Guys in Miami try to impress you with their cars and bottle service and things like that. They never seem to take the time to even get to know what you like.
Artem and I just had a quick conversation, he jumped on something that I happen to be interested in seeing that I already have a tattoo, and then he makes a beeline to take me to his shop.
I wish boys my age understood that that’s how it’s done.
But then again what do boys my age know?
I was never interested in them anyways. I didn’t even go to my senior prom. I got invited, sure, but I never really considered it. And I swear my dad has eyes and ears everywhere because by the time I got home he was already telling me that I’d be spending that night at home. And the security system would be set as it always is.
He tries to protect me from everything, or at least that’s what he says even though I think he’s really just trying to protect information about what goes on in our house from getting out.
But there’s no way he can protect me from Artem now.
Artem pulls to a stop along the side of the road and quickly makes his way around to my side to help me out.
“Your tattoo shop is here?”
“Right there,” he says motioning with his head towards a really interesting looking building that faces the water which is just on the other side of the street.
“I like this area. Where are we?”
“Along the Angliyskaya Naberezhnaya, or English Embankment in English. Over the years it’s been the most fashionable street in Saint Petersburg,” he says. “And over there is the Bolshaya Neva River. The sunsets over it are incredible…in the months when we have sunsets.”
“I’ve heard about those long days in Sweden.”
“Same here. Very end of May and through the middle of July. We’re even further north, but not by much.”
“When do you go to bed then?” I ask.
“That depends what you mean by going to bed,” he says.
My foot hits the street and my ankle wobbles at his words but his big strong hand is quickly on me steading me his other hand engulfs the hand I offered him when he offered me help to get out of his Range Rover.
But as he steadies me my body falls closer into his.
I look up to find him staring right down at me.
“You never know when you might fall in…to someone,” he says.
Was that a huge love innuendo? Did he almost say fall in love?
Artem does not waste time when he sees something he wants.
“No…you don’t,” I say.
The cool, crisp air bites at my cheek and I lean into Artem as he walks me to the door of his tattoo parlor. He unlocks it with three different keys and then opens the door.
Pitch black.
“Is this the part where I find out this was all a ruse and my kidney winds up in Albania?” I ask.
“No, but Albania is a famous Russian holiday location. We should…you should…we can go in the future.”
Before I have a chance to weigh his words he flips the light switch on and the place comes to life.
“Whoa!” I say stepping inside. “I have these books,” I say looking at his copies of Russian Criminal Tattoo Encyclopaedia Volumes I, II, and III, Russian Criminal Tattoo Police Files. “Why do they spell encyclopedia like that?”
“Because it is originally a Greek word that became Latin and then for the book was phonetically written by Russians for an English speaking audience.”
I turn back and look at him, curious.
“Do you read a lot?”
“For these last years many, many hours each day,” he says.
“I thought tattooing is a booming business. I want to become a tattoo artist myself.”
“It is booming. Do you know how to use a needle?”
“No.”
He takes a step towards me and I feel my heart rate pick up.
“I will show you.”
CHAPTER 7
Artem
I extend my hand and she slides out of the black leather jacket that compliments her dark features so well.
But as she moves each arm out her chest comes forward, closer to me.
I can see there’s a bra on underneath, but there can’t be much padding to it as I catch myself looking right at her chest seeing that her nipples are hard as hell.
She clears her throat as she catches me staring. “Should I stand or sit.”
“There,” I say ordering her into my black leather tattoo chair.
I try and remember what my job is. Why I met her in the first place, but my need is growing too strong.
I’m her father’s best friend for Christ’s sake. This shouldn’t be happening.
Her arms jump when her warm skin meets the cool chair.
“I may be a lot younger than you, but we’re both adults here, Artem. Let me show you my tattoo,” she says.
No way I’m objecting to that.
Her ass rises up off the seat as she unbuckles her black denim jeans and then makes quick work of the button fly, her eyes never coming off mine.
The way she’s looking at me, like this is some sort of strip show, is causing my heart to make a thudding sound in rapid succession as it throws itself wildly against the inside of my chest.
She slides her pants down her leg and my eyes instantly jerk in that direction and my cock jerks in rhythm with my gaze.
