by Bethany-Kris
Vaslav knew, then.
Vera liked where she was.
Good.
So did he.
“Sooner than me?” she asked. “How about that, since you seem to like your word games so much. Are you dying sooner than me?”
That earned her a scoff. “I’m old enough to be your father—that’s a foolish question from such a smart young woman.”
“Why are you so difficult?”
“Being unwilling to discuss my possible death—early or otherwise—makes me difficult?” Vaslav laughed as he tilted his head to the side, saying only, “See, I would think there are a million other things that make me far more difficult than that one. Try one of those.”
“I bet there wouldn’t be a point.”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t be wrong, either.”
Vera’s hand raised high enough that she was able to graze the pads of her fingertips along the ridge of his facial scar. From where it met the corner of his mouth and then straight across his cheek. He didn’t particularly like the scar to be touched, but as he couldn’t quite pull himself to look away from her while she studied his old injury up close and personal, he decided it was worth the slight discomfort. Her attention, gentle touch, and closeness was more than enough to soothe any of his lingering irritation.
“You’re just deflecting,” Vera said then. “And I won’t call you daddy. Even if you are old enough to be my father.”
The way her tone dipped to a silk cadence was enough to wrap his body—from toe to tip—in a warm rush of need that he hadn’t been expecting. Oh, his cock had been semi-hard from the moment she was near, but that wasn’t quite the same as the surge of lust he actually had to ignore to keep from acting on with her already easily accessible to use as he pleased.
Smirking down at her, Vaslav admired the way her hair swayed with her laugh when he returned just as fast with, “But, kisska, I bet that’s the only thing you won’t do for me.”
And that was fine. He never did have a taste for women with daddy issues determined to work them out on him. Having the issues wasn’t the problem, either.
She didn’t deny what he said, but the somber mood came back in her expression as soon as her bemused smile faded to a softer, fleeting shell of a grin. Her fingers on his scar had finally stopped their trek at the far edge of his scar near his ear, but it was her other hand and how it came to curl around the waistline of where he’d wrapped the towel at his waist that turned Vaslav into stone.
Only for a moment.
Because then she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Despite the cream still thick around his mouth and left cheek, she kissed him and a part of him broke in that moment. Because she did it with such tenderness that he wasn’t used to that. It had been far too long since he welcomed that.
Starting on the side of his mouth that met the scar, every soft peck of her plush lips teased his self-control in a way that he hadn’t known was possible. It took all his will power to remain still as her tender kisses moved from the side to the front of his mouth, and only then did he return the favor. Only then did he take the control back from her, no longer able to stop himself. His tongue speared between her lips, earning him a gasp from her to part them and find hers to tangle with until she was gasping for air against his mouth, and he had her almost bent entirely over the sink with her back nearly touching the mirror.
It was a quick second from her feet being on the floor to him lifting her onto the marble. If she noticed or minded, he didn’t exactly give her the chance to say because he was too busy ravishing her mouth and licking the very breath from her lips. He didn’t think she was too distressed considering the way her legs widened and then wrapped around his hips, dragging him into her and holding him there in such a way that there was no hiding how thick his erection had become under the towel. All nine and a half heavy inches found every soft and warm part of her that he could.
Maybe he should have been more ashamed that all it took was a pretty, delicate looking woman to practically turn him into a teenage boy with uncontrollable hormones. That every little shift and grind of her hips to feel more of him worked to get him higher until his need was all but pulsing under the surface of his skin.
He could feel her everywhere when she was essentially nowhere. Her taste lingered on the back of his tongue despite the fact he hadn’t even taken that from her yet—it was still there, somehow. All her softness seemed to bleed straight into him, and no matter how hard or firm he grabbed on her body or pulled on the strands of her loose hair while his kisses left a hot path over her chin and down the column of her throat, she was still like silk all around him.
He’d smother in it.
Happily.
Vaslav hadn’t realized just how much Vera was trembling until his kisses ended at her collarbone with one final suck that left a pink splotch behind when he pulled away, breathless himself. “God, you’re like candy. Too much is still not enough.”
She caught the underside of his chin with a peck, but stroked her fingers against the shaving cream on his left cheek at the same time. “Which one of us is deflecting now?”
“You kissed me first.”
She simpered him with a smile that almost buckled his knees. For her, he would get on them in a second if she asked.
“No, I really did want to kiss you,” she returned. “That was the deal—a kiss for a shave, right?”
“Chyort—damn. You’re right,” he settled. “Better get on with it, then.”
Shuffling backward to give her enough room to slip off the edge of the sink’s rim, her bare feet touched the floor for less than a second before she had reached for the razor he’d discarded earlier. As the tap turned on and she snatched up the can of cream from the side counter, he studied her subtle mannerisms while she worked the white foam with her fingers and thumb.
“Take your time,” he said when she lifted a bit of cream to fix what the two of them had messed up around his mouth.
“I’m not going to cut you.”
“I’m not worried about a cut.”
