Deadly Intentions (The Bobrov Bratva #4) Read Online Shandi Boyes

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: The Bobrov Bratva Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
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His voice alone has me on the edge, so I doubt I’ll need additional stimulation.

When I say that to Matvei, my horniness too perverse to act nonchalant, he tugs a lacy-topped G-string out of the second gift box, dumps the now-empty box onto the seat next to him, then falls to his knees in front of me.

I watch in awe as he attaches the purple egg-shaped vibrator to the plastic crotch of the G-string before he lifts his eyes to me. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

My sticky skin grabs at the leather seat when he bands his arm around my back and tugs me forward until my ass is suspended midair and my dress is huddled around my waist.

When my eyes shoot to the privacy partition, Matvei assures me, “He can’t see you. If he could, he’d already be dead.”

Not speaking another word, he circles the lace waistband of the G-string around my waist before positioning the crotch in a highly sought-after position.

“Relax,” he demands when my body instinctively clenches as he stuffs the protruding part of the panties back inside me. “By adding panties, we won’t need to worry about you making a mess of my brother’s chair.”

My eyes bulge, my shock too high not to respond.

We’re going to visit his brother?

Matvei laughs, adding to the tingles darting through me. “He owns the restaurant.” The humor on his face is replaced with fury. “And I don’t share. Ever.” His reply isn’t as factual as when he said he’d crush Vasily like a bug if he messed with me, and kill his driver if he saw me, but since he appears as shocked by his statement as I do, I don’t respond.

Once he has the skimpy panties in place, he tugs down the hem of my dress until it rests mid-thigh, scoots me back up my seat, then slots back into the spot next to me.

My body isn’t granted permission to announce its disappointment that he didn’t stay kneeling between my legs long enough for me to finish. It’s too busy fighting not to convulse on the spot when he pushes a button on a tiny purple remote control.

Fire. Fucking. Works.

What in the world is that?

With him seemingly tapped into my inner monologue, Matvei explains, “The crotch of the panties has a clit stimulator.” As he drinks in my flushed cheeks and gaping mouth, he murmurs, “This is the low setting.”

“Low?” I can’t talk. I can barely breathe. The sensation is amazing, and I am desperate to snatch the remote out of Matvei’s hand to see how blistering it can become.

As the mini vibrator quivers in rhythm to the tremors of the clit stimulator, our car glides to a stop at the front of a fancy restaurant I’ve seen before but never ventured inside of.

Its prices are too rich for even my affluent blood.

When Matvei switches off the device, my brain clicks back on. “Your brother is Maksim Ivanov? The Russian gangster.”

I must be mistaken. Matvei has a slight Russian accent, but Maksim’s is almost as thick as Polina’s. It is genuine. Isn’t it?

Remaining quiet, Matvei slips out the door a valet opens for him, adjusts his cufflinks, whispers something into the valet’s ear, then announces he will assist me.

His bark is as vicious as a mauling dog. It sees the young valet scampering back with a stuttered apology. “S-sorry, sir.”

Once I’m possessively clutched at Matvei’s side, he tips the valet generously enough that he can replace the pants he soiled with his wrath, before he leans in close. “I should also warn you I am extremely possessive. If you ever let another man touch you, even while doing something as simple as assisting you out of a car, I will cut off his hands and send them to you so you’ll never forget whose hands belong on your body.”

The truth in his tone panics me so much I attempt to push away from him. He holds on tight, refusing to adhere to my numerous silent requests to be let go. “It is too late to run. The scent of your needy cunt is already on my hand, and I’ll do anything to have it smothering my cock.”

Again, his words should fill me with panic.

However, they don’t.

Being craved is the world’s most personality-stripping drug. It has the most competent women acting stupid, but there is one thing even more powerful than that.

My stubbornness.

Matvei growls in warning when I shoot out of his hold while following our host to our table, but since we’re miles from home and on known Russian mafia turf, I don’t race for the closest exit. I slot my backside onto a chair across from the booth Matvei was hopeful would offer us privacy from the other patrons dining at this hour, then snatch up a menu as if it is as intriguing as Matvei’s glare.


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