Football Daddy

by Ava Walsh

  Sylvia picked up her glass and held it up to him, aware that Fedor’s eyes were on her. Before she could catch him looking, he had turned away and started digging into his salad.

  “So Fedor…” she began when Pyotr had left them to themselves again. “You have a lovely place here,” she said, taking a large sip of her wine. He chewed his food in silence, and when he was done he looked at her face calmly and smirked.

  “Thank you. I hope you’re finding it comfortable,” he said and Sylvia laughed.

  “I have an entire floor to myself. You should see the size of my apartment in Brooklyn,” she said, placing the glass back on the table. Fedor wiped his mouth with the napkin on his lap and picked up his glass of whiskey.

  “You live in an apartment in Brooklyn?” he asked, surprised.

  “I didn’t want my father to pay for my house. I was stupid enough to think that if he didn’t fund me anymore, I could get some freedom at long last,” Sylvia said, unable to keep the caustic tone out of her voice. Fedor smiled finally and started eating again.

  “I thought kids only rebelled in their teenage years,” he said, popping a piece of chunky tomato into his mouth. Sylvia started eating as well, enjoying the freshness of the vegetables.

  “I’m not rebelling and I’m not a kid. I want a different way of life,” she explained, and Fedor continued to smile.

  “You will always be a kid to your father.”

  “Can we not talk about my father anymore?” she snapped and noticed the eyebrow Fedor raised.

  Even on vacation, even on a tropical island; Fedor Volkov was dressed to kill. His trousers were navy, tailored and looked as smooth and silky as butter. He wasn’t in a jacket, but the shirt was formal and tailored too. Through the open buttons at his neck, she could see a smattering of dark hair on his chest. Sylvia looked at his body openly, she wanted him to know that she was attracted to him. She didn’t want to hide it.

  He shifted in his seat and then nodded.

  “If you want. What shall we talk about then?” he asked, his Russian accent betraying him every few seconds. It made Sylvia blush for some strange reason.

  “We can talk about what brings you to Puerto Rico,” she said, and he pushed his finished plate of salad away, reaching for the bowl of eggplant caviar.

  “I take some time off once every two years,” he said flatly, while Sylvia still tried to finish her salad.

  “And the rest of the time, this place just sits here, unoccupied?” she asked, looking around her.

  She noticed how he clenched his jaws. He clearly didn’t like being asked personal questions, but he had no escape right now.

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia tsk-ed and he raised his eyebrows at her again.

  “You disapprove?” he asked, and she smiled sweetly at him.

  “There are a million things you can do with this place. It’s a shame to see it go to waste,” Sylvia said, and she watched his look change suddenly. She was worried now that she was pushing him too hard, pushing him off the edge. But this was so much fun. It was so much fun to watch a big-shot Russian mafia Boss squirm and grow uncomfortable in his chair.

  “I deserve a vacation home, don’t you think?” he said. His voice had hardened, and Sylvia tightened her lips. His quetion sounded so much like every excuse her father had ever thrown at her.

  “Yeah, because you work so hard all year long. Dishing out orders for people’s heads and kidnapping some others. Poor you. Boohoo,” she snapped at him, and Fedor looked up at her with a jerk.

  Chapter Six - Fedor

  This was exactly the reason why he stayed away from women, from starting a family, from all forms of liability. He couldn’t bear to hear someone nagging him about his lifestyle and his choices. And who was this? Will Stern’s daughter! How dare she question him about his work!

  “What makes you think you know what kind of work I do?” he asked, stopping his chewing. He looked at her with a narrowed gaze, hoping that he could frighten her into silence. But Sylvia Stern didn’t seem to be so easily cowered. She just sat opposite him with the glass of wine in her hand, and an accomplished snarky smirk on her face. Fedor could feel his blood boiling.

  “Because I know exactly what you and your pals do. Don’t forget, I’ve grown up with it,” Sylvia said, smiling more openly now. She was enjoying pissing him off.

