by Coco Miller
“Nothing wrong with cook books. Are you a chef?”
“No, but I didn’t have much of a role model growing up to teach me how to cook. So, I’m teaching myself.”
He laughs. “I almost felt like a school-aged child when she offered the wieners.”
When he mentions the wieners, my mind goes to a very dark place. Like down his pants, in between his legs dark place. I shake my head, trying to erase the thought of his wiener. It’s juvenile and inappropriate.
Still I can’t help myself. I glance down to his shorts and try to stop thinking about what he’s packing between his legs. There’s a subtle outline of it in his shorts begging to be gawked at. Teasing anyone who takes a peek. He’s your sister’s husband, Katrina. Stop thinking about what’s underneath his clothes.
The rest of the afternoon we spend sitting side-by-side enjoying each other’s company. He smiles and I laugh. I smile and he laughs. I have to admit that Maxim is quite charming. I can see what my sister sees in him beyond the obvious good looks. It also doesn’t hurt that everything he says sounds better, because his words are drenched in a thick Russian accent.
When he goes down to the water to swim, I return to reading. Several chapters later, I look up from my book and my lord, he’s so hot. My sister lucked out. I think the real question seems to be what he sees in her?
Watching Maxim walk out of the crashing waves, his rippling abs soaked with the salt water of the ocean, is like something from a commercial. I imagine running my tongue along his thick muscles, and again I’m wet before he steps closer.
“Water’s nice. You should go for a swim,” he says, toweling off the dripping water from his dark hair.
“I’m more of a voyeur of swimmers at the beach. I don’t really do it much.”
He cocks a brow. “Really? Why’s that? Your sister said that you love the water.”
I fidget my fingers against the sarong I wear and glance up to him.
“I love to sit by the ocean Listen to the waves. I don’t love to swim in it. I’m more of a still water type of girl. I swim in the pool.”
“Blasphemy. Pools are for punks. Get up. I’m teaching you how to ride waves right now.” He reaches his hand out to help me up.
I slap it away. “No, that’s okay.”
He reaches his hand out again. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Tantsor.”
“Dare I ask what a Tantsor is?”
“A dancer,” He chuckles. “And since I’ve seen it for myself, I know that you are an excellent one.”
I stare slack jawed at him for a moment.
“You ready?” he asks.
I huff a breath as I take his hand. “Fine.”
I can't believe I'm doing this. I’m not afraid of water or anything silly like that. I can swim. It’s just that I have always had a respect for the sea that most people don’t. It’s powerful, it’s temperamental and it can’t be controlled. So I’m nervous, but not just because it’s the ocean, but because Maxim makes me nervous.
I hesitantly remove my sarong, and when I do, the low hiss from his lips as he stares at me has my body reacting. I try to pretend that I don’t notice his reaction, but my face blushes as he tightens his hold on my hand.
“Just let go, and try to have a little fun. You love the water? Act like it.”
“Bossy much?” I mumble under my breath.
“You need to trust me; I won’t let the waves take you away.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know you.”
The cold-water rushes through our toes as we step further into the waves. The beach seems eerily quiet as his large hand encases mine. We wade further into the water until we’re both waist deep. He sinks his body and lets go of my hand.
“Like this, Tantsor. Bend your knees, turn, and ride the wave as it comes in. We’ll go a little further out in a bit.”
I do as he requests and swirl my arms in the water. He teaches me a quick lesson first on the proper way to tread water as we bob up and down in the ocean waves. An hour later and I have successfully learned how to do the breaststroke, tread water and ride the cold, salty waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
I'm proud of myself. He was a good teacher. God knows it wasn't easy concentrating on his directions considering every time his hands landed on my hips to guide me, butterflies paraded around in my stomach.
As we head up to the house, he lingers behind me. “Are you coming?” I ask, pointing to the house.
“Not yet, but I’d like to be.” He smiles a wicked grin as I turn back around.