Vera turned to find the washcloth he’d been using earlier and dampened it again under the running tap. When she spun back around, wiping her fingers clean, she asked, “Then what?”
“Take your time,” he repeated, his tongue sweeping over his lower lip to lick away what remained of her flavor there, “because once you’re done, I’m bending you over this sink and fucking you. And make sure the shave’s clean, yeah? I like it smooth.”
He yanked the damp cloth away from her only to wipe away the bit of shaving cream that had smeared to her chin and down her throat. Once he was satisfied she was clean, he nodded at the razor she held.
“Go on, shave me,” Vaslav demanded.
“Bold of you to assume I’ll just let you bend me over and fuck—”
As she spoke, she reached for the unshaven side of his face, determined to work on that before what remained on his chin and around his mouth. Her hand froze when his sudden bark of laughter silenced her words and earned him a cocked brow.
She shivered when his hand left the sink to skip under the leg of her shorts, dipping between her thighs without warning. The woman might have turned to stone at the unexpected touch, but there was no hiding the slick heat he found waiting for his fingertips that stroked across the bare seam of her pussy.
“Who doesn’t want it?” he asked.
Vera exhaled a shaky breath when he finally withdrew his hands from her shorts, but that same air caught fast in her throat when his still-wet fingers clamped down on her lower thigh. The grip had to bite, but she barely flinched. “You’re a monster.”
The joke didn’t even sting.
In fact, he grinned back. “I think they call me a beast, no?”
“Same difference, Vas.”
“Shave me, woman.”
He wouldn’t say it again.
“Or I’ll fuck you with this cream still on my face,” he added, “and then have you finish the
job on your knees while I handle the razor, hmm? You’re not the least bit scared of me; I bet you’ll let me do it given how fucking wet you are. Try me.”
The playful narrow of her gaze—but an otherwise silent mouth—told him she would do exactly what he wanted. Likely how he wanted it, too.
“I’m not a patient man.”
His admission came quietly while she had just begun her work. The first drag of the razor was a little fast for his liking, but she slowed when the words slipped past his lips.
“I can tell,” Vera returned.
“I’m also not an easy one.”
That earned him one of her sweet smiles. “So I have also figured out, yes.”
He wasn’t entirely sure where he intended for this conversation to go, but the fact that she admitted to knowing those things about him and was still standing there in his bathroom, pressed between him and a sink while she shaved his face ... well, that said a lot.
Didn’t it?
“You’re also demanding, moody, and I bet that’s only scratching the surface,” Vera said while she cleaned off the razor and went in for another swipe of the back across his cheek. “No, that’s probably not right. I know it’s only the surface because I get the feeling you’re used to getting exactly what you want even if that means making people around you believe that they want the same thing.”
“I rarely take the time to make anyone believe anything, actually. Try again.”
She gave him a look.
Vas winked in response.
“Should I feel special, then?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve taken your time with me.”
She didn’t wait for his response, almost like she didn’t really need it, as she continued on her work with the razor and what remained of his beard. He might have challenged her, if he thought it would do any good, but it was clear she had already talked herself into the circle. Why would he help her find a way out?
Focused on her task, she moved his head with one hand to help pull the skin of his cheek taut, and dragged away another swipe of cream and thick facial hair. Slower that time—the razor didn’t pull as much, either. He was fine to let her work in silence and just enjoy the show and her proximity, but it wasn’t that simple.
He wanted to talk; needed her to talk, too. That made his bit in the whole thing easier.
“You might be surprised to learn,” he said while she cleaned the razor once more, “that my ulterior motive with you is that there isn’t one, kisska.”
“I never asked about any ulterior motives here.”
“You didn’t need to. It would be ridiculous of you to assume there wasn’t one. You’re the daughter of a gun trafficker, an infamous ballerina, for Moscow at the very least, and a woman far out of my league by all appearances. Of course, you think there’s a reason that benefits me to pursue you—”
“But there aren’t any,” she pressed. “According to you.”
“—beyond the fact I might just ...” Sucking in air like a hiss through his teeth, he finished, “Well, want you.”
Her gaze dropped from his. “Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
“Mmm, maybe. Being who I am with the life I’ve lived ...” Vaslav trailed off with a growing smile that he let fade away as his eyes rolled back. His life was not a piece of art that would attract crowds when it was finished and he was gone, but it was his all the same. “I was lucky to ever see the outside of confinement, frankly. I never expected to get all the rest.”
“I heard you killed a man at thirteen.”
“Stop hearing things,” he returned just as fast. “Ask me. Da, that’s what the records appear to say.”
“And nothing else?”
“What?”
“Isn’t there a motive?” Vera asked.
His hard exhale rattled, but his words came out flat and unconcerned. “I killed a neighbor—the grandfather of the man who still lives across the road today. He’s the only neighbor in the area that doesn’t even stare when he drives by. Credit where it’s due. The man—the one I killed, he was a client of my mother. Beat and raped her in what is now my den when she was too drunk to perform like he preferred.”
