Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King

Chapter 3

MAXIM

Security in Ivory’s building is a joke. For somebody who’s paying an obscene amount of money to live in a penthouse, you’d think there would be armed security, free food, and a blowjob machine.

All I had to do to get into the elevator to Ivory’s private floor was enter a code, which happened to be her own damn birthday, public domain since she’s practically a celebrity. Sometimes, I wonder if being a criminal is too easy. Are there ever any downsides?

The elevator is quiet as I ascend, almost ghostly. I saw her leave, and there’s no way she would ever need a roommate, so I’m unconcerned with the possibility of getting caught.

When I enter the penthouse, I’m met with what feels like a whole other world. Ivory’s taste in décor is somewhat juvenile, featuring fluffy pink pillows and artwork of Paris. Along the wall above the couch is a three-panel canvas of the nauseatingly cliché phrase “live, laugh, love.”

If I end up permanently tethered to this girl, I'm not letting her touch any of my furniture. Bad taste is a disease that even money can’t cure.

Her bedroom is no better, a corkboard photo display being the first thing that catches my eye. I study the photos attached to it, all of them taken in foreign countries or atop skyscrapers. I’ve been rich for a long time, but the poor little Russian boy who saw the fall of the Soviet Union would roll his eyes if he saw how flippantly some people get to spend their lives.

Strewn about the floor and bed are assorted articles of designer clothing, lots of delicate lingerie lining the carpet on the side of the bed where she likely sleeps. Of course, she has a huge bed despite being a tiny single woman. Her life is full of excess.

What really interests me, though, is the bedside table.

I’m almost menacingly excited about what I might find in there. When I open the drawer, I’m met with five different dildos, all different sizes, and obscene, unnatural shapes and colors. Just like everything else in the apartment, the toys are luxury, probably $200 to $300 each.

I’ll admit, it’s a little intimidating trying to bed a woman with this many luxury sex toys. I’m confident in my sexual abilities, maybe even a little bit arrogant about it, but my cock doesn’t have vibrating rabbit ears.

When I dig a little bit deeper, I search extra hard for condoms or flavored lube, something to indicate whether or not she’s seeing someone. Fortunately for me, I don’t find anything and continue my quest into her drawer of sex toys.

This girl is horny as fuck, with remote-control vibrating panties and a little egg-shaped clit sucker amongst the spread of phallic toys. If I were a woman who could manipulate my body into multiple orgasms like this, I’d never leave the house. I’d probably starve to death.

I spot a laptop hiding in the messy ball of blankets and sheets resting on her bed. I’m almost too excited to open it. Even as a mafia boss, little voyeuristic adventures like this still give me a special kind of high. I could look for a digital porn stash or at least a few hastily deleted web addresses.

When I open the laptop, I’m immediately presented with a password-protected entry. I groan, entering her birthday three different ways before I give up. None of the entries work, and I’m tempted to steal the laptop to try and have my assistant break into it. It’s an expensive computer, though, and I’m positive it’s got some kind of tracking capabilities.

I don’t need that.

I’m just about to give up before I spot a worn-out notebook sticking out from under the mattress. Immediately I’m intrigued. Who hides something under a mattress that isn’t important?

When I open the notebook, I’m met mostly with haphazardly scrawled phone numbers and notes, but I’ll scour this notebook until I find something.

There are pages and pages of inane outings forever memorialized in this notebook. Weekends of cocktail parties and light cocaine use when it’s a special occasion seem to be the main theme, almost like Ivory is trying to convince her notebook that she’s both sophisticated and wild. It’s almost funny to me how she reiterates multiple times that she “doesn’t do this very often.”

Eventually, I stumble onto a page written two years ago.

“Tonight was a lot more intense than I was expecting,” Ivory writes, her handwriting predictably neat and bubbly. “I met somebody that I couldn’t stop staring at, and I think he felt the same about me. We ended up in a closet at 2 AM, kissing and biting and touching all over. I never got his name, and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again, but tonight was the most memorable of my life.”

Wait.

So this girl who has been all over the world in the most expensive cities, who has everything she could ever want, says that getting finger-blasted in a closet by a stranger at a party was the most memorable day of her life? Not even getting fucked?

If this is the case, then seducing this girl will be easy. Somebody who has had everything handed to them is more likely to seek thrills and danger, two things I can offer her in droves. Being the boss of a well-established mafia Family gives me access to all kinds of fucked up shit. Hell, even showing her my handgun would send a shiver down her spine and into her panties.

Now I just need to figure out how to approach her.

I’m not that much older than her, but I’m old enough that wandering around a college campus would draw unwanted attention. I’ll have to think of something low-key. Perhaps following her social media more closely will give me a better idea. Even just showing up at a place she’s going would be a good way to start.

I guess I have some work to do.