“It suits you,” I say, trying to be cool. It’s some sort of plant and the black ink matches her dark hair and the general darkness about her. “It goes well with your tan, and would really pop if you were pale. Either way it works very well. Whether summer or winter.”
“I just got it because I liked it,” she says. “I love art and museums, and especially artwork that depicts flowers.”
“It doesn’t have meaning to you?” I ask.
“Is there something else you’re meaning to say? Something else that has meaning? Something in this room maybe?” she asks as her ass meets the seat again and this time the coldness of the leather instantly brings goose bumps to her skin.
I want to reach down there and grab her body and show her how I can keep her warm in this northerly climate. Show her how warm isn’t enough. Show her how I feel like I’m burning up inside for her.
“Do you want me to show you where I’d put a tattoo?” I ask picking up my tattoo gun.
She nods.
I lean in taking the collar of her white T-shirt and pulling it to the side, exposing her very delicate collarbone. My hand moves over to her shoulder and I feel the heat rising from her skin.
“Don’t you wear protection…when you work?” she asks.
“For everyone else, yes. But no glove for you,” I say not even realizing at first I didn’t pluralize glove instead going with the slang term for a condom.
And I would never wear a condom with her. I’d need to feel her walls grip my cock every time. I’d need to finish in her each and every day giving us the biggest family possible.
“Right here,” I say gently tapping the tattooing needle to her shoulder.
“What would the tattoo be?” she asks.
“Well, you know in Russian Prisons you don’t exist if you don’t have tattoos. Your whole life story is written on your body. The others on the inside, including the guards and the administrators don’t trust you if you don’t have tattoos because there is nothing there for them to see…to read.”
“So what would my story be?” she asks as I lean in closer, drawn to her smooth skin as I can feel her chest moving up and down just below me.
My forearm comes to rest on her upper chest just getting a small feel of her upper breasts and it drives me crazy, like a man who’s not only been imprisoned for so many years, but like a man who has found the only woman he ever wanted…and she’s supposedly off limits.
Supposedly.
I lean in closer tapping her skin with the end of my finger right where I would place my mark, my claim.
“It c
ould only be one of two things.”
“Something symbolic?” she says softly as my face gets closer to hers.
“Very symbolic, but not symbols or objects,” I say.
God, I’m only a few inches from her now, her lips practically calling out to me. I feel the pressure of her chest against my forearm and I know she’s arching her back trying to will her lips to mine.
She wants this. I want this. It must happen.
“Artem’s, or better yet…mine," I say.
CHAPTER 8
Alice
Just as quickly as his lips find mine and I find a kind of bliss I’ve never experienced before, the door comes flying open and she jerks her pants back up covering herself.
“Hands in the air. Give us the girl,” the man in the black ski mask says.
But there are two of them…and they both have guns.
Artem slowly pulls his face back from mine and turns toward them, making direct eye contact which I would consider a bad thing.
But this isn’t my turf, and I certainly don’t want to get dragged off to an even more unfamiliar place in a country I know so little about.
“There is some money in the drawer. It is yours. Take it. Take it all,” he says.
“Oh we’ll take it all right. And we’ll take her too,” the man says and as he smiles I can see his crooked disgusting teeth through the mouth hole in his mask.
Fear shoots through me. I was so close to giving my first time to Artem and now this disgusting criminal wants to take it from me, likely in the back of some disgusting rape van or a hideout in the middle of nowhere.
And when he’s done who’s to say he won’t take my life.
“Leave the girl out of this,” Artem says.
“Oh yes. Out…and in and out and in,” the man says as he moves his hips back and forth in a sexual motion before he bursts out laughing.
He turns back to look at his partner who is also laughing and Artem jumps from the stool next to the tattoo chair, dropping his tattoo gun, as he grabs the man’s gun hand and spins him all in one motion.
The gun fires into the man by the door and then Artem kicks the man he’s holding right in the shin and points the gun upward and disposes of the second man.
My hands are shaking and I’m in a complete state of shock.
“There will be no more problems,” he says. “That was the last of them.”
“Problems? They were trying to kill us! That’s more than a fucking problem,” I say.
“This is Russia, not U.S.A. You must be tough, like your father, if you want to survive here. Never show fear. Never show weakness.”
“My father is a lazy slob!” I yell.