  Fedor wiped his mouth with the napkin and threw it to the floor in rage. He didn’t want to have to do something drastic, like send her away. But she was truly testing his patience.

  “Sylvia, I owe it to my friendship with your father to keep you here. But you cannot behave like a spoiled brat around here, in my home,” Fedor growled, trying to keep his voice down but still get his point across at the same time.

  Moreover, she looked devastatingly gorgeous and his head was swimming with contradictory feelings for her.

  “So you just want me to subject and bow down to your male superior knowledge and power? Just like all these women do? Like my poor mother did?” Sylvia replied, gulping down the entire glass of wine. She started wolfing down her salad as well, and Fedor watched her eat in silence. Suddenly, he wasn’t so hungry anymore.

  “Again, that is between you and your father. It’s your family’s problem,” Fedor said, finishing his own glass of whiskey.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot, you stay away from families. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t do the same thing if you had one,” she said, pushing her empty plate of salad away from her.

  “If I had a family, I would do everything in my power to protect them. Just like your father is doing,” he said, slowly and with less fury. He tried to calm himself by reminding himself that this was only temporary. One week, two weeks maximum and then she would be out of his hair. He owed it to Will.

  “Fine. This isn’t about families. This is about your work, the nature of your work,” Sylvia snapped, pushing spoonfuls of the caviar into her mouth. The bottle of wine that Pyotr had left was standing between them on the table, and she poured some more into her glass.

  Fedor watched her do it in silence and then cleared his throat.

  “I don’t need to explain the nature of my work to you, all I can say is that you have the wrong impression,” he said, watching her drink her wine. It stained her luscious lips, and he was tempted to reach over and wipe it off her face. She looked so beautiful, with her nostrils flaring, her eyes glittering with rage. She was drinking and eating out of anger too, but in everything she did, there was a slender elegance that he couldn’t quite define. She walked, spoke and behaved like a Princess, like a Queen. And he was beginning to find it hard to control himself to not look at her breasts, right in front of him.

  Sylvia laughed. “I have the wrong impression about your work? No, Fedor, I think you have the wrong impression of me. You think I’m a naive protected little girl. I know everything,” she said, placing her glass hard on the table. It nearly toppled over. She poured some more wine into her glass.

  “You’re a naive little girl because you think you know everything,” he said and pushed back his chair. He saw the look of surprise in her eyes.

  “Where are you going? We haven’t even had our main course yet,” she said, looking up at him with her eyes wide and glazed over. The glass of wine dangled from her hands as he stood up.

  “I’m not hungry anymore. Enjoy your dinner, and I hope you have a good night,” he said, walking around the table and her. As he walked he could hear the scraping of her chair against the floor as she rushed to stand up.

  “Don’t walk away from me. I am a guest at your dinner table.” Her voice was raised and Fedor slowly turned to look at her.

  She had a wild look in her eyes. The glass of wine was back on the table. Her dress clung to her body, her breasts heaved with her fast breathing and her lips were slightly parted. Fedor was trying with all his might to keep his hands off her. That was why he was leaving her there, out of respect for his friend, so that he didn’t end up tearing t
he clothes off his daughter.

  “You’re not being a polite guest in my house, Sylvia. I don’t want to have to be the one teaching you manners,” he said with a satisfied smile. He could see the rage rising in her cheeks, he was the one enjoying himself now. She had had a good run trying to get him to lose his cool, but she had had too much to drink and was losing her control. He was the one in control now.

  “Being well mannered is so boring, don’t you think? Fedor?” she said, her voice suddenly dropping by several decibels. She had started to take a few steps in his direction and he sensed trouble.

  Chapter Seven - Sylvia

  No, Fedor Volkov wasn’t going to have his way. He stood in front of her with his feet parted and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. His beard lay thick on his face, his blue eyes caught the light of the rising moon and looked nearly silvery now. His face was pale in the moonlight but his gaze was fierce. She could picture him naked, with his broad chest and his wide shoulders, his biceps clenched as he held her by the waist. She had never felt so turned on by a man she thought she detested. Her seduction of him wasn’t going to be difficult, Sylvia thought. She wanted him.