The double entendre of his meaning is not lost on me, but I pretend I don’t notice.
“Okay, suit yourself. Bye.” I give him a little and take off running toward the house. Seconds later, he chases me.
I reach the front steps, hauling my body forward to catch my breath with my hands on my knees.
He stops next to me, leaning close to my ear. “Now that I really enjoyed.”
I straighten my posture. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
He winks. “You’ve got a great ass, Tantsor.”
Then he steps past me and enters the house, leaving me spellbound by his words.
Chapter Three
Dinner is tense. All four of us are sitting around a small oak dinette table. Maxim’s piercing eyes are watching me the entire time as I spear my meatballs, bringing each bite to my lips. I lick the tip of the toothpick and reach out to grab another one.
Again, my mother has arranged a plethora of appetizers. Mini-sandwiches, meatballs, and a cheese ball with crackers is on the menu tonight.
“Thank you for the delicious food, Beverly,” Maxim says, smiling at my mother.
My mother beams with satisfaction. “Why thank you, Maxim.” She turns to smile at Tasha. “He’s great.”
Tasha wraps an arm around Maxim and kisses his cheek. I wince at the action. I don’t know why it makes my eye twitch, but it just does. I’ve never seen Tasha kiss a man so... platonically. She’s usually very demonstrative with her beaus. At least she was with her last husband.
“He really is. I’m very lucky,” Tasha says in a singsong voice.
The sweetness of the scene makes me want to puke. Literally. Like I’ve been infected with a sweet tooth, and everyone around me makes the vomit real.
Maxim smiles and kisses Tasha on her lips. Gag. It’s a quick peck, but it’s enough to make me pop another meatball in my mouth for fear of saying something rude. I mean who does that right in front of everyone? I guess they’re married but still. I don’t want to see that crap.
After dinner, we all head to our bedrooms, and I pray to every God imaginable that I won’t be able to hear Maxim and Tasha have sex. If they decide to have sex of course.
Popping in my earbuds, I toss and turn to the image of Maxim’s hands on my body as I hum to the chorus of Beyonce’s, Love On Top.
Chapter Four
Sometime in the middle of the night, I awaken from dreams of Maxim. With a dry throat, I pad my way downstairs into the kitchen.
Opening the refrigerator, I peek inside, grab a water bottle and open the top. I lean back against the counter and take a swig. A low groan has me spinning on my heel in the direction of the sound.
Maxim leans against the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes are as black as the night, and the light stubble gracing his chin is to die for. He’s so fucking sexy. It’s infuriating.
My clothes immediately feel too tight and constricting. My little white shorts and lace cami hug my curves, and Maxim rakes his eyes over my body.
“What are you doing?” I ask, dumbly. I didn’t expect to see anyone on my trek into the kitchen especially him.
He pushes his body off the wall to gain momentum and steps closer, until he's close enough to lean his mouth a fraction away from my ear and says, “Getting a drink, little Tantsor.”
He steps away from me and opens the fridge, grabbing a bottle of spring water. The muscles in his strong arms flex as he grips the bottle and chugs. I
can’t do anything but gawk as I watch him swallow the cold water down his throat. Damn, even his throat has muscles.
I lick my lips, wishing I was licking him instead. I know it’s dead ass wrong, but I can’t help it if I’m attracted to this man. It’s out of my control.
His eyes zero in on my lips as he lowers the bottle.
“I guess you’re thirsty with all the late-night activities you were doing,” I say using a snarky tone.
Oh god, what am I saying? Could I be any more obvious? Why am I even thinking about him and my sister?
Even if they were bumping nasties all night long, it’s none of my business. I shake my head as soon as the words pass my lips.
He smirks. “Late-night activities?” Recognition dawns and he lets out a slow, “Ohhh, you mean sex.”
I blush and want to just run and hide. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
He sets the water bottle down on the counter and pauses briefly before raising his head, his eyes meeting mine.
