by Jasmin Quinn
She gaped at him, sat on the bed and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Don’t touch me, Rusya. Keep your distance.” She couldn’t even look at him. Shame, loathing, fear ran through her. And this man, he didn’t know how to deal with any of that. He wanted his world neat, orderly. He wanted his shiny leather shoes side by side, his clothes neatly folded. He wanted her to be good, perfect like him.
“Why the fuck are you even interested?” Her emotions were still heightened, but the tears were drying. The one thing she was good at – not crying. He was leaning against the door, legs splayed, arms folded across his chest. Blocking her escape route if she thought to run from him, his face angry, confused. She kept her eyes glued to him as she stood and walked into the bathroom to get a tissue.
As she ran it under her eyes and nose, she waited. No answer and so she asked again, “Why?”
Chapter 25
Rusya stood in Esma’s bedroom, gazing at her. Face red, eyes puffy from crying, her small body shaking like a leaf. They both knew how close she’d come to taking a drink. Yuri’s fault. No, not Yuri’s. His. He loved the woman in front of him. And Yuri’s question. “You want to keep her?” That wasn’t the problem. It was his answer, his ‘maybe’ that pushed her. Or maybe it was all of it. His lack of empathy, his inability to manage his temper. His lack of passion. And now she wanted to know why. And he couldn’t find the words to answer her.
So he didn’t.
He said instead, “There’s a lot at stake with these negotiations. I expect you to behave professionally. If I catch you drinking. If I even so much as see you glancing at a bottle, I will lock you up for the remainder of this trip.”
Esma shook her head at him. Her tears had dried and she was back to being Esma. “You’re such a fucking prick!”
He crossed the room, pulled her to him. Crushed her in his embrace, but he said, “Are you trying to get me to react to you? Is that it? You’re disrespectful.”
She shoved at his chest. “I’m disrespectful? Me? You, Rusya. You disrespect me. You see me as a fuck, a convenience. Someone you’re not sure you want, but no one else can have. You’re fucked up, Rusya.”
He loosened his hold on her but didn’t let go. “I want you, Esma. I do. It’s not a maybe.”
“Then why say it?”
Rusya dropped his arms, stepped back from her, rubbed his hands over his face. Why did he say it? Why was he afraid to commit to her? And maybe the better question, the one that would answer his first question, was why was she not afraid to commit to him? “Tell me why you aren’t more afraid of me? Why do you do and say the things you do and think they won’t have repercussions. That it won’t piss me off?”
Chapter 26
Esma closed her eyes, tried to sort her thoughts. Good fucking question. “Maybe I think you care about me. Enough to keep me, not hurt me. Maybe I think that if you don’t care about me, maybe I think that it doesn’t matter what happens next anyway.”
She wondered if she was making sense, watch as Rusya mulled over her words. “I care about you, Esma.”
Esma pulled a deep, shuddering breath into her lungs. She needed to hear him say that and she realized how pitiful that need was. But she wasn’t lying. He mattered to her in such a way that if he didn’t return her regard, there’d be no point to her useless little life. “I care about you too, Rusya.”
Now would have been the time for them to fall into each other’s arms, embrace, kiss deeply, strip off their clothes and make sweet love to each other. But Esma couldn’t move and Rusya didn’t. “I should go. Yuri and I need to talk. Stay here. I’ll come back.”
He turned and left and Esma slumped down on the bed, fell on her back, stared up at the ceiling. What a fucking stupid day this was, fight, don’t fight, fight again, then make up and then don’t kiss – nope, leave instead. And Rusya said he cared and that made her too fucking happy.
She showered, changed her clothes. Jeans and a warm sweater, then restless, tired of waiting for Rusya to come and get her, she made her way downstairs. She found Rusya and Yuri in the living room. Olga too, but she was sitting apart from them reading a book. They all looked up as she entered and Esma plastered a smile to her face. Yuri spoke first.
“Esma! Come join us. We were talking about the plan tomorrow. How to make sure we finish negotiations and all go away happy with the outcome.”
