I don’t answer.
And of course, he says, “When I ask a question, I expect an immediate answer. Or else, you will be punished for your insubordination.”
This time instead of fear, a little shiver runs down my back at the thought of his punishment. Which is not the response I should be having at all.
“No, I’m not cold,” I mumble, deeply embarrassed.
He chuckles. But the sound of his laughter is not warm at all.
Then he says, “Take off these shorts as well. But this time slowly. And look me in the eye.”
I do as he says, forcing my eyes to look straight into his as I awkwardly remove the pajama shorts. Is this really happening? Am I really stripping naked in front of someone I just met? While looking him in the eye?
Yes, I am.
And instead of feeling sick to my stomach, a dark ache pools in my belly. Like an invisible cord tightening inside of me.
“You are wet. Visibly,” he says when I’m all the way naked. “No, krasotka, do not stop looking at me. That is order.”
An order….
It takes everything I have to keep my eyes on him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Not knowing what else to say.
An almost sympathetic smile forms on his lips. “Do not apologize. Explain this to me. Why are you wet?”
“I don’t know,” I answer.
I’m telling the truth, but he shakes his head. Like he’s the principal, and I’m a lying schoolgirl.
“You do know. But let me clarify my question. Make it easier for you to answer.” His accent is full of sonorous bass, and it ripples over my too aroused body. “Are you standing in front of me, dripping wet because of my command? Or because I am looking at you?”
“Both,” I admit, flushing.
“Both.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool smile tugging at his lips. “Very good, my pet. Come to me now.”
I walk forward and stop in front of him.
Another up and down of my body. Then he spreads his legs and says, “Closer.”
I step closer. And yes, I’m deeply aware that I’m now standing between his legs, dripping wet.
“If you become this aroused by my gaze, what will happen when I touch you?”
Without waiting for my answer, he raises his arms and settles his large hands on my hips.
What will happen? My knees nearly give out, that’s what will happen.
We just met. And this is so, so wrong. But his touch…it makes me feel completely defenseless.
“Tell me what you like,” he commands.
“What I like?” I repeat, not quite understanding.
“How do you like to be touched. Tell me.”
“Oh…um, I don’t usually make requests or anything like that.” I take a deep breath and decide to admit, “The truth is, it’s been a while.”
Like, a really long while.
When I was a cheerleader, I didn’t get a chance to date all that much, especially since I refused to go out with athletes. And when I went back to school, I’d been so focused on my accounting degree, I didn’t have the time or the mental bandwidth to think about relationships. Then I had to get a job and save up for a down payment for a condo.
And just when I finally signed up for BizHarmony, Clem had moved in. So I wasn’t a virgin. But I wasn’t exactly experienced.
I grimace as I wait for his response to my confession. Hopefully, he’ll just get on with it and won’t ask me to clarify.
“How long is a while?” he asks.
Dammit. “Like years,” I answer. “Four or five.”
He nods, his expression lightening up with approval. “So you are free of the STDs then. That is good to know.”
“How about you?” I ask, voice shaking.
“Yes, me too,” he answers. “But we will not have sex without condom during these days. I do not wish for any unintentional impregnation. My family has real problem with that.”
Okay, what?
But I probably don’t want to know.
“I don’t want to get pregnant either,” I answer. “I’m not on the pill. And this situation is already horrible enough without adding an accidental baby on top of it.”
His hands tighten over my hips at my words. “Is this situation horrible?” he asks. “Are you suffering right now?”
His thumbs circle as he asks these questions. Funny, I had never thought my hips as an erogenous zone, but each circle of his thumbs sends shivers up my spine.
Still, I answer, “Y-y-yes, I’m suffering. Mentally at least.”
“Then we will have to make it so you do not think too much while we are together.”
With that declaration, his right-hand moves, and his thumb find something else to circle.
My breath seizes.
“Do you like that, pet?”
A question. Dammit. I have to answer. “Yes,” I admit.
“Are you still thinking. About how horrible this is? How wrong?”
Round and round my pearl his thumb goes, gliding easily because I’m so wet.
“No,” I admit.
My toes curl reflexively into the carpet, and my breasts tingle. It feels like I’ve got two knots now. One in my belly, drawing tighter and tighter and one in my throat, choking me.
“No, it’s not horrible,” he agrees with cruel laughter in his voice. “In fact, you want something from me now, don’t you?”
His thumb feels so good on my clit. Somehow better than my own touch. I usually just get in there and rub until I come. A quick and dirty practicality meant to get sex off my mind so that I can fall asleep or study. But there’s something about the way Cheslav does it. Holding on tight to my hip with one hand while applying the right amount of pressure to the engorged bud between my legs with the other. It’s a slow burn, building faster and faster.
I don’t quite register that he’s asked me a question until he says, “You will answer me. There is something you want from me, da?”
“Da,” I answer.
“Ask.”
Not a question. Another command.
“Keep doing that. Maybe a little harder.”
He immediately stops.
I let out a disappointed squeak. Why did he stop?
“It has been a very long night, and I must get some sleep. So I will save the proper teasing for later in the day,” he says, patting my hips like we’re all done here.
