Her Russian Billionaire

by Theodora Taylor

  She was right. If she had tried to break-up with him in person, he would have begged for her to stay with him. He would have yelled, he would have desperately bargained with her to change her mind, might have even cried. He would have done whatever it took to keep her there, he had been so in love with her, and he’d believed what they had was real. Back then, it would have been hard to convince him otherwise.

  He drilled into her hot wet tunnel, his balls tight and begging for release, but he couldn’t. His entire body had gone rigid with the need to come, but he couldn’t, even as Eva’s eyes rolled away again. “Oh, I can’t…please…you have to stop…or I’m going to come again!”

  He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He drove himself into her with furious thrusts, until he felt her pussy clenching around his dick, uncontrollably milking it. She cried, “Don’t! Don’t! Please don’t!” over and over again before coming a second time with a full body shudder.

  His balls tingled as a second wave of her juices washed over his dick. He wanted, needed to join her. It felt like he was going insane, like he either needed to climax or risk a complete mental breakdown.

  But his body had a mind of its own. He swung her away from the wall, still embedded inside of her, and settled her beneath him on the carpeted floor. And though he felt beyond weary at that point, he hooked her legs around his waist. “Tell me about the morning before you left. Tell me exactly what happened from your point of view,” he said, his voice rough with anger and sadness.

  But she shook her head, visibly tired, her face and torso shimmering with sweat. “No more. I can’t take this anymore.” But she didn’t say the safe word. In fact, she started moving underneath him again. “Why can’t I stop? I dumped you, but I can’t stop myself from wanting you right now.”

  “Tell me,” he said again.

  He didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but the way she moved underneath him, her dark aureolas puffy with desire and her face helpless with need, made him the equivalent of granite, and it was all he could do to keep talking. “That morning you sucked my dick and convinced me to do your fucking laundry even though you knew you would be leaving me. Did you even go to school that day?”

  She shook her head, lost in a daze of pleasure as she gasped out “No, I—I just up and left as quickly as I could … I was such a bitch … I thought it was funny back then— thought everything was funny.” She moaned with both lust and regret. “I was so silly.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. And there it was, the whole story. He had wondered about it so many times over the years, but never thought he’d get the complete and unvarnished truth from her. And now he had gotten it while they fucked each other senseless.

  “We’ve got to stop,” she said. “I’m going to come again, if we keep on doing this. I can’t take another orgasm.”

  He ignored her, pounded into her, punished her as best he could while desperately trying to gain his own release. “I hate you,” he heard himself saying to her on a rough chant. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

  “I know, Lexie,” she said, her voice broke when she called him by his pet name and tears pooled in her eyes. “You have every right to hate me, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was messed up what I did, and I couldn’t be sorrier for hurting you.”

  Then she came a third time with a silent scream.

  It was the apology that broke him, the sincerity in her voice and the way she climaxed for him right after. He heard himself emit a guttural groan, like a badly wounded animal, and suddenly he was coming so hard, harder than he had ever come in his life. He could feel himself spilling into her wet passage, filling her up with his angry seed as the tension that had been building in him for eight long years finally released in wave after wave of cum.

  The release was so powerful he barely had time to crawl out of her before they both fell into a sated sleep, right there on the luxurious carpet

  Chapter Thirteen

  EVA woke up with a startled gasp. She’d had the strangest dream, filled with sexual heat and a weird, dangerous anger. The truth was, it had turned on her on, but when she rolled over on the mattress she shared with her boyfriend, she found his side of the bed empty.

  The sound of water running in the bathroom solved the mystery. He was taking a shower, a cold shower if the room, which was already sweltering hot, was any indication. Throwing off the cheap, white sheet, she sat up in front of the fan, ridiculously grateful for its pitiful breeze.

  She closed her eyes. It was hard to resist the urge to lie back down, despite having gotten a full eight hours of sleep. A deep, achy fatigue tugged at her, insisting she needed even more. It must be the heat, she thought. In any case, she needed to shake it off. She was down to her last pair of underwear—really past her last pair, since she was wearing her bikini bottoms at the moment. But she had no idea where she was going to find the strength to rally and do a couple loads of laundry before school. That was one of the few things she missed about living at home. Her efficient mother had done her laundry every week, and even after she went away to college, she’d bring big bags home for her bi-weekly Drummond visit, rather than do it herself.

  Suddenly she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle, which was her body’s reaction whenever Alexei was in the vicinity. So even though she hadn’t heard him come out of the bathroom, she opened her eyes, certain he must be standing nearby.

  Sure enough, her huge, Russian boyfriend stood there in a towel, watching her in a way that made her feel like a beauty queen, despite the fact that her hair was in sloppy braids and she was already covered in a layer of sweat.

  “Hey,” she said, making her smile extra bright so he wouldn’t worry. Alexei felt guilty enough about the broken A.C. unit, there was no need to let him see the negative effect the heat had on her energy levels. “I didn’t hear you come out of the bathroom. For such a big guy, you move like a cat.”