Esma sat on the couch, next to Rusya. She thought about sitting away from him, next to the other arm, but she wanted to be less subtle in her feelings, for him, for his parents, for her. “And what have you decided?” She kept her tone respectful. Her eyes lowered mostly so she didn’t give into the urge to punch Yuri’s Adam’s apple back into his windpipe.
Rusya shifted around so he could see her face. “Anto is out tonight with them, making friends. By tomorrow, it will be okay.”
“Will Anto be safe?” Esma worried. Turks could be vicious.
Yuri laughed. “Anto’s bulldozer. No one fucks with him.”
Olga looked up, narrowed her eyes. “Truly Yuri, be respectful in front of the women.”
Esma dropped her eyelids for a second. Then opened them. Nope, she didn’t dream this up and she wasn’t trapped in a parallel universe. It was the 21st century and men were still subjugating women and women were still letting them.
Later that night, after dinner, she excused herself early and went to her room. The day had been emotionally wrenching. Exhaustion crept over her like a malicious mist, fucking with her mind, making it feeble. She slipped into her pyjamas, slid under the covers and was almost asleep when Rusya entered the room. She knew it was him without seeing him. His smell, masculine, clean and his gait, his strides, steady and sure. He slipped under the covers, slid next to her and pulled her into his arms.
She melted into them, the two laying on their sides against each other, his hand travelling down the length of her body, to her thighs, then back again and she, letting him. Gentle, loving strokes, feeling her curves, skin on skin as his hand slipped under her top, rested on her waist. They stayed that way for a moment, their quiet breaths the only sound in the dark until he drew his hand to her curls, pulled her face in close, and kissed her, long, searing, stroking through her body as he pushed her onto her back and moved over her. He kissed her again, his lips on the curve of her jaw, drawing to the corner of her mouth, another kiss there, then running his tongue between her lips, before sliding into her mouth, opening her to him, crushing her mouth with his.
She brought her hands to his head, holding it while he took her. Kissing him back, feeling his desire in his kisses, in the strokes of his hands. He slid his fingers under her top. Soft, silky chemise – for him, in case he came to his senses. Pulled a breast into his hand and squeezed it, playing with the nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers. He dropped his mouth to her neck, to her throat, biting and nibbling, kissing, down a shoulder, then down to her breasts. He pushed the top up over her chest and took a nipple between his lips, sucking gently, nipping lightly, then a little harder until she gasped from the pleasure, the small fissure of pain. The weight of his body kept her from handling him back. All she could do was run her hands along the hard ridges of his back, feeling the muscles in his shoulders bunch under her fingertips as she grazed them.
He moved lower, pulling the blankets with him, off her body as he kissed her belly. Small, light, gentle, wet, until he was at her silky shorts. He touched her pussy through the material, then his hands at the waistband, pulling them over her hips, down her legs and off.
She closed her eyes and let out a little sigh as his warm dry palms slid up to her thighs. She opened to him, and he brought his lips to her pussy, feathering kisses along her slit, running his tongue through her folds, finding her clit and licking it. So gently, and it shook her to the core. Back down her pussy, stroking his tongue around her vagina, teasing, then up again, licking her until she was moaning, desire rippling through her and the pressure, growing. She thought she might e
xplode with her wanting of him. And then she did, her orgasm skimming through her as gently as the strokes of his tongue. He stilled, brought a hand to her pussy and felt the tremors, then his thumb on her clit, pressing a little, coaxing a few more spasms.
She wanted him in her but he wasn’t ready, bringing his lips back down to her, coaxing her back to another high, then as she got more fevered, her moans louder, he climbed back up her body, turning her belly side down, opening her up from the back, and sliding his penis into her, filling her. He brought a hand under her belly and raised it up a little. But his chest pressed against her back as his cock glided inside. The sheets anchored her as she curled her fingers into them, her fever bringing her up, as she felt all of him, thrusting, gentle, steady. She scrabbled at the sheets. Wanted more, needed more and he understood, slid out of her, slid up on his knees and turned her, dropping over her, his lips on hers hard, ravishing, passionate, stealing her breath. And back inside her as she curled her legs around his waist, bringing her body as close to his as possible, feeling him bottom out, feeling him thrust against her womb.
