Erica“Jeremiah Sokolov.” He introduced himself in his deep voice with a hint of accent that wasn’t there before.But it was not needed as his last name already registered in my mind and I stared at him for a moment, before stating. “You are a Russian.”He smiled, like he was proud of being recognised as one. “Please to meet you.”“Do these people know you are here? Because if you are Russian and you are in this party you can’t be an ordinary Russian. You must be someone important.”“I am starting to see why he brought you with him tonight.” He murmured, his grey eyes taking me in as if seeing me for the first time. “But to answer your questions. Yes, the hosts know I’m here. They invited me. And,” he leaned closer and whispered, “I am the head of the Sokolov family. The bratva.” If it was even possible his voice dropped even further to a caress as he said, “That makes me his enemy and you know what they say about the enemy of my enemy.”“A friend.” I finished on a whisper as a slithe

Antonio(Fifteen minutes ago)Nicole was taking advantage of the party going around us as she clung to me. Her hand rested on my arm where Erica’s was not long ago. The last time I saw her she was walking toward the bar with Yuri. Her head held high and her shoulders back as if she was the guest of honor and people were here to look at her. Because that’s what was happening. I had noticed how men had turned to look at her. I didn’t want to admit it but now I hated having made her wear that dress. She was too tempting in it with her curves and legs that seemed to go on forever in those high heels.Now as I stood among a group of men with Nicole by my side all I wanted to do was go to the bar myself and slip my fingers around Erica’s neck. To remind her that she was mine and yes to get her where she belonged, in the cage of my arms. But the man standing in front of me was the president himself and with him was his son whose birthday was being celebrated tonight. So as much as I wanted t

EricaThe silence in the car was thick, crushing and loud. UnbearableIt pressed from all the sides around me as I looked at him. Antonio was sitting across from me, his fingers tapping on his thigh in the familiar, maddening rhythm. His jaw was set, dark hair in disarray and top two buttons of his shirt undone with his tie loose around his neck. He looked unruly and wild. A predator trying to control his own instinct of going for the kill. I had felt this way since he entered that sitting room and more so when he didn’t get to kill Jeremiah.My mind went back to the masked man, how he had crowded me, cornered me and overpowered me. If Jeremiah hadn’t interrupted. If Antonio hadn’t come... I shook the thoughts away. And looked at him because oddly it felt important to look at him. I was many things right now, but mostly I was the one where I wanted him to look back at me with his golden eyes. To let me see those unusual eyes. I didn’t know why I wanted that... I just...I could still

(Not for sensitive readers) Erica “Your punishment starts now.” I stared at him. My eyes went between him and the belt he had wrapped around his fist. The mix of fear and anticipation made a weird cocktail in my veins and my skin felt stretched taut. I wasn’t so sure about this, and yet I didn’t want to stop him. He stepped closer. His hand came at the back of my neck as his fingers curled around my nape and he pushed my face down on the cushion. “Wait...” I gasped. I lifted my head to meet his eyes, resisting his hand on my nape. I had thought he would just spánk me and then this time he’d fûck me. But obviously he was improvising as he didn’t have his dark dungeon here to punish me. “Wait... Antonio...” I licked my lips and he gave me a look that clearly said he wasn’t too keen to hear what I had to say. “You can’t use the belt. It will hurt.” I sounded unlike myself. This was something new I had become with him. “That’s the fûcking point, isn’t it?” He growled, his eyes flash

Antonio  Erica was a lot of things but the fighter inside her was something that scratched at the part of me I didn’t think I had. My mother was anything but a fighter, she had let her husband walk all over her and hadn’t said a word even when it came to her children. I hated her for it. I hated how she turned a blind eye to what her husband was doing to her children when it meant that she would get a reprieve from his sadistic behaviour. As a kid I had been unable to understand how a mother could let her children suffer but I knew that it was fûcked up. I knew that she wasn't a woman enough to be a mother and that was something that had remained with me. I despised weak women. I hated women who took their vulnerability as an excuse to be weak, to not fight. And then Erica barged into my life like the