Horror spilled over Vera’s face. “Oh, my God that’s—”
“Or that was the story she told me when I found her.” Vaslav shrugged. “Oh, he might have raped her, but she was blackmailing any and every man in Moscow that wore a suit and had ties or affiliations that would get her into the parties and clubs. If they would fuck her, she already sealed the deal.”
His tight smile didn’t seem to really comfort Vera.
“She wasn’t a good mother,” he settled on saying, not wanting to villainize the woman more with slurs or how she made her money because his mother could do it without his help. Truly. “And I thought I was being a good son that night. I was barely a young man that had already lived a life most adults had not. A teenage, prostitute mother. Barely any influence or guidance that didn’t come from the end of a belt or the sharp side of a vodka glass when it breaks on your face.”
Her gaze snapped to his scar.
Vas shook his head. “The little one she made gave me character. What that mess turned into came from the rest—but they grew me up in there, I came out a whole different man. And you know the only thing that saved me going in was the crowd I knew before going in. I shot past six feet almost overnight, already looked like a man, and had a mother that could cry on cue. Just a troubled suka with too many older friends—it wasn’t hard for them to make me a monster when they put the prick’s face in the papers alongside my mother’s lies.”
“Why would she do that?”
His disjointed storytelling didn’t seem to catch Vera off-guard, and he appreciated her quickness. He wasn’t always good with details from moment to moment. When it was there, though ...
“Throwing away the key on me meant gaining access to a family inheritance that would have been mine otherwise. Not even that much. Snegurochka—that’s what her father called her, playful like.”
“The Snow Maiden.” Vera knew the character from fairy tales.
Vas chuckled darkly. “The ice bitch would have been better suited.”
“I’m sorry that life has not treated you well.”
“Life is only part of the problem. I’m always going to be a stone’s throw away from the madhouse or another twenty years in a prison cell either way. I never wanted to be here—I didn’t ask to be this man—but I wasn’t given a choice in the end. One day a woman came into my life and taught me that I wasn’t the beast everyone else said I was. Her father killed her to prove to me that’s who I would always be, and he was right in the end. I showed everyone the monster I could be.”
Vaslav swallowed the lump forming in his throat—he hated feeling things. Anything, really. Hadn’t he done that bullshit enough? “And here I am after all that sacrifice. What am I—who am I? Lonely in a big house on a tall hill, still losing it all. Hiding so no one can see the truth. And for what?”
Vera’s hands pulled away from his face, but even the sympathy in her eyes didn’t kill him as much as the emptiness of his days did almost constantly. “Vas—”
“For what? To die alone where no one will miss me at all,” he finished quietly. “There is no motive, Vera. I have none. I just don’t want to die alone.”
16.
“Stop it,” Vera whispered although Vaslav’s palms didn’t slow in the torturous stroke of her thighs. He started a few inches above her knees and rubbed up under her shorts until she was sensitive to every slight graze of his fingertips and thinking about where they might go. “Stop that,” she added when he chuckled, and she had to stop shaving the small bit she had missed on his upper lip on his almost straight cupid’s bow. “Or else you’re going to make me cut you.”
“Come on,” he seemed to goad her, his tempting mouth grinning with a cocky twist she hadn’t expected. “Just finish it.”
There was
something to be said for his clean-shaven face, but she was more than partial to the beard as well. Like this, though, one could really see the man staring back at them. As unforgiving, overwhelming, or indifferent as he might be—it was him. Every line of his squared, strong jaw. Without the thicker growth of facial hair around his scar and mouth, one was able to see the micro expressions he was able to hide.
When he tipped his head back, Vera’s gaze was drawn back to his.
“Your hands are still steady,” he told her.
“Good thing,” she quipped. “The rest of me can’t say the same.”
He loved that he’d built her anticipation with every stroke of the razor and his palms on her body. She could tell.
Vera didn’t think Vaslav was aware of how intense he could be; even the way he spilled a darker side of his past, and those details still lingered in her mind, every inch of her body seemed to hum alive because she was near him.
He remained still as she finished what bit of facial hair she’d missed, and even leaned back to give her room to turn and clean the razor one final time. She tossed it into the silver cup on the corner edge of the marble sink and waited until the water started to run warm to rinse and soak the cloth once more.
She didn’t even get the chance to wring the water out before he snatched up the sopping wet rag. His hand found the small of her back, dragging his cardigan and her shirt higher when her gaze snapped to his in the mirror. The length of his erection pressed into her ass, and she knew right then that he wouldn’t let her turn around again until he was finished with her. She had his reflection to watch in the mirror as he inspected her shave job, grinded his hard dick into the swell of her ass, and then used that dripping cloth to wipe his face and throat clean.
“Not bad, kisska.” His palm scrubbed down smooth skin that she’d like to taste. She bet the bob of his throat while he swallowed, and her tongue teased the flesh would drive her damn near mad. “Tomorrow, it’ll already be scratchy again.”
Vera knew better. Hadn’t he practically warned her that she was lucky he had found the patience to give her this long? She tested him when she asked, “Good enough to burn?”