“Fuck,” she heard him say, his voice faraway even though he was melding with her. Then his lips on her neck, on her hair, his hands under her back, fingers tangled in her hair. Pulling her up to him, off the bed as his need grew.
She clung to him, her hands on his back, her nails raking him as he thundered into her. It was so fucking good as she met his thrusts, becoming more erratic, hearing his breathing deepen, his grunts louder. She came then, another orgasm, this one less gentle. This one shuddering through her body like a trail of gunpowder, triggering explosions. Her pussy tightened around his cock, driving his own orgasm. “Esma,” he groaned into her shoulder as he released, plunging in deeply, a few more thrusts and then stilling. Not moving as he recovered his breath. Then looking into her face, kissing her lips.
When he rolled off her, he rolled her with him, so that she was partly lying on him. His arms hugged her close, and they lay that way, unmoving, not talking as minutes ticked by. Finally, he reached down and tucked the covers over them as he turned her on her side away from him, then wrapped himself around her, one arm pillowing her head, the other on her hip, hand against her belly. And her ass against his groin. Esma fell asleep thinking it was the best feeling in the world.
Chapter 27
Rusya slid his eyes open. It was early, too early to be up. Cold in the room, but Esma’s hot little body was wrapped around his, not how she fell asleep last night cradled in his arms, now with her face turned toward him and her legs tangled with his. He studied her in the shadows of the morning. Her curls were unruly, wild, everywhere and he thought that it would be the best sight in the world to wake up to that crazy hair every morning of his life.
He reached out and took one of the springy brown coils between his fingers, letting it wrap around his thumb like a little koala bear. Soft, wild, unfettered, like Esma. She was still wearing her silky pajama top. The only clothes between them. He wished he could see her breasts, wished he’d taken the top off her last night. He didn’t want her to wake up yet. Thought maybe he would kiss her awake. He was hard, erect, needy. No indecisiveness on the part of his cock.
It had been a long time since he’d had morning sex, a long time since he’d woken up next to a woman. It was a revelation and one he wanted to savour. There was no other woman for him. No one that he made the concessions he was making for Esma. He smiled to himself as he thought that. Words best not said out loud to her. She wouldn’t see them as concessions and she’d likely tear into him for thinking that.
He ran his hand down her belly to her neat little tangle of dark hair. She moaned a little in her sleep and shifted but didn’t wake up. He rested his palm there, savouring her. She almost took a drink yesterday, because of him. He realized it later, after he left her, after she came down and managed through dinner with his parents. Then left again. This was pushing the limits of what she could handle. He was pushing her limits. He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want her to fail and he didn’t want to be the cause of her failure.
He thought about home, about what was next. His father, such a prick, talking in front of her like she was beneath him. She was smart to insert herself between them, to swear at them like she did. She knew Rusya more than he cared to admit. Where had she come from, his little saviour? Stepping into his life making him want things that he thought he didn’t need. Like a home and a wife and children. He saw them together. He saw their children. Would she understand that they would be raised as bratva brats? Did she understand the implications of what she wanted?
He looked into her face, saw that she was awake, eyes open, watching him as he thought. He smiled at her, kissed her lips and rolled on top of her. She opened her legs and welcomed him. He felt like he was home.
Chapter 28
It took most of Tuesday to get through the negotiations. The morning was spent exchanging platitudes, undoing the damage from the day before. Anto had somehow built the bridge. Spent time with the Turks last night, talked Salik out of wanting Esma as part of the deal. By the end of the day, everyone was behaving, weapons stayed under jackets. It ended on a toast and it was over.
