“What if I want you to?” she whispers.
My cock twitches, and I feel a bead of precum well up at the tip at those words. I groan, and my grip on her hips tightens.
“You’re playing with fire now, girl,” I rumble.
I rock into her harder, and soon, two thirds of my cock are inside her. Before long, I hear my heavy, sore balls slap against her ass, and she yelps as I hit that most sensitive spot inside her.
“Oh god!” she gasps, and I feel her tightening, preparing for an orgasm. I’m not even trying, and this girl is about to lose herself around me. But I won’t let this moment go to waste. I start thrusting harder, getting more steady and hitting that same spot over and over again, and within seconds, she lets out a sharp cry as she comes.
At the shuddering feeling of the release of tension in her pussy, I start to buck into her freely. My cock is thick and ribbed with veins, and I want her to experience it at full capacity. As I guide her through the orgasm, I start thrust into her harder and faster, balls hitting her ass and flesh grinding against soaking flesh as her mouth falls open. I’m rendering this girl a hot mess, and I’ve never wanted anything more in a single moment.
I fuck her in this position until her orgasm subsides, and then I pull out of her. She gasps, looking up at me in surprise.
“Did you finish?” she asks. I chuckle.
“No, girl,” I growl. “Get on your knees.”
She clumsily turns over and obeys, presenting her ass for me in such an enticing way that I could come on her right then. I’m done being sensual and slow, though. I want to claim her, and I’m going to take her for my pleasure. I hold her hips tight and ram my cock up into her.
She lets out a sharp cry of delight, her head falling and hair scattering over her like a curtain as I start to buck into her wantonly. We have no protection, nothing between our sexes as I rut into her with animal vigor.
Ever since I saw her in the airport, I have wanted this. I have trained my body to obey my commands, but this is the one that I will take from it. Body, soul, and mind have nothing but desire for this girl, and she needs me desperately.
My whole cock slides up into her with ease, and I feel her tight around me from crown to thick base. We seem to fit each other perfectly. Each time I slide up into her she whimpers, and I can feel her getting tighter by the second.
I’m not taking my time anymore. I thrust up into her fiercely, and I feel her pulse with need as my precum spills into her. I feel my virile balls swinging under us, and at last, I decide it’s time to bring both of us to the end.
I rut into her with deadly precision, releasing all restraints on my body and its functions. Soon, I spill over the edge, and I start to lose my rhythm.
I look down at that gorgeous sight of my rock-hard, muscular body fucking into her soft form, her ass shaking with every thrust, and I lose all control. My cock stiffens, my balls tighten, and I feel the first shot of seed jet into her at the same time that she lets out another cry of orgasm.
I groan along with her, holding her close to me and keeping her pinned to my hips as I spend my seed inside her. Shot after shot of my hot, pearly fluid spills into her, more than I’ve released in a long time. Our juices mix together beautifully, and neither of us hold anything back. The sound of our lovemaking fills the room until both of us finish. I remain in her, hard as a rock for several more seconds, massaging my come into her while she gasps for breath and whimpers in soft delight.
Finally, I pull out, and we both collapse onto the bed.
We’re both left panting and exhausted afterward, and I have never felt more fulfilled in as long as I can remember. She is everything I imagined and so, so much more. I turn my head to look at her, and I feel as if an arrow has shot me through the heart at the sight of her sleepy, satisfied face smiling at me, half-buried in sheets.
“That was... more than I ever imagined,” she says, and the sound of her thick voice makes my cock twitch as though already braced for more.
I start to reply, but a sudden buzzing catches her attention. She sits up like a lightning bolt and picks up her phone, glancing between it and me.
“Daddy,” she whispers, anger coming back to her face. I feel angry, too. That monster of a man is intruding on our golden moment, spoiling the joy we feel suspended between us. She hesitates for a few moments, then slowly answers the phone and puts it to her ear.