  “I will replace your female-sounding ‘cat’ with ‘panther’ and agree,” he said and moved to stand closer to the edge of the bed.

  She grinned up at him. “Are all you Russians trained to move like panthers?”

  He looked away, his bemusement replaced by a faraway look. She’d seen it often and knew from experience that he wouldn’t share what it was about. This made her wonder, not for the first time, if there was more to him than he’d told her.

  When they had first begun dating, he’d provided her with a tragic but simple back-story. His mother had died in car accident when he was a young boy, and his father, a humble businessman, had died shortly after Alexei’s eighteenth birthday, leaving him just enough money to pursue a business education in the United States. “My father always wanted me to study in America, so I thought I should live this dream for him.”

  According to Alexei, there hadn’t been quite enough money to pay for an MBA on top of four years of undergrad, which was why he’d been forced to take on a job at the School of Social Work and live in an efficiency apartment. He’d told her the story early in their relationship and had not elaborated on it since.

  But when he got that faraway look, like something she said had triggered a memory he didn’t want to share, it made her nervous. She trusted Lexie and didn’t think he would ever lie to her, but she did wonder if maybe he had left something out. Something important. However, the times she tried to dig deeper into his past, he cut her off with short answers, followed by swift subject changes.

  He also received a phone call from his uncle every couple of weeks or so, in which he’d do a lot of listening before answering with a stream of Russian before delivering a curt “do svidania” and hanging up. His only explanation: “My uncle want me come back to Russia. He worry about me so far away.”

  Being a stubborn Texan, she’d kept trying to get more information about his past and his mysterious uncle, until finally he said, “Kotenok, you have two living parents, even if you are not speaking to them right now. I do not have this. It is…too ha
rd to talk about my childhood times. Please stop asking.”

  After that gentle request, she’d felt like such an ass for not considering his feelings about being an orphan that she didn’t dare broach the topic again.

  “Lexie,” she said now.

  He blinked and came back to her.

  “What were you thinking about?” she asked him.

  “I am thinking you deserve more than this shit apartment,” he said.

  That was definitely not what he was thinking, but she played along. “Stop it,” she said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “A few of my clients would consider this place a palace. At least you have heat in the winter.”

  Alexei threatened to go talk to the landlord, who was already scared enough of him, poor thing. And a new plan formed in Eva’s head, one that would keep Lexie from terrorizing the landlord, and solve her laundry problem…

  Less than two hours later, she found herself alone in the apartment with two piles of freshly-washed laundry, courtesy of her boyfriend. And despite the fact that she was living in an un-air-conditioned apartment in the middle of a heat wave, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Alexei wasn’t her first boyfriend, and she was acquainted with enough older women to know young love rarely lasted. But she had high hopes the love she shared with Alexei would go the distance.

  She had never dated someone who understood her so well, someone who noted all her quirks and was amused as opposed to irritated by them. Someone who found her sexy, even when she was sweating like a pig with her hair in two sloppy braids. Someone who made her feel beautiful even when she was on her period, or having a bad hair day, or wearing something that didn’t match because she was down to her last outfit.

  Unlike the other guys she had dated, he was honest to a fault, which made it easy to put all her trust in him. She knew he would never lie to her, never do anything to hurt her, and that he loved her as much as she loved him, if not more so. And she did love him, his largeness, his directness, even his seriousness—sometimes it felt like she had been put on this earth just to make him smile, which he did all the time now, but only with her.

  The only problem she could see possibly disrupting their love was his lack of desire for children. To be fair, he had told her this toward the beginning of their relationship, one night when they met outside of the School of Management where he took classes. As they walked back to the parking lot, she’d made a glum joke about her ovaries shutting down because she and the social worker in charge of guiding her fieldwork had removed a twelve-year-old boy who had beat his six-year-old sister to the point of unconsciousness with a baseball bat for daring to scratch up one of his Xbox games from his home just a few hours earlier.

  After forcing her to explain and re-explain the ovaries joke due to his lack of English vocabulary regarding women’s fertility organs, he had said. “I must tell you, I do not wish for children.”

  “Really?” she said. “But you’d make a great daddy. Why not?”

  “I have reasons. “

  “You wanna share any of them with me?” she asked, taking his large hand in both of her smaller ones as they walked.

  “My parents are dead. Both their dying very hard for me. When my mother die, I am only child, but I miss her very much. I do not want my child to suffer. Also I do not like the children. They are loud and maybe they are not thanking the parents for anything. I do not think I can be good father to somebody who is like this.”

  She had stroked his face and said, “A lot of women who get out of an abusive relationship have trouble dating again. They’re all like, ‘What if the same thing happens and he turns out to be an abusive asshole?’ Or they think they maybe don’t like men anymore. Or they’re afraid they won’t be a good girlfriend after what they went through. And we tell them you can’t live your life according to what might happen. You gotta get back out there. Otherwise your ex wins.”