  “Without manners, we will all turn into animals,” Fedor said flatly, watching her as she walked towards him. They were alone on the balcony, and she knew there were people inside the house. Pyotr, his bodyguards, the housekeepers, the cooks… But in that moment she felt like they were all alone.

  “And what is wrong with animals?” she whispered when she had reached him. Their bodies were only a few inches apart. She had to look up at him as she spoke, while he had to hang his head down to look at her. He towered over her and she could feel herself beginning to get wet.

  She hadn’t been with a man before, not all the way at least. She was still a virgin. She had led a sheltered life, Fedor was right in that regard. And no guy had been good enough to take her virginity, not in school, not in college… That is, if they could get past her father first. But Fedor Volkov was doing something to her body that she had no control over. He was at least two decades older than her, if not more, but no man before had been this sexy. Just his calmness, his casualness, the control he exuded and also the way he studied her body.

  Like now, she knew he was watching her. He had memorized all the curves and angles of her flesh. She wanted so desperately to touch him.

  “Go back to the table, Sylvia. Finish your dinner,” he said, in a commanding tone, though his voice wasn’t raised.

  “I’m not a child, Fedor. I’ll do what I want,” she said, licking her lips. He followed the movement of her tongue, and she could see that his gaze was still focused on her body. Was he losing his control just like she was? Her father was going to lose his shit!

  “Do what you want then, you’ll have to excuse me,” he said and turned on his heels, but Sylvia had grabbed him by the wrist. He stopped and turned to look at her in shock. By the look in his eyes, nobody had ever dared to do this to him before. He didn’t know how to react.

  “You’re the one being ill-mannered now. I’m your guest,” she said softly and he stood there watching her, his wrist still tightly wrapped by her hand.

  It happened at lightning speed. One moment he was staring at her, and the next moment their bodies were pressed together, and his lips were on hers. She let go of his wrist and his hands clutched her face tightly as he kissed her.

  It was a hungry kiss, he was devouring her and she felt breathless and giddy.

  He felt like a giant next to her body, straining her face up with his hands so he could kiss her. She moaned as she kissed him back, welcoming his tongue inside her mouth.

  Sylvia placed her hands on his shoulders and stood up on her toes so that they could kiss more easily, till she felt his large warm hands on her waist and he raised her up.

  He was holding her up as he continued to kiss her. Then he pulled away and she bent her neck backward, her flesh still warm and tingling from that long tempestuous kiss. His lips were on her neck next, slowly grazing her skin with his tongue till he reached the top of her breasts.

  Then he let her go, so suddenly that she felt like she would crash to the floor when he put her down.

  “You are drunk,” he said, angry with himself and her.

  “You kissed me!” Sylvia said, staring back at him with her mouth open. She wanted more, she didn’t want it to end. She wanted him to tear her clothes off, to lick her breasts, her belly, between her legs.

  “Go to sleep Sylvia, you’re drunk,” he repeated, beginning to walk away now.

  “You kissed me, Fedor. And I’m not drunk,” she screamed but he was gone now, sliding the glass doors of the balcony back into place.

  She stood alone on the balcony, suddenly shivering as she watched him disappear out of sight.

  This wasn’t going according to plan. He had kissed her, that was done, enough to make her father angry. But that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for her. She wanted more now that she had gotten a taste of him. Fedor Volkov stood for everything she despised, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Her legs felt weak and she sat down with a thump on the chair that he had been sitting on.

  She could still taste him on her breath, still feel his hands on her waist. She wanted him to come back, and yet he had walked away. He had put a stop to this.

  She poured some more wine into her glass and drank from it greedily. If she wasn’t going to get what she wanted, then she might as well make the most of her vacation.

