Bad Russian 04

by May Ball, Alice

  I really don’t mean to nod again. But I do.

  His eyes blaze and his voice lowers. “Right now.”

  I tremble. From my toes to my tits. This time I’m determined not to nod. But I nod.

  He steps out of the booth. He’s so big. How can I have forgotten how big he is? He’s too big. All of him is too big. He scoops me up like an ice-cream. Slings me over his shoulder, like I’m a trophy.

  Draped and dangling over his back, I see Claire’s watering eyes and Seb’s frozen stare. In a few long strides, he marches me to the back of the bar.

  He pushes through the door that says, ‘Private.’ His heel kicks the door shut behind us. He locks it. I think he’s going to carry me into the changing room. No. The hallway. Right here. This is far enough. Apparently.

  He drops me to my feet, and I sag against the wall, panting. I open my mouth to speak but he takes it with his. His hot kiss is wet and raw. Savage. Animal. My breath is hard and desperate. I’m on fire from my pussy to my nipples and all the way back to my ass and my thighs.

  He’s opened my cutoffs. “These are too irresistible” he growls, hauling them and my soaking panties down to my knees. His hand slides back up my thigh. He parts my wings. I let out a shaking gasp as he presses up.

  “Oh, you are so ready,” he rasps. His cock is out.

  My shorts and panties have tumbled to the floor. He reaches down, lifts my ankle. Kisses my calf as he raises my foot to his shoulder.

  Hardly able to speak, I try to tell him, “I… I can’t do…” then, “OH!” His enormous cock splits me apart and rips me in two.

  My voice cracks. A gasping cry breaks and dries to a scrape.

  He piles up and in, all in one long, sure move, pushing straight up as he pulls me by my ass, deeper and deeper onto him. His pelvis grinds against mine. My walls flutter, stretched hot on his shaft. He holds my throat. Slides his hand to my breast.

  The bang of his hips hammers my ass hard against the wall. My body curls and twists, trying to relieve the stretch in my vertical thigh. There’s no escape. He stings my ass with a slap. All my muscles stretch and clench. My breaths beat a rhythm, rising. Harder. Faster. Impossible. Unstoppable. Unbearable. My mouth opens. I cling to his back. He moves like a sea of molten rock. His ass rolls.

  I’m filling. Brimming. Spilling. Bursting. Exploding in cascades. Tremors like depth charges bloom into volcanic shocks.

  His huge hands seize my hips. I never felt so small. He pulls me, drives me, rides me. Destroys me until, with his eyes holding mine, the veins on his temple pulse and I feel him swell inside me, stretching me even more.

  “You’re mine, Margot. My princess, my queen. I love you completely and you’re mine forever.” Three more devastating thrusts and his mouth is open.

  The rumble starts in the base of his cock. It blasts into me and all the way through me. I’m hardly even in my body. “Margot. I love you. Give me babies. Have my babies.”

  My mouth falls into his. We kiss and gasp and breathe and groan.

  “Yes!” I croak, “Yes, Nikita. Fuck me. Fill me. I’m yours!”

  My throat stretches, my nipples sting raw, my leg shakes and my ass clenches. All my fingers claw and scrape, my nails grab. I’m a trembling heap. Helpless and clinging, held up only by his cock and his hand gripping my ass.

  He scoops me up and cradles me. I return his shower of kisses and curl up in his strong arms. I never want to be anywhere else.

  Cuddling and holding, stroking, we smile at each other. Our bodies press, warm each other, scent each other. I don’t know how much time passes. Most of the time we don’t even speak. Not with words. Except he chuckles and I giggle.

  I wriggle back into my panties and shorts and pull my clothes back together. I know I’m still a mess. I could go to the locker room, stand in front of the mirror and make myself properly respectable, but I don’t want to be that far away from him. Besides, if I look good enough for him, there’s no way I can look much better.

  I hold his big bicep with both hands. We step back into the bar. Claire, Seb, and even Sol are clustered at the end of the bar. I blush when all three of them stand to applaud as we emerge.

  Their eyes and their smiling faces shine at the two of us.

  I feel like I should be embarrassed, but on Nikita’s arm, how could I?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Him

  A CLOUD PASSES OVER Margot’s lovely face. “What was it that you and Claire wanted to tell me?”

  I take her hands in mine. “That’s something important. But not as important is this. First, I have something to ask you,” I turn to face her. “I have to be formal about this, and I’m glad we have witnesses.”

  Her eyes flash. “What, Nikita? You’re scaring me.”

  Still holding her hands in mine, keeping my eyes on hers, I drop, in front of her, to one knee.