  He gave her a sad smile and squeezed one of her hands. “This is very good advice, Eva, but maybe not for me.”

  Then before she could put forward another argument for children, he kissed her and changed the subject to the elective courses he was considering taking the following fall.

  After that conversation, Eva hadn’t brought the subject of kids up again. She wasn’t particularly pro having children herself, especially after a year in the social work program. She’d only been half-joking about that monstrous boy making her not want to have them. Besides, they were in their twenties and hadn’t even started their respective careers yet. She figured there would be plenty of time to try to change his mind.

  Just then, the landline rang, interrupting her thoughts about the future of Alexei’s and her relationship.

  “Eva, it’s Mr. Sanders,” Alexei’s landlord said when she picked up the phone. His voice sounded nervous and shaky. “Alexei stopped by this morning, and I was just calling back to let him know I found another repair man and he’ll be stopping by today.”

  So even two loads of laundry and unexpected morning sex hadn’t stopped Alexei from harassing his landlord. Poor guy.

  “Thanks, we really appreciate it,” she said, trying to make up for her boyfriend. “Do I need to be here?”

  “No, he’ll come up with me and we’ll knock on the door. So if you’re not home, I can let him in.”

  Eva got off the phone, shaking her head. Alexei was a total teddy bear, but most people couldn’t tell that just by looking at him. So simple requests from him tended to come off way more intimidating than they should have. She’d learned to just accept they were always going to get better service than normal couples, because he had a way of asking for things that made other folks feel like he might do them some kind of bodily harm if his demands weren’t met.

  As if to confirm her assessment of Alexei’s influence, a knock sounded on the door. She glanced at the clock. The fix-it guy had arrived at twelve noon on the dot.

  But when she opened the door, instead of a plumber and Alexei’s landlord, there stood two men in business suits, one a tall, beefy, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, the other a much younger, skinny guy in glasses.

  “Hi,” she said carefully, wondering why two men in suits would be at their door. “Can I help you?”

  “Eva St. James?” the younger man asked. He had a slight accent she couldn’t place, but otherwise spoke in a business-like manner.

  “Yes, that’s me,” she said. Then asked again. “Can I help you?”

  “I am Michael,” he said, “And this is Sergei Rustanov. Alexei Rustanov’s uncle.”

  Her eyes widened. Like any good Texas girl, her first thought was if she’d known company was coming by, she would have cleaned up a little. “Oh, I’m sorry. Alexei isn’t here and the apartment is a mess.”

  The uncle, who had a craggy face which looked like it had been sculpted from cement, moved past her and into the apartment. His size made it easy for him to barge in and Eva instinctively jumped out of the way to let him pass. Now she knew where Lexie got it from. She was forever chastising him about charging down the campus sidewalks like he owned them, forcing other people to move aside as opposed to sharing the sidewalk like a civilized human being.

  “Really, sir, the apartment is in no state for guests,” she said to Sergei’s back.

  “He does not speak English,” Michael said behind her. “That is why I am here. To translate. May I come in?”

  Eva frowned. “So you’re here to talk to me, not Alexei?”

  “Yes.”

  “Um, okay, then, come on in. There’s not really any place to sit. We don’t have a couch or anything—“

  Sergei took one look at the table, which was covered with her unfolded clothes and swept it clean with one swoop of his large arm before taking a seat as if he hadn’t just knocked all her clean clothes to the floor.

  “Mr. Rustanov would like for us to talk at the table,” Michael said, indicating with a sweeping gesture of his hand that she, too, should sit.

 
Suddenly feeling like a guest in her own home, Eva took a seat in the chair across from Sergei. “We only have two chairs,” she said to Michael.

  “That is quite all right,” he said. “I will stand.”

  Without any further ado, Sergei held her gaze and said something in a stream of Russian.

  “He wants to know what Alexei’s told you about his family,” Michael said.

  “Not much,” Eva answered, her unease growing by the minute. “Just that his parents died and his father left him enough money to study over here.”

  Michael translated and Sergei looked away, obviously irritated. He then said something else in Russian.

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “Um, not much. Sometimes I hear him arguing with his uncle—“ She stopped herself and addressed Sergei directly as she’d had been taught to in her special “Talking to the Deaf” master class. “Talking to you on the phone in Russian. I’m just going to go on and assume you’re the uncle he’s talking to. You seem like the kind of guy who’d be totally down for a weekly TransAtlantic argument. By the way, did you have to dump my clothes on the floor? Those were freshly washed.”

  Once again, Michael translated. She could tell when he got to the part about the clothes and the weekly arguments, because the uncle’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  He said something to Michael, who said, “From now on I will speak in the first person as if I am Mr. Rustanov himself. He has much to say and would prefer that you not interrupt.”

  “I’ll try,” Eva said. “But us Texas girls aren’t exactly known for our not-interrupting skills.”

  This time Michael didn’t translate, and he said in an aside to Eva, “I know you think you are being funny, but I am strongly advising you to do as he says.”