Okay, to reiterate, this situation is all kinds of messed up. I shouldn’t be here. And he shouldn’t be touching me like we didn’t just meet…I glance at a silver clock on the interior wall. Oh God, was it really less than an hour ago?
I shouldn’t want to go any further with this guy I just met. Yet my shoulders deflate with disappointment as if I’ve lost the chance at a huge present.
But then he unzips his pants and pulls out his cock.
My eyes widen. It’s hard and long and thick and dripping with pre-cum.
At least until he covers it with a condom he pulls out of his blazer pocket.
Then he pats his lap.
“Climb on.”
Whoa…whoa…whoa! This is definitely not a situation I ever thought I’d find myself in.
But no hesitating, I remind myself.
I carefully place a knee on either side of his lap and start to lower myself down.
He stops me at the tip though.
“Watch,” he commands, his face a tight grimace of lust. “Watch me split your wet pussy open for the first time.”
His dirty words make something clench inside of me. And, I do as commanded, my belly hot and heavy with need.
I watch in a fascinated daze, as his cock slowly pushes into my soaking wet slit.
I groan at the invasion. He’s bigger than anyone else I’ve ever been with. And there’s so much pressure. Even as wet as I am, let out several quick breaths, wondering if he’d fit.
But the lips of my pussy stretched impossibly wide over his huge erection until he was all the way in, filling me up in a wa
y that sent delicious trickles of pleasure through my core.
Then I keep on watching as he starts moving below me. In and out. In and out. The motion slicker and slicker each time.
I’m not sure when it happens, but soon we’re moving together. Undulating in a synchronous rhythm I wouldn’t have thought possible outside of dancing.
“Cup your breasts, krasotka,” he commands, his voice a rough whisper. “Give me something to watch as I take you.”
I do as he commands and find my nipples hard as pebbles. I roll them a couple of times, then keen, when the action sends an erotic bolt of pleasure straight to my pussy.
“No, don’t come too fast. I want to enjoy this. Leave your breasts alone now and wait for my command.”
I drop my hands, but everything inside me protests. It felt so good, and I’m so close. And as for not coming… “I’m not sure…I’m not sure I can—”
“You can, and you will. Calm yourself, close your eyes, let me guide you.”
I do as he says and experience the sensation of him pulling me closer. His arm bands around me pressing me so tight to his body, I can’t move.
And then he…
I’m not sure how to describe it. It’s like he flips a mute button inside of me, reducing my world to nothing but the sensation of him pumping in and out of me as he holds me tight.
There is nothing but him in this dark. And the only sound is his voice saying, “Hold…hold….”
Hold.
Just one word, but it makes me feel like crying. I’m so close. The cord is so tight. I don’t see how I can possibly hold on.
He’s having a hard time holding on too, I guess. His pumps go from precise and slow to fast and sloppy. Faster and faster until suddenly he says, “Now! Come now.”
It’s like my body was merely waiting for the command. The knot suddenly unbinds, and everything inside of me loosens as my climax unleashes.
I moan and claw at his back, trying to grab on to something, so I don’t lose myself.
I’m not sure if it works. For either minutes or hours—I can’t be certain—I’m trapped underneath an ocean of sensation, unable to breathe. Or speak. Or think.
There’s nothing. Nothing but pleasure until I hear a voice, saying, “Come back to me, krasotka. Open your eyes.”
I do as commanded and find him smiling at me.
“That was good, nyet?”
I nod, still unable to speak. And his thumbs do that circle thing on my hips.
“We will have much fun over these five days. By the time we are done, it will be worth the three-hundred thousand.”
That’s a crazy thing to say. I think about arguing with him. But I can’t speak. Can’t think.
Can’t even move. I find that out when he lifts me and places me beside him on the couch.
He stands and carefully removes the condom before depositing it in a black waste basket underneath the table. “I had good feeling from first moment I saw you. Good feeling that it would be like this…”
He trails off, frowning down at the chessboard and moves one of the black pawns forward and to the left.
I find out I’ve recovered my voice when I ask him, “Who are you playing?”
“Myself,” he answers.
Then he scoops me up in his arms and carries me to bed.
Chapter Six
I dream of nothing and wake that morning in a super soft bed.
No, not morning, afternoon my internal clock tells me as I stretch and turn over with a huge yawn—
I freeze mid-stretch when I see the Russian lying across from me, his body large and rippled with muscle. And the urge to yawn is replaced by scalding hot embarrassment as memories of what went down earlier in the morning come rushing back to me.
Who was that girl who whined and moaned before coming on a Russian stranger’s dick? It couldn’t have been me.
Could it have?
He must have put something in my drink, I think, sitting up in bed.
But then I remember that I hadn’t touched that drink he made me.
So it was something else. Something inside of me.
Something I hadn’t known was there before.
Until he brought it out.
I had good feeling from first moment I saw you. Good feeling that it would be like this….
Face burning, I rush to the bathroom. Or at least I try to rush. Cheslav’s cock was no joke. And like I said, it’s been a while. So it’s more like a mincing rush with the chorus of Arianna Grande’s “Side to Side” stuck on a loop inside my head.