The Turks walked out happy, Yuri and Rusya had the connections they needed and Anto was heading to the airport. “Gotta get home to Marisol,” he said. Esma was becoming attached to Anto. The big, bullish fuck who was better at managing his temper than anyone she knew. She understood when he got mad that people might die, but he also knew how to diffuse things, set them on the right track. He was a thinker, strategic, and kind to the people he cared about. But none of that was the reason for Esma’s growing affection. It was because he loved his woman and he was open about it. Marisol need never worry about her place in his heart. Esma wanted to tell Marisol how lucky she was. Wanted to see Marisol again. Ask how she was doing. Maybe be around two people certain in their love for each other.
Rusya distracted her, brought her back to the present. “You did well today, Esma.” He stood beside her, looking down at her with his dark thoughtful eyes. He touched the back of her head, drew his fingers through her curls, got tangled in them.
Esma smiled as he extracted himself. “Which part of the day?”
He leaned in. “Every fucking part of the day.”
Her heart skipped a few beats as he talked to her. She wasn’t even sure what he was saying, just revelled in his nearness. His regard for her. How could she hang on to this? How could she make this last?
Yuri came up. “Good day. We should celebrate.”
Rusya turned to his father. “Yes. Back to the house, a drink and then Esma and I have to go. There are things in Vancouver I have to attend to.”
Yuri reared back in surprise. “What? You’re not staying for Christmas?”
Rusya shook his head as relief filtered through Esma. And gratitude. He was doing this for her. She felt a small burn in her eyes.
Yuri grabbed Rusya by the upper arm and pulled him away from Esma. “Let’s talk. Your mother won’t like it.”
They stood apart from her, deep in conversation, voices muffled, words clipped. Not happy. Anto came by, kissed her on both cheeks. “See you back in Vancouver.”
Esma nodded. “Yeah.”
He hesitated. “When you’re back, you and me need some alone time.”
“Yeah,” she said again. She needed an ally, she had to make sure she had one in Anto. “Have a safe flight.”
“Rusya, Yuri!” he bellowed and as they looked up, he waved at them both, then turned his back and left.
Three remained, she, Rusya and Yuri. She could see that neither was happy, but Rusya was not backing down. The conversation ended abruptly as Yuri stomped out. Rusya walked up to her, the look on his face explosive.
She gripped his arm. “We should stay. You should stay. I can go back to Vancouver, meet you there after the holidays.”
Rusya shook his head, a stubborn set to his mouth. “No. We go to a hotel t
onight, then tomorrow we fly home. By now, Janice will have the tree up. We’ll celebrate your first Christmas where you can be at ease.”
Esma reached out and rubbed her fingers along Rusya’s coat lapel. “It’s not that important to me.”
He touched the underside of her chin with his hand, tilted her face up, grazed her lips with his. “It is to me.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Chapter 29
It was Rusya’s and Esma’s last night in Moscow. Anto had already left on a commercial flight. Wanted to get home to Marisol. The two of them finally had the chance to be alone. Rusya had booked a suite at the Lotte Hotel. A shared bed tonight in privacy. He didn’t ask her, not that he thought she’d say no. He wanted her. Had wanted her all week. Lost the fight last night when he went to her, when he realized his reasons for maintaining the distance were foolish and unnecessary.
Now they were here, in this hotel away from the rest of the world. His parents weren’t happy with his decision. He’d maintained it had nothing to do with Esma, which was a lie. He didn’t like lying but he didn’t want Esma in the line of Yuri’s fire. His father made Rusya the man he was today. Yuri was a dangerous man, still the head of the Moscow bratva. Ruthless. Rusya had to find a way to reconcile Esma and Yuri. Not today though, plenty of time to do that. After he and Esma were more settled, they would come back to Moscow and work on being a family.
He was sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of vodka. Not his first drink today, but probably his last. Esma had come so close to taking a drink yesterday because he forgot her vulnerabilities. He wondered how long she’d been sober. He wondered so much about her. She didn’t talk about herself, her past. Didn’t explain her circumstance. But then, when had they talked? Words seemed a barrier between them, something they struggled to bridge. He told himself to try harder.