Boston Kings

Kieran Murphy is an Irish mob boss and one of the most powerful men in Boston. When he walks me home, people step aside out of respect for him. He could have any woman he wants. So why does he have eyes only for me? Is it how he has to lift my chin with his fingers to keep my eyes level with his when he scolds me and how I cover my bottom instinctively when he tells me that I've earned a spanking? Or is it how I quiver at the thought of everything I'm too ashamed to beg him to do to me? Maybe it's all of those, but I'm pretty sure there's something else too.

When Shane Kavanagh waltzed into the Murphy pub as if he owned the place, what set my heart racing wasn't his brash arrogance, his obnoxiously gorgeous eyes, or his scolding yet sexy tone. It wasn't even him promising to spank me and then ravage me the way no man has ever dared. It was how he made me feel like a naughty little girl and a blushing virgin when I was neither. I'm the daughter of a powerful Irish mafia family and he's the boss of a rival organization, but when he rides me with his belt tight around my throat it doesn't make me want to call a hitman.

When Aleksei Morozov tilted my chin up with a single finger and kissed me, I slapped him like a good girl should when her new boss treats her like his property on her very first day on the job. Then I spent the night fantasizing about him doing absolutely shameful things to me, and when he kissed me again the next day, I just knelt at his feet, undid his pants, and begged for what I needed. By the time I found out he's a Bratva kingpin, he'd already made me his in every way. Now I'm bare and bound to his bed, knowing I'm about to take it really, really hard.