After I use the toilet, I catch sight of myself in the long rectangular mirror over the double sink. Oh my God, is that me?
I look…different. My sisterlocks came unraveled from the two braids somewhere along the way. and now my hair is a tangled mess. Also, my lips are swollen. Like somebody punched me.
Or kissed me.
I trace the plump pillows as another memory unfurls. The sun had fully risen by the time he laid me down in bed. And I thought that would be that.
But then he’d stroked the sisterlocks out of my face and kissed me. Hard and possessive. Like he was the beast, and I was his claim.
Another condom got pulled out of the nightstand. And before I knew it, my legs were around his waist, and he was inside me again. Hips rolling as he mauled my lips. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to come again so soon after what happened on the couch. But I did.
When he commanded, “Come. Come now for me, my pet,” I did exactly what he asked. Falling apart as he fucked me with relentless strokes.
Only then had he let me sleep.
My lips are still tingling from that kiss. But I have to admit they don’t look bad. And my dark skin…it’s not blotchy like it is most mornings, but smooth and illuminated somehow. Like I’m glowing from within.
Turning away from the mirror, I make my way back out to the living room and slip into my clothes before grabbing the phone I left on the table.
I gasp when I see the time. It’s almost 3 pm! It can’t really be that late. But it can.
A calendar alert immediately appears, reminding me that I have my monthly conversation with Gina and Cynda in less than five minutes. And that call was scheduled for three p.m.
Gina and Cynda are not going to believe this.
Wait, can I even tell them about this?
I remember the rules he gave me last night.
No leaving.
No questioning.
You obey my every command.
One could quibble that he didn’t say, “no telling.” But I’m not sure I want to. I mean, what would I even say?
“Hey, y’all, I got blackmailed into sex by this famous Russian hockey player. And get this, I didn’t hate it. In fact, I didn’t hate it twice.”
No, I wouldn’t tell them, I decide as I type, “Still on for 3?”
But arghh, no reception. And I don’t have the WiFi pass.
Maybe I should wake up the Russian hockey player?
No, I’ll just go downstairs.
I mean, the elevator opens right into the apartment, so it’ll probably be no problem to get right back up here before he even wakes up.
I take the elevator all the way down to the lobby. And yay, the doorman is signing for a package. That means no awkward explanations about why I’m here in this luxury apartment building, wearing house slippers and Target pajamas.
I sneak past him and head toward the back door, which leads directly into an alley.
Double yay! Plenty of reception behind the building. Plus, I find a doorstop to prop open the back door.
But a simple message from Gina pops up before my text has time to go through. “Don’t hate me. Have to cancel. Something came up.”
I don’t hate her, but this is the third time something’s come up in the last three months of calls.
“I guess it’s just you and me again,” Cynda says when I call her. Judging from the background, she’s sitting in the porch swing th
at hangs in front of her two-story craftsman style home.
“You look exhausted,” I say.
“Yeah, girl, I just got back from Saturday rounds. Nobody had anything serious going on, but appointments took longer than they usually do because everybody’s worried about COVID.”
“Even in your small town?” I ask.
“It’s a pretty valid fear,” she answers with a tired sigh. “Most of our farmers aren’t Big Agro. They go to farmers’ markets, which can be super spreader events. I’m more worried about the people who aren’t worried if we’re being truthful. They keep on saying things like, ‘Oh, it’s just a flu. Nothing I can’t beat.’ And some of them are just sure it’s a Chinese conspiracy. There’s so much misinformation floating around out there.”
“No wonder you’re exhausted. You don’t even get two days off.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad for the extra pay I get for going on Saturday rounds. I have to save up all the money I can and sell the house to get these twins off to Carnegie Mellon. So I’m grinding like you these days,” she says with a chuckle.
I try to chuckle too, but it sounds fake. What would Cynda say if she knew her ever-grinding friend was currently whoring herself out to a hockey player?
Not whoring, I tell myself. Saving your damn foolish brother. But prettying it up did not make me feel any more like the noble, hard-working accountant my best friends thought I was.
“Should we be worried about Gina?” I ask, changing the subject.
Cynda frowns. “I know, right? Two months is one thing. But three? And she doesn’t even have a job? What’s going on? And why do I have the feeling the answer to that question is Tommy?”
Neither of us has ever met Gina’s boyfriend Tommy in person, but neither of us liked him. A sergeant with the Jonesboro, Georgia P.D., he’d met Gina at the strip club, then insisted she quit the strip club. Gina had acted like he was a total Prince Charming, but he’d came off as controlling to Cynda and me from the start.
And if you ask me, he didn’t save her. He told her she had to quit stripping or break up with him. So now she’d not only given up her job at Magic Peaches, but she’d also let him convince her to close down her Etsy store of cute crafts. And she’d stopped trying to get interior design jobs, even though that was why she’d stripped to put herself through college.
Billie and the Russian Beast: An Enemies to Lovers Russian Hockey Player Sports Romance [50 Loving States, South Carolina] (QUARANTALES Book 2) Page 3