A look crosses over Artem’s face as if I said something wrong, but I see him checking his own response…holding back.
“What?” I ask
“We must go now,” he says taking me by the arm and handing me my coat with his other.
“You think?”
CHAPTER 9
Alice
I throw myself onto my hotel room bed not ten minutes later.
A big part of me, make that a huge part of me, is saying I should get on the next plane back home.
This was a mistake that’s quickly spiraling into a complete disaster.
I got what my dad wanted now I should get out.
But another part of me, the most important part…my heart…knows I have to stay.
Because of him.
Words like charisma get thrown around a lot, but a man like Artem truly has it.
There’s something about being with a dangerous man who always seems so calm that’s just so intoxicating, so captivating, and so irresistible.
And it doesn’t hurt that he’s tall, dark, and handsome.
But he’s not handsome in the magazine cover model guy kind of way. It’s so much more than that. It’s in an emotional way.
In the way he carries himself. The self-confidence he exudes. And the way he touches me.
And what’s up with the way he “touched” those two men?
And then he drops me off at my hotel and tells me everything is fine and that he’ll be back in less than one hour to check up on me?
Is he going to go dispose of those two? I don’t even want to think about it.
I had friends in high school who had boyfriends that told them they’d fight for their girlfriend, only to see them cower and run at the first sign of trouble, or even worse after they got the girl to give up what they wanted.
Disgusting.
Artem has only kissed me, so far, and he’s left a trail of three men behind him in the process.
Isn’t he supposed to be a “bad guy?”
Well he sure seems good to me.
I think back to a movie I once watched. Right after I watched Eastern Promises I wanted to see something else that dealt with that kind of lifestyle.
And wouldn’t you know it I stumbled upon another Viggo Mortensen movie. This one was called A History of Violence.
In the film a pair of petty criminals show up at a small town diner in the Midwest right at closing time. Mortensen says they’re closed, but after a few tense minutes they prepare to go on a rampage, but Mortensen quickly disposes of the two men.
Mortensen becomes a hero in town, but declines all the press coverage. He tries his best to be low key.
Why?
Because he’s actually a Philadelphia mobster who moved to this small town to start a new life, completely oblivious to his wife and children.
It makes me wonder just how violent Artem’s past is, and if he’s really capable of leaving it all behind.
And if that’s even possible, depending on the people from his past.
These are questions I really need to consider if we’re going to have a future here.
Today was crazy. I just landed here after a long flight and then all this stuff happens.
Yes, I was provocative towards Artem, but I need to better consider the consequences of my actions.
Artem treats me like a woman, not an eighteen-year-old little girl.
I’ve always felt older than my age, more mature, but now that I’m in a position to test my beliefs I need to prove to myself just how mature I am.
Because Artem has proven himself to be a man that I have very strong feelings for. Feelings I can’t deny and ones I know won’t go away.
The question is will I go away from this trip always wondering what could have been, or will I be an adult and go after what I want no matter the consequences?
CHAPTER 10
Alice
The next day
I felt like a kid in a candy store. Like the real Alice in Wonderland as we entered the Hermitage Museum three miles from my hotel.
We’d started off the day late, as the jet lag set in and my body wasn’t asleep at this hour.
After I was up, Artem came and picked me up and took me to a quaint little spot along the romantic banks of the Fontanka River for breakfast.
After all the commotion and madness from yesterday I’d passed out in my bed without ever having tried that borsch yet.
But our traditional Russian breakfast of kasha, a type of porridge made from different grains, butterbrots, which resembled a sandwich except there was only a single slice of bread with butter and ham on top, along with fried eggs and tvorog, which tasted a lot like cottage cheese, more than made up for it.
And after such a full meal we continued along the Fontanka where he took my hand for the first time.
We walked a bit more until we came to the absolutely beautiful Anichkov Bridge, which made me realize why Saint Petersburg is often referred to as The Paris of the East, and is thought of as a more European city than a Russian one.
It’s true. Missing were the communist block buildings that I expected and instead the architecture reminded me more of a postcard with its mix of colors, bridges, and beautifully dressed people moving about.
But when we got to the middle of the bridge Art
em stopped our movement, turning me to face him.
Possessive Russian: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 79) Page 3