  “Margot, these last days have shown me, I can live without you, but there would be no point. You are the only woman for me, and you are the love of my life. I want you to have many, many babies for me. I love you and I need you, now and forever. Will you marry me?”

  Her lips tremble as she smiles, and her face is wet with tears. It makes me wonder if some part of her soul is not Russian. I should have asked her father about it. Why did I not think of it? Americans in my experience don’t love to cry. Not as we Russians do. And I will cry, too, if she doesn’t answer me soon.

  She pulls my hands to her face. Kisses my fingers. Her head is bobbing, and I can’t tell if she’s shaking her head or nodding. I’ve never been on one knee this long before in my life. The wait is starting fires inside me.

  Her head shakes. Her tears run over my hands.

  “Nikita,” She can hardly speak. But I only need one word. My knee is becoming stiff now. And it’s all the distraction I have that’s helping me not explode, waiting for her answer.

  “Nikita, yes. Yes, of course I fucking will.”

  “Oh, thank God for that!” I don’t even know why I said that. It must be something generations old inside of me.

  I spring to my feet and embrace her, “You can’t know how happy you’ve made me.” I hold her, my beautiful Margot, so close.

  “Hmm,” she murmurs, and she presses a little closer. “I think I can feel how happy I’ve made you.”

  Claire hugs Margot, squeezes her, and kisses her. When Seb, the barman, embraces her and they kiss, even on the cheeks, the whole of my body stiffens, and it’s all that I can do to hold back from reacting forcefully to him. But, before I came, I spent a long time preparing myself for that, as well as for when the doorman, Sol, does the same.

  I know that I will have to reach some accommodation for her independence. Compromise will have to be found. But I will learn to respect her wishes. And she will learn to let me guide her and protect her. Compromise.

  She asks Claire, “What was the thing you had to tell me?”

  Claire takes a breath. “I hope you aren’t going to mind, but Nikita wanted to see your father.”

  Margot’s eyebrows stretch up. “To see him?”

  “Yes. I went to see him. It was not easy.”

  “I bet. He’s on a submarine base in the South Pacific.”

  I tell her, “There are commercial flights.”

  She stares at me with disbelief and wonder. “You went to see him? You saw Daddy?”

  Claire is eager, “Can I tell you the news?”

  Margot is looking from Claire to me and back. I nod, Margot nods. Claire says, “He called this morning and said that, if you agree to marry this man,” with her hand, she indicates that she means me, “then he gives you his blessing. And, if you can bear to wait until the weekend after this, he wants come to give you away.”

  Epilogue i

  Her

  OUR WEDDING WAS A fairy tale, a dream come true. A solemn priest conducted the service with a twinkle in his eye in a splendid church. The church shimmered in a radiant glow of blue and gold. The church glowed,
the organ rang out and the choir sang like angels. It was wonderful.

  Claire made the most gorgeous and mischievous maid of honor and, best of all, Daddy was there to give my hand to Nikita.

  Well, second best. Best of all was my fine, erect, and massive king, my love. Nikita, my forceful master. Father of my children.

  Through the service, I was aware that our first child was growing inside me already. I got preliminary confirmation from a test the morning of our wedding. I saved the news to give to Nikita after the ceremony. He hugged me so hard, I thought he would crush me. A lot of people like to be cautious, particularly for a first baby, and hold off giving the news until they’ve had some good scans.

  Not Nikita. He hugged my father and kissed him as he told him. Then the priest. Then he told everyone in the restaurant he had booked to throw the reception. After that, I could hardly get out of a chair without him rushing over to help me up. I think he would have held my phone for me for the next eight and a half months if I’d let him.

  Now we’re deep into preparation for the opening of his first major show. All the plans for the rooms are finalized, the work is nearly all made, some of it has been shipped, and our first child, a little baby girl, will be born right around the opening date.

  Some men cool down on sex with their wives while the women are pregnant. Usually because of fears over harming the baby or the pregnancy. Not Nikita. He had the penthouse fitted with hammocks, swings, and very high, padded chairs. He can’t get enough of me. He’s more vigorous than ever with his unbelievable tongue, and his fingers.

  And, he still devastates me at least twice a day, banging the hard thickness of his cock into me.

  Does it get any better than this?

  Epilogue ii

  Her

  “NIKITA,” I CALL DOWN from the mezzanine in the penthouse. I have my office space on that glass balcony. It seems odd to still be studying for my Masters, and at the same time running the creative empire of one of the most valuable and prestigious artists working today, but this life is still full of surprises.

  “Darling,” I call him again. I can hear him, or at least I can hear the squeaks and squeals of Eugenie and Illya, scampering around him while he plays with them.

