re a charmer.”
“Not as much as your granddaughter.” I rise, smiling as she turns her body to the side, letting me into the small living area.
“Well, she got it from me!” Nana Rose claps. “Back in the day, I was a brick house. That’s old lady talk for I was the shit.”
“I bet you were,” I laugh as Nana Rose’s slippers click past me.