“You’re right, Tantsor, it is none of your business.” He steps closer, placing his hands on either side of my body, encasing me in. “But I like that you’re thinking about the activities of my cock.”
I blanch. “I didn’t say that.” I try to step away and my hand lands on his arm.
“No? You’re not thinking about it? Where it’s been? What it’s up to?”
“No, I’m not thinking about what it's up to.” How bizarre we’re talking about his dick as if it has a life of its own. Shit, maybe it does.
“Well, right now, it’s not up at all,” he leans his head in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, “But that is all about to change the more I smell you.”
I’m speechless by his bluntness and his arrogance.
“You smell so good, Tantsor.” His lips flutter along the sensitive skin of my neck.
God knows that I want to let him devour me, to smell me all night long, but the reminder he’s my sister’s husband snaps me back to reality.
“The name’s Katrina.” I push him away and he drops his arms, letting me loose. “Stop giving me Russian nicknames.”
I rush up the stairs, not ever looking back. I shut the door to my room and flop onto the bed. Damn, what was that? His hot breath on my skin replays in my mind, over and over. It isn’t long before my fingers travel south.
Wetness coats my fingers. It’s been forever since I’ve had sex, and my fingers circle my clit as I think about Maxim.
Oh hell. How awful am I for thinking about my sister’s husband? My brother-in-law. I’m a complete head case, but in this very moment I don’t care. All I can think about right now is the way Maxim looks at me. As if he can see every dirty thought I’ve ever had about him.
My fingers pick up their pace as I picture Maxim’s hungry tongue lapping up my wetness. My legs fall open, and a soft cry of pleasure escapes my lips.
I run my other hand up my body, imagining Maxim’s big hands cupping my breast. I toy with my nipple, while my hand runs along my clit. I want to come so bad to the images of Maxim in my mind. I am almost there. I push along my pussy harder, faster, as I think about his hard cock slamming into me.
I want him, and I don’t care if my sister is married to him, or at least my lusty body doesn’t care.
His accent. His dark hair. His fucking body screams to me to ride him into the night. My orgasm lights me up. Embers ramble along my skin, and I’m out of breath. I bite my lips as I try not to scream out his name into the darkness. A tear swells in the corner of my eye from the sheer pleasure.
Sleep takes me immediately after the fondling of myself, and to make things even worse, I dream about Maxim.
Lawd, I’m in all sorts of trouble.
Chapter Five
The next morning, I try not to act as hot and bothered as I really am. I decide to exert some of my energy instead making homemade buttermilk pancakes and center cut bacon.
“Trina, you know I don’t eat sulfates.”
“How would I know that?”
“Don’t you girls grab breakfast together in Boston,” my mother asks.
We both look at her like she’s lost her mind.
“No, mom, and if you don’t eat sulfates, Tasha, then don’t eat the bacon.”
“Or carbs either.”
“More breakfast for us then,” I say. “You anti-waffles too, brother-in-law?”
“Love it all,” he says with a heavy Russian accent that I’m growing to love.
I smile and sit a plate of breakfast in front of him. “Good.”
All through breakfast, I divert my eyes between my mother and sister purposely avoiding Maxim’s. After we eat, he goes for a run, and I want so badly to follow him to the ends of the earth, but obviously I don’t.
“Katrina, come here,” Tasha says.
My mother left for the market, and Tasha and I are the only two home.
“What’s up?” I sit on the couch next to her. Tasha isn’t usually one for sisterly chats.
She shakes her dark hair through her fingers as her eyes narrow. “What do you think of Maxim?”
Nerves engulf me. “Um, he’s okay I guess.” Guilt punches me in the gut.
Tasha smiles and runs her fingers over the hem of her denim shorts.
“He’s great, right?” she asks almost tentatively.
“You don’t sound very convincing. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just we moved kind of fast.”
