by R. J. Lewis
I’m aware he’s pushed my bra down because I can feel the straps falling from my shoulders and air hitting my exposed breasts, but I’m more concerned by his mouth finding my nipple. When he traps one with his lips, a jolt I don’t expect travels through me. I still, my mouth opening in surprise.
Warmer, warmer…burning.
His calloused hand grabs at my other breast and he moves his mouth to it and gives that nipple the same attention, sucking it and giving me another electric jolt that journeys straight to my centre.
My head falls back, banging against the cupboard. I feel his mouth come back up my throat, sucking at my jawline before capturing my lips again. His hands are still moving over me, gripping at the meat around my hips and then skimming along my inner thighs, stopping where I want him not to stop.
“Keep going,” I plead, my needy voice foreign to my ears. “Don’t stop.”
His thumbs move higher beneath my dress, skimming across my panties, over sensitive flesh and nerves. I shake, even my teeth chatter. I’m not used to this. I don’t even know what this is. But I don’t want it to stop, so I buck my hips, trying to get him to touch me there again. His head falls back between my neck and shoulders, grazing my skin with his teeth as he continues to rub me, adding more pressure, but never enough. Fuck, it’s never enough.
“Nikolai,” I moan, bucking my hips against his thumb.
He groans when I say his name. I think it does something to him because I say it again and he turns feverish in his movements. He removes his hand and picks me up, and I feel his hard erection against my centre as he turns us around.
“Where do I take you, Alina?” he demands, his voice ragged, his breaths uneven. “Tell me now. Where do I take you, rybka?”
There’s an urgency in him, a demand to answer him straight away. I can barely think, though. I’m too lost at this point. I’m wet between my legs and feeling things I’ve never, ever felt before. Like the absolute need to be fucked.
“There’s nowhere but here,” I reply unevenly.
He curses sharply in his tongue and just when I think he’s going to put me back on the counter, he suddenly drops us down to the ground.
The entire move should be awkward, and it might have been, but he’s ravaging my lips and shoving my panties down my legs to notice. At the same time, I’m pulling off his suit jacket and tearing apart the buttons of his shirt, seeking his skin beneath the palm of my hands. He’s burning to the touch, his tanned tatted skin inches from my vision as I lift my head up and lick at his sweaty throat. That earns me another curse and his hand wraps around my hair, forcing it back on the tile floor.
His other hand pulls my dress up high so it’s completely around my hips. I’m aware I’m completely bare. I can feel my ass against the floor and his suit pants against my sensitive flesh. As he gives me a distracted kiss, I hear him unbuckle himself in haste.
“Spread yourself,” he demands, but it comes out equally as a plea.
I spread my legs wide, my hand gripping his back, the other in his hair, pulling his mouth to my lips.
Then it happens.
His cock pushes inside of me in one long smooth stroke. My whole body tenses around him, my gasp audible as I break from his lips and suck at the air in surprise at the pleasure I feel, at how easy I let him in me. It doesn’t even hurt, but I feel myself stretched in a way it never has been before. I see him in my vision, his eyes dimming, his mouth hanging open in sweet agony. We still for that solid moment, each of us lost in something new, something beautifully euphoric.
Then we move. Or at least, he does. His strokes are strong, moving in and out of me fast, fucking me thoroughly on the tile floor of my tiny kitchen.
We’re quiet with our moans, and more expressive with our faces. Each time he moves inside me, he rubs this button of nerves that makes me shudder in ecstasy. It’s almost unbearable. It’s downright maddening. Like my body is searching for an explosion. I’m growing warmer, hotter, burning up beneath him as I grip him so tight, unsure how else I’m meant to expel this agonizing feeling.
He’s swearing still, like he’s pissed with himself. Like he’s damning himself. There’s an ache in his voice as he rattles on, especially when he buries his face between my neck and shoulder, panting against my skin as he moves in and out of me in a punishing rhythm. It’s like he wants to stop, but he can’t. I don’t let him, either, not when my soft noises make his strokes come harder, sharper, and more uncontrolled. I like seeing him stripped bare, reduced to a man reacting purely on instinct.