“What?” she snaps. There’s a pause, and I can’t keep a smile off my face. I can perfectly visualize Nestor Koroleva’s face souring at the sound of his daughter mouthing off to her.
“You want to be treated like an adult? Fine,” I hear his bitter voice through the receiver. Even with all her anger, I can see Ana’s hurt at the tone. “If you won’t tell me where you are, then let’s meet in the middle. Tomorrow. Somewhere on... neutral ground.”
Anastasia
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I’m sitting in an upscale French bistro, possibly the only truly fancy restaurant in this tiny, podunk country town. It’s certainly the only one fancy enough to require a parking garage, since it’s located in a shopping plaza with some ritzy little boutiques and artisan candle shops.
My father wanted to meet up and talk in person. In fact, he demanded it. And I have never been good at telling my father no. Of course, that’s mostly because he has always treated me well enough that I never needed to.
Until now.
Still, I did not want to give him the upper hand here. I need to be in a bargaining position, and if there’s one thing I have learned from my father over the years, it’s how to establish dominance. All this time, when my dad thought I was just some airheaded, spoiled little girl who was too busy shopping for a new Louis Vuitton handbag to pay attention to anything else, I have actually been watching him much more closely than anyone would have guessed by looking at me.
I know how I appear to most people. I look every bit the part of a pampered little princess who has never had to think for herself or make big decisions. I look demure and sweet and innocent, and I suppose to an extent, I am all of those things. But that’s not all I am.
I’m also resourceful. And smart. And attentive. So while I sat next to my father in first class as we rode a train through the picturesque Spanish landscape or what have you, I listened to his conversations with investors and competitors. His legal team. His subordinates.
Maybe at first, when I was a little younger, I didn’t listen. In fact, when I was a little girl I used to tune out his business calls on purpose. Listening to him rant and rave about stocks and risk versus reward tactics was pretty dull to me as a child.
But once I got a little older, I started to quietly pay attention. I made notes, sometimes just in my head, and sometimes actually on paper or on a memo in my cell phone. I noticed his strategies, internalized them. Stowed them away for safekeeping, even though I never imagined there would come a day when I might actually make use of the stuff I picked up from him.
Now, though, I am starting to see the benefits of growing up in close proximity to one of the world’s most formidable businessmen. I know the ins and outs of business negotiations. I know my father’s instincts, because some of them are my instincts, as well. I know what he’s doing. I learned it from watching him all these years.
I plan to beat him at his own game.
Step one?
Never let your opponent get you on his home turf. Home team advantage is applicable to more than just football. So when my father called me wanting to meet up and talk, it only made sense for me to insist that he come all the way out here to quaint little Roslyn, on Long Island, rather than agree to meet him at our home in Sands Point or at the hotel room on the Upper East Side.
He fought me on that, of course, but I stood my ground. Finally, I broke him down and he reluctantly accepted my plan to meet up at this cheesy French bistro complete with a second-rate jazz band and waiters in black. I may not be from Roslyn, but I know it better just fr
om my brief time here than my father does, that’s for sure. He doesn’t mess around with small towns. They don’t have much to offer him.
In this case, that gives me the advantage.
Step two?
Don’t lay all your cards out on the table before your opponent does. That means that I will refuse to tell him anything about Nikolai or the crazy escape he facilitated for me last night until Daddy agrees to tell me everything about Liev and their little exchange. I want to know why exactly he wants to marry me off to a man like Liev.
And I refuse to believe that it’s all about giving me a bright future.
I don’t need a fat, snobbish, manipulative husband to give me that. If I were allowed to go off to college or an internship or whatever on my own, I could make my way all by myself. This isn’t the Victorian era. I don’t need to marry for money, and I sure as hell don’t need my father to arrange a marriage for me against my will.
There has got to be something bigger than a simple marriage at stake here. Why Liev Ovechkin? Why not one of the myriad other rich guys my father is friends with? What does Uncle Liev have over my father? Is it pure greed? Blackmail? A business trade: a daughter for a yacht or something?