  Sylvia pulled her own chair towards her and put her feet up on it, facing the sunset. The waves crashed against the shore as she drank her wine. A soft sea breeze blew her hair over her face and she smiled. This wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter Eight - Fedor

  Fedor woke up with a start. He had been dreaming of her. He had dreamed of her naked body in his bed, in his hands. He imagined her breasts bouncing as he fucked her hard till she came. And then he woke up.

  He realized he was still hard and he began to touch himself. Sylvia’s face, Sylvia in her tight red dress floated up in his brain as he stroked his dick. Then there was a rap on the door. Fedor grunted.

  “What is it?” he called out loudly, angered by the interruption. He could almost smell her perfume now.

  “Petrov is on the phone, Boss.” It was Pyotr. A steady light was streaming through the dark curtains in his lavish bedroom and Fedor grunted.

  “Tell him I’ll call him back in a few hours,” he said loudly and then grumbled “bastard” when he heard Pyotr’s retreating footsteps.

  The memory of their kiss came crashing into his head then and Fedor sat up in bed, his erection slowly fading away. He had kissed Sylvia. He had licked her neck, the top of her breasts. Will’s daughter!

  He jumped out of bed and rushed towards his ensuite bathroom. The fittings were all in gold, the water was warm and the towels were a soft fuzzy cotton when he held one to his face to dab at the moisture.

  He was drunk last night, he had one too many whiskeys. He was breathing hard as he stood over the basin, clutching its sides with his hands. He had found Sylvia irresistible the previous night, but that had to have been the whiskey talking. She was twenty-five years younger than him. She was his friend’s daughter. He had broken the code.

  Fedor jumped into the shower, believing with all his might that a cold shower would make all this go away.

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about her body, how she had smelt, how sweet her skin had tasted, how small she was in his hands. And when he dreamed of her last night, he had pictured her naked to perfection, he had literally heard her scream with pleasure.

  Fedor jumped out of the shower and went back into the bedroom to change into fresh clothes. He tucked in his shirt, combed his hair and brushed his beard in front of the large ornate silver mirror in the room. He twirled the ends of his mustache and licked his pink lips before stepping out of his bedroom.

  He heard her voice immediately.
She was laughing, out on the balcony. He walked quickly to the landing at the top of the stairs, from where he could see her.

  Sylvia was in a chair, seemingly naked except for the white fluffy bathrobe she was wearing. She had just had a shower, and her curls were damp and limply hanging around her head. He could see her in side profile. She had one of her long dark legs folded under her butt as she sat. Her legs were delicious, smooth and dark like bitter chocolate. In her hands were a bunch of grapes, and she was talking animatedly with the housekeeper. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name.

  “Boss, I’ve arranged for your breakfast in your study because the girl is on the balcony.” Pyotr appeared out of nowhere at the bottom of the stairs and interrupted his study of Sylvia.

  “I’ll take it on the balcony,” Fedor said, clearing his throat and beginning to walk down the steps.

  She was still unaware of him, still laughing and joking with the housekeeper as she popped a grape into her mouth. Her teeth were a bright white, and her lips stretched out all over her face as she laughed. Her neck was slender and long, and he remembered how he had licked a wet trail down its length.

  “There you are. Hangover?” Sylvia asked as he slid open the glass doors of the balcony. This used to be the favorite part of his day, being able to read the newspapers in silence by the sea on the balcony, with a cup of strong coffee and toasts. Now it was spoilt by her presence. Because he couldn’t think of anything else except her, and how beautiful she looked.

  Sylvia was most definitely naked under her robe, and she sat in the same position, unwilling to adjust the robe where it hung open across the top of her breasts. They were revealed, her robe just about covering her nipples. Fedor was hard again as he tried to not look. The housekeeper scurried away while Pyotr brought in his tray of coffee and buttered toasts.

  “Did you have a good night’s sleep?” he asked, ignoring her question.