Bratty Romane & Geschichten

While they did deal in the sex trade, it was only for women who wanted to work. Only now, alone, can I admit I am ashamed of the trafficking. In the beginning I accepted it as a part of business—people have been bought and sold ever since one man could buy another. We feed appetites no one else can, drugs, sex, booze, power—that is Bratva, mafia. All of us who deal in the things people cannot buy at their local store. If we did not, someone else would. Why not us?

I think I had offended her somehow. "Hello, I'm John Travo," he said, pointing to his wife. "And my lovely wife, Mary." Mary looked me up and down, her smile condescending.“Hello.” I beckoned to both of them. Mary lifted her nose, “How old are you?” Mary asked me bluntly. I smiled, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I’m twenty-nine,” I replied. Mary grew a large smile, “Ahh… Twenty-nine and no children? Afraid to lose that figure, are we?” She looked me up and down, “Not much to lose- probably help us grow a little.” She gestured at her chest and hips. Well. Mary sure didn’t care for me.

she added and got two middle fingers in return from her Beta. “What is PITA ?” Kris whispered in my ear confused. This innocent dork. Gah ! “The same as my rod in your peach,” I answered back. “Excuse me ?” he asked in shock. “PITA is pain in the ass,” I whispered in his ear and boy, did he not look so adorable with tomato red cheeks and cute, wide eyes. “You …. ,” he huffed but I burst out laughing before throwing him over my shoulder and picking up the basket of fruits to feed him while we took a dip in the bath tub and maybe in each other (wink wink).

I spat. “How about Rutabaga?” “What?” Now I was laughing. “Why?” “Because we need something that can’t be confused or misinterpreted. Plus, your ass cheeks will look like two big rutabagas by the time I’m done spanking you.” How did Brandon make the word rutabaga sound sexy? “Rutabaga it is.” “Good. Look forward.” I followed his order, and Brandon’s hand came down with force.”

Is all he says. Does this man think I'm a dog? Nonetheless, I comply, standing behind my chair. When it is just the two of us, he gets up and walk over to me. "I do not take kindly to disobedient little girls." He starts off before stand right infront of me. He harshly grabs my face and I scrunch it up in pain. "When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it." He says through gritted teeth and I flinch. He roughly let's go and I grab my jaw, tears welling up again.

Dante Moretti. Victor’s most ruthless rival. She had heard the name whispered in fearful voices around the estate, but now, seeing him up close, she understood why. He was nothing like Victor. Where Victor’s dominance was controlled and suffocating, Dante exuded something more sinister…. chaotic and cruel. He was tall and lean, his dark suit perfectly fitted, but his presence alone made the room feel smaller. His jet-black hair was slicked back, exposing a sharp jawline and piercing green eyes that held a sick kind of amusement.

None of us listen. Another Beta lunges over his packbrother, so that I don’t anticipate his attack. The bastard crashes into me, and the grass beneath us is the only thing that breaks my fall. “Fucker,” I growl, chomping down on his arm. He howls, slinking back and leaving a trail of red as he goes. I spit out the metallic taste of his blood and jump back to my feet, growling.

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me all these years? Feeding you, housing you, putting up with your attitude “I never asked you to” The slap came fast and hard. Her head snapped to the side as pain exploded across her cheek, the force of it sending her stumbling back a step. For a moment the room blurred around her. Sofia slowly straightened again, her cheek burning, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to let fall. Crying only made things worse. Her stepfather watched her for a moment before laughing again, the sound rough and unpleasant. “You’ll understand tomorrow,” he said.

“Braxton, Carlos, and them here. We are working on our project.” Mmm, hmm. A “project” that required Call of Duty and a twelve-pack of Mountain Dew. I sighed, already knowing tonight’s dreams of a quiet dinner and a glass of wine had officially flatlined. This was the downside of living with my 22-year-old baby brother, who also happened to be tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome, and his equally attractive, equally chaotic fraternity brothers. “Hey Stink,” I muttered, using the childhood nickname Sabrina gave him back when he played middle school football and smelled like old socks and Gatorade. “Did you cook?”

“Mmmm. Delicious.” I grunted in frustration before pushing my fingers into her hair and pulling her head back. “Open your mouth,” I ordered. She kept her mouth closed tightly, immediately irritating me, which I knew was her intention. I had never liked ‘brats’. I strictly preferred subs, but I found myself almost addicted to how bratty she was at times. I let her hair go before settling back against the headboard with my hand moving up and down my erection, while her eyes followed it.