My back hurts, my ass feels chafed, my lip is bleeding again, but none of it seems to bother me. I keep waiting for it to hurt. For my body to protest in disgust. But it doesn’t at all.
I’m lost in something big, something I can’t describe or understand. My eyes go distant and blurry as pleasure builds. My body moves on its own, suddenly meeting Nikolai’s strokes with more hunger than before. He grinds into my sex, into my tender clit and I burn hotter. My quiet sounds grow louder, until he has to cover my mouth with his, swallowing my moans.
“You’re tightening,” he groans. “You’re coming.”
I’m unprepared. It’s almost too much…
Then I still, and I feel it everywhere; this warm, earth shattering feeling that touches every inch of my body. My vision spots, my body quakes, my pants grow as I ride it out. I don’t pay attention to Nikolai watching me closely, his own face growing tighter and tighter. His curses morph to something else. He’s saying other words. Different things I’ve never heard before just before he too stills suddenly. I feel his length jerk inside me and he shakes, ragged breaths torn from his lungs as he drops his forehead to mine. I feel droplets of his sweat on my face. Feel his wet lips brush against mine. I close my eyes for seconds at a time. My heart is beating so hard, I feel like I’ve run twenty miles without stopping.
I never thought how tired I’d be after working so hard for an orgasm. I quiver again right then and there. An orgasm. I’ve just had my first orgasm with another man. And not just a man, but Nikolai the Russian, egotistical jerk.
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he mutters in my hair.
I’m limp and unmoving. The weight of him doesn’t bother me, even in the blinding heat. He’s like a shield, trapping me from the world, keeping me plastered here on the floor so I can’t think of anything else but him.
He moves off me eventually, although by this point I have no idea of the time. I’m going in and out of consciousness. When I gather the energy to open my eyes, he’s sitting beside my dishevelled body, his knee up, his back against the cupboard, a faraway look on his face.
We don’t speak. I’m at a loss for words. I should be moving, covering myself up, being modest at least. I know I must look shocking. My tits are out, my lower half is bare, and there’s a tiny article of clothing wrapped around my hips. But I just don’t care. My limbs are too mushy and I’m kind of on cloud nine.
I glance at Nikolai again. He’s looking straight at me, an indiscernible expression on his face.
It’s the last look I see before I close my eyes and can’t open them anymore.
*
I stir sometime later, and the floor doesn’t feel so hard anymore. Actually, it feels really soft. I open my eyes, realizing quickly that I’m not in the kitchen. I’m…in bed.
I whip my head around and find Scarlett still sleeping on her side, Rumple to her chest. My hands fly to my breasts, conscious of the dress wrapped around my hips, but I don’t meet bare skin. Confused, I look down at my body, surprised when I find my spaghetti top and lounge shorts are on me instead.
Nikolai dressed me.
Christ, how passed out was I?
I sit up in bed and look around my bedroom, searching for him. The unit is completely still. I don’t hear a peep.
I slide off the bed. I’m off-balance and shattered as I meander out of the room in a groggy state. He’s not on the couch and he’s not in the kitchen. I come to a stop when
my eyes connect to the tile floor and then at the time on the oven. 3:25am.
I’m disconcerted. If it wasn’t for the ache between my legs, I wouldn’t believe what we did.
I turn back around and go to the bathroom. I shove my shorts down to my ankles and run my fingers between my thighs and along my folds, startled at how wet I am. Then I strip entirely, my moves frantic. Because there’s a knot in my stomach. I feel dirty. Like I need to wash what we did off. I don’t know why I do this because Nikolai wasn’t like the other men. They didn’t just take and leave their cum behind.
Still.
It’s habit, and I need it off.