  Finally, he calls back an acknowledgement. With his broad, megawatt smile, he steps out into the gallery below with one of the children on each arm.

  “You’re supposed to be working,” I say, trying to sound like I’m cross. Failing, of course. I tell him, “The Finklewitz Prize Committee called and asked if you would make a submission for this year. What should I tell them?”

  “You decide, darling.” Eugenie waves, and her little brother bounces on Nikita’s arm. “You tell me, and I’ll do whatever you say.”

  That’s exactly what he always says. He drives me mad with it. I know he hasn’t the slightest intention of doing anything other than exactly what he feels like from one moment to the next. Whatever I tell him, it won’t make the slightest bit of difference.

  I think he should enter for the Finklewitz, but he has so many art prizes and awards already, national and international. He would never have entered for any of them if I hadn’t persuaded him.

  Every time I suggested he enter for a prize he told me, “I don’t need the money. Why should I subject myself to the judgement of those petty fools on the judging panels?”

  “The prizes themselves don’t matter so much, it’s the shows. The exhibitions.” Hanging onto his arm I told him, “It’s all about getting your message out. Each prize, each festival is a new audience for you. It gives a whole other group of people a chance to see and experience your amazing work. We can give all the prize money to children’s charities.”

  After the first couple of awards, in Vienna and Berlin, he started to see that there was a point. It’s still like pulling teeth to get him to submit a piece of work to enter, though. But that’s my man. He knows what he wants and that’s exactly what he’s going to get.

  Later, when the children are asleep, I watch a velvet sunset in purple and orange as I finish up some work on my little glass balcony. I hear him come up the steps, but I don’t look up. Not until he plants hot kisses on my throat, and he nibbles my ear.

  “I’m going to need you to suck my cock,” he tells me. I giggle, but my eyes flash to tell him that I mean it.

  Our lips touch lightly as I ask him, “Does that mean I have to be a bad girl, Sir?”

  Now his eyes widen and his lips tighten. I tell him, “You may have to spank me. Sir.”

  Then I travel down. I blow kisses into his shirt and catch the scent of man on his chest. Darker on his abs. Then, downright musky around my destination.

  I pull his pants wide open, then lick the point of my tongue all the way from the base of his thick, reddening shaft. His hips jerk, and his fingers clench in my hair. Softly and gently, holding his cock in front of me, I flatten my tongue and lick the whole length of him again. Slower.

  The raging swelling and hardening of my nipples and the gushing sensations in my pussy are almost too much to bear as I savor the first taste of live cock. The tang of his skin on my wet tongue releases a cascade of tingling shivers all the way through me.

  Next time, I lick his balls first. Then, when I get to the top, I stretch my mouth around his head and I blow, steadily. When I flatten my tongue along the length of his shaft, it drives him wild. His breath deepens, and his eyes stab at me. His fingers tense in my hair. But I want to move on. I want the hard taste of him, his dark scent inside my mouth.

  He moans as I open my mouth, wide, and slip his slick bulb between my lips. Sliding my lips down his cock, the ridges of his underside burr over my tongue. His hand still holds my hair as I pull my lips up and down on his cock. Each time, I push my face farther along his hot rail. Feel the point of him push deeper into my mouth. Take him closer to the back of my tongue.

  He groans and his hips tense. I slide back to the top then look up in his eyes. “You don’t have to hold back, Russian.” I smack my lips. “I won’t break.”

  “Margot,” he moaned, “You outstanding fucking beauty.” Then with both hands he shoves my head down. I nod to encourage him as I dive down his shaft until it pushes the back of my throat. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the next part. But he pushes. My eyes widen. A thin, sweet saliva splashes into my mouth as his thick cock slips all the way, over the back of my tongue and slides into my throat.

  Gripping my hair, he yanks my head up and down the length of his cock until my nose is almost against his stomach. He’s rough as he jerks my head. I relax my throat. Then he pulls up my thin dress and slaps the cheeks of my ass. They’re cold around my tiny thong, then stinging hot where he slaps them.

  He growls, “Are you going to fight and struggle every step of the way?”

  I can’t speak. Obviously. But I nod. A lot.

  I’m almost ready to come, but I keep my concentration on the pulse of his heroic cock. I want every drop of him. I long to savor the heat and the taste of him. My lips fasten more tightly around him.

  My throat holds him and I suck. My lips are soft and wet along the girth of his crushing hardness. He jams in deeper, scraping deep in my throat. As his hand lands another crack on my ass cheek, I jolt. It pushes my mouth even farther and forces his cock even deeper into my soft, pulsing throat.