“Yeah, you did but so what? You love him, right?” I ask, because I’m feeling like something is off between the two of them.
She laughs as her big, diamond ring flashes in the light of the room. “Of course, I do.”
“What else is he like?” I realize I sound like a lovestruck teenager, and I hope she doesn’t notice.
Thankfully, she doesn’t. She launches into a long tale of how they are madly in love. She goes on and on about their wedding. Yet, still, something seems wrong with it.
“Why didn’t we get invited?” I ask, cutting her story short. “Why’d you elope?”
“We were just too excited. We didn’t want to slow things down and plan something big.”
“I’m your only sister. I live twenty minutes away, you could have called. You should have had family there.”
She shoos her hand, laughing at my comment like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “Oh, please. You probably wouldn’t have come anyway.”
I frown, realizing she’s right. “You could be right, but I guess we’ll never know. What’s done is done.”
Before she can respond, Maxim walks through the front door. Panting. Salty. Sweaty. All man, and all so fine. My eyes wander over his long, muscular legs as he stretches them out.
“Hi, ladies. I’m going to shower,” he informs us and already my imagination is running rampant.
Maxim naked, running his hands over his body. Water running in rivulets down his chest.
My sister smiles at him, and they share a look. Was that some ‘want to have sex look’? Ugh, I need to get out of here.
I stand from the couch and walk briskly into the kitchen. Wanting something decent for dinner, I rummage through the pantry to see what I can make. Anything will be better than the hor d’oeurves my mother has been serving. I've been famished since my arrival.
Beef stew sounds delicious, so I start pulling out things I’ll need to cook with. I take the meat from the freezer to let it thaw for a few hours.
“Hey, I’m running out. Let Maxim know I’ll be home in a few hours.” Tasha’s dark eyes meet mine as she rushes out the door.
“Wait...what?” But before I can stop her, she’s already out the front door. Tasha is always rushing out lately, it seems. You would think she would spend every free second with her new husband. I know I would.
As if I conjured him up, not seconds later, Maxim is in the kitchen.
In only a towel.
A towel wrapped low around his lean muscles.
> I try to catch my breath. I try to breathe. I try to remember how to breathe.
His dark hair is slicked back and dripping wet. Water droplets cling to his skin, afraid to let go. If I were them, I wouldn’t want to let go either. His chest is the main attraction. He’s all packed with well defined muscles that look delicious, and covered in intricate tats that give him an almost dangerous look.
“Hey,” he says, sexily. Is that a word? But, it is sexily. Like instead of saying ‘Hey’ he moaned and groaned ‘let’s have sex’ instead.
“Hi.”
I can’t even string five coherent words together around this man. This lusting after Maxim has got to stop. Of all people for this irresistible urge to happen with, why did it have to be someone off limits?
Suddenly, I become very busy in the kitchen. The need to chop carrots and onions momentarily replaces my need for Maxim to spread me out on the kitchen counter. I hop around, trying to avoid staring at him, and grab the cutting board and knife.
“Where’s Tasha?” he asks, low and deep.
“She said she was running out,” I inform him, chopping the carrots as quickly as possible.
Just keep chopping. Just keep chopping.
My heart pumps briskly as I focus on the task at hand.
He steps behind me and chills erupt.
Chop. Chop.
The heat of his body presses up against me. Water droplets drip onto my neck.
Chop. Chop.
Julia Childs ain’t got shit on me as I slice and dice away like a mad woman. My pulse races, and I’m pretty sure I could lose a finger soon.
A hand atop of mine stops my chopping. Maxim’s fingers squeeze around mine, and I drop the knife.
“You’re going to cut yourself, Tantsor” he breathes against the shell my ear.
I want to turn around and agree with him. Kiss him for saving my life, or rather, the life of my fingers. But, I don’t. Instead, I savor the feeling of his body against mine. My eyes close, and I lean my head back, resting it against the front of his chest.
His tongue dashes out, licking up my neck.