I run the shower and climb in. At a frenzied pace, I run my bar of soap over every inch of my body and then I dig my fingers inside my channel, dragging out what my mind believes is his cum. I’m not right in the head. I know that right now. But I’m shaking everywhere, not understanding how he could make me feel the way he did. How he ripped those moans out of my mouth. Why my body bent to him, unwilling to stop until it got what it wanted.
What I think is solely cum isn’t. It’s mixed in with my pleasure.
That can’t be. I shake my head, lying to myself. It’s mostly his pleasure, not mine. I’m just the vessel he used to get there. That’s the whole point of this, right?
I mount the lies atop of one another, believing in them. It makes the shakes go away. I start to nod my head, relieved by my distorted truth. He didn’t do anything to my body that I enjoyed. Yes, that’s right.
He did nothing. I felt… nothing.
Minutes later, I dry myself off and change into something else. I throw what he dressed me in into the laundry basket and bury it under the other clothes. Then I slide into bed and wrap my arm around Scarlett. She’s so warm and cuddly. She’s my familiarity. My anchor to reality.
The move causes her to stir and turn to me. Her eyes open just barely, and then she smiles a little. “Hi, Alina,” she says, sleepily.
“Hey Scar.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is great.”
She yawns and squeezes Rumple to her chest. “You’re not good at lying,” she mumbles as she dozes back off to sleep.
“I’ll try harder,” I return, though I know at this point I’m talking to myself. “You don’t want to know the ugly truth. Lies are like blankets. They keep you warm. I want you to be warm, Scar.”
I listen to her even breaths as my eyes wander the dark and barren room. The stillness unnerves me. It’s worse than when I hear my neighbours screaming. At least when they’re at it, I know there are people nearby. This kind of emptiness is cold and stale.
As I think about the events of tonight, my arm cloaked around my sister, I don’t sleep at all. I just think of Nikolai’s tongue, of the way he sucked at my cut and stared at me afterwards. Of his face unmasked as he came inside me. Most of all, I still feel warm in forbidden places, and it takes me a long time to convince myself it’s nothing.
I don’t notice the envelope until the sun peeks through the window. It sits on the night table beside me, and I would have overlooked it had I not turned my body away from the light and opened my eyes in that exact moment.
I take it and examine it for some time. Then I glimpse inside, my tired eyes widening as I count the number of hundred dollar bills. There are so many. My fingers shake, my eyes water. I sniff and tuck the envelope to my chest like it’s my very own Rumple. Tears trail down my nose, hitting my pillow as I suck in breaths.
My first thought is I can pay the immediate bills.
I’m happy. Yes, I’m happy. It’s the emotion coursing through me, but there’s something else. A mocking voice in the back of my head, sneering at me, telling me things I don’t want to hear. I try to avoid it. Try to ignore the way it burns inside my brain. Words etched before my vision. Heard inside my ears.
You’re officially a whore, Alina.
Chapter Fifteen.
The heat is heavy as I drag my tired bones out of bed and hit the shower for another quick rinse. Then I brush my teeth and change into jean skorts and a white crop top. I pile my wet hair up high in a bun and by then Scarlett is stirring in bed. I have her butter on toast ready for her when she comes out, and we eat on the couch over our plates. She’s also putting together a zoo puzzle when she tells me, “Roberta says she’s going to take me to the park today.”
I smile at her. “That’s going to be fun.”
She nods, hopeful, saying nothing else as she concentrates on the pieces in front of her. She’s put this puzzle together over a hundred times. It’s not challenging but I think it comforts her. She positions Rumple so that he’s facing the puzzle, his back against the couch, watching her with his one marbled eye. It’s heart melting how gentle she is with the teddy bear, like he’s her true friend. I stare at the fluff that he is, wondering if I can find a fake eyeball somewhere so he has two eyes instead of one. Scarlett would like that, and Rumple would be more whole.
Then I chuckle to myself. I actually care about the inanimate object.
I grab him and move his arms, pretending to help Scarlett with her puzzle. She cracks a shy smile I love to see.
“You’re in a good mood,” she states without looking at me, her gaze solely focused on the giraffe head in her hand.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, curiously.
She shrugs. “Just the way you are. You’re playing with me.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t play with you enough, do I?”
She shrugs again. “You’re busy.”
I make Rumple balance a puzzle piece between his fingerless hands and then dangle it over the spot he needs to slide the piece into. Scarlett laughs because it’s harder than it looks and takes me a long minute.
“How about we do something this weekend?” I smile, eyeing her while my heart hurts. “We can buy you more shoes.”
“I already have shoes.”
“You can have another pair.”
“We don’t have money.”
I hate she even thinks of money. She’s way too mentally aware than I want her to be. “How about you” – I use Rumple’s hand to point at her – “leave me” – I point it at me – “to worry about the money, bumface.”
She giggles. Oh, my god, giggles. “Bumface?”
“Yeah, bumface.” My smile is wider as I take her in. “So what do you say? Want more shoes, bumface?”
Scarlett looks up from her puzzle for the first time, her brown eyes meeting mine. With red in her cheeks, she replies, “I just want you to play with me.”
I swallow thickly and nod more times than I should. My sister tears me wide open. “You know what? That sounds better than all the shoes in the world.”
After we’ve eaten, I change her and drop her off at Roberta’s, and that old bat is still casting me that look of disapproval I have no choice but to shrug off. Then I’m forced to take the stairs down to the ground level because there’s an unconscious man in the elevator who stinks of alcohol. Good times. My building is very impressive.
When I make it to work, I’m surprised to find Benji there before me.
“Good morning,” I greet him, an extra oomph in my step.
He responds by nodding back but he does it without looking at me. He spends the following minutes with his back turned to me, stacking the shelves and making strange sounds when he bends over.
“Benji?” I probe, suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Look at me.”
He won’t, and I’m forced to go to him. I grip him by the arm, and he tries to brush me off, but I don’t let him. I force him to me and then I instantly let him go and step back.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, my fingers shooting up to the swollen parts of his beaten face. “Oh, my God, Benji.”
He doesn’t respond. His face looks black and blue, and his eyes are red.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he answers.<
br />
“Benji –”
“Nothing, Alina!” he sharply interrupts again, irritable this time as he circles around me and back to the front of the store. “Stop being gentle. I don’t deserve it.”
I follow him. “Why wouldn’t I be gentle with you?”
“Because of the way my uncle treats you.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
He sighs, exasperated. “Ever since you showed back up with the envelope he’s done nothing but made your life hell. He’s angry at you, like he blames you for my situation. I told him many times, lapochka, I put myself here, not you.”
I pat his back, and even then he winces and I have to stop. “Did Nikolai do this?” My words sound small, like I’m afraid to know the answer.
Benji shrugs. “At least I don’t him owe him anything anymore. I faced him. Man to man. And I will never owe him another debt ever again. He is the devil.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know why, but I feel guilty. Like I’m partly responsible because I got intimate with the man that hurt him.
“When did this happen?” I wonder.
“I went to his shop. I waited until two in the morning for the pizda. He came through the door looking like he fucked ten whores. They were probably men, too. You know he’s gay, huh? Yeah, I can see it. There was something in the way he looked at me, Alina. Like he wanted me like that.”
Two in the morning, that’s probably when he left my apartment. After he’d fucked me. After he’d dressed me. After he’d placed me in my bed. I shrink away, no longer wanting part of this conversation. “I don’t know about that, Benji,” I mutter weakly.
But Benji is far too immersed to stop. “I know it. I’m certain of it. He wanted me. Maybe that’s why he’s been putting pressure on me, so he can get me on my knees to him. It all makes sense now. I mean, I know I’m a good looking man, but I’m not like that, and even if I was, I would never put out to that psycho.”
This is awkward now, especially when I can still feel the bruising sensation inside of me. Where Nikolai had been. “Okay, well, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”