I shudder to think that something so superficial could be the reason why, but at this point, I’m feeling pretty disillusioned in this father-daughter dynamic. I don’t have much faith left in him.
Step three?
Outdress and impress. This one’s simple. I know what my dad dresses like. I could probably describe most of his wardrobe from memory. Now, my harrowing escape from the Ovechkin manor left me barefoot, with ripped and torn clothes. That’s no way to dress for a negotiation.
So this morning, Nikolai retrieved the car from the mechanic, fully repaired, and we went to one of the many clothing boutiques in the area. I flashed my daddy’s credit card, but rather unsurprisingly, he had already called the credit card company to put a hold on the account.
So Nikolai graciously bought me a summery new dress, a cardigan, and a pair of strappy sandals. I got my hair, makeup, and nails done at the salon next to the boutique. Now, sitting at the corner table in this French bistro, I might not look like a million bucks, but I at least look like a good several thousand.
Youth always beats wisdom, my dad told me once, and in this case, my youthful good looks will automatically tip the scales in my favor, even though he’s going to be wearing Armani and I’m wearing some nobody’s brand.
I have the confidence and the bravado to pull this off.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as I sit here nervously waiting for Daddy to show up.
He has thought ahead. I can see what he’s doing. I have the upper hand by staking out the restaurant first, but he’s countering with a well-known tactic: to keep me waiting. The more restless and impatient I get, the less powerful I feel. Daddy has shown up hours late to meetings before, just to keep his opponent on his toes. But me? I’m prepared for that. I have spent lots of time waiting around on him to come collect me, to turn up for our scheduled luncheons.
It doesn’t bother me.
When he walks in at half past four, dressed to the nines with a wry smile on his face, I’m ready for him. I stand and greet him with a kiss to the cheek, as if everything is totally normal. I want to keep him guessing. However, there is still that little daddy’s girl inside of me who just wants to hug him, to cry in his arms and beg him to tell me everything will be okay.
But I know better now. I can’t trust him. I want to, but I can’t.
“Hi, Daddy,” I greet him as we sit down across from each other. I’ve done another subtle trick; I’m sitting with my back to the wall so I can see the entire restaurant, while he’s facing me, which means that anyone could sneak up behind him at any time and he wouldn’t know. It’s just a little thing to set him off-balance and make him just that tiny bit more nervous.
He didn’t know he was teaching me all these years, but I have learned well.
“Privet, myshka,” he says, folding his hands together on the white tablecloth. He raises an eyebrow as he looks around the restaurant, wrinkling his nose slightly. “You could not have picked a slightly less, ahh, blue-collar establishment for this meeting?”
“What’s wrong, Daddy? Do all these honest people make you uncomfortable?” I ask, tilting my head to one side and giving him a placid smile. “I tried to book us a table in a den of snakes, but they weren’t taking any reservations. I apologize. I know you would feel more at home there.”
He narrows his eyes at me, clearly taken aback by my acidic tone.
“So, Anastasia, what is your intention this afternoon? What is it that you want?” he asks.
“I want the truth. About Liev. About this engagement. About you,” I tell him.
He chuckles good-naturedly as the waiter comes over to take our order. Daddy orders a dry martini and escargot. The waiter looks petrified.
“Sir, we don’t serve escargot here,” he admits.
Daddy leans back in his chair, glaring at him.
“This is a French restaurant, da?”
“Y-Yes, sir, but—”
“You might want to rethink your brand, then,” says my father icily. “Bring me something edible, if you think your chef can manage that. Surprise me.”
The waiter nods nervously and looks at me. I give him an apologetic smile. “I’ll just have a soda and the brie plate, please,” I tell him. He looks relieved and putters off. I turn my attention back to my father.
“My dear daughter, I believe the two of us can come to an armistice,” he says graciously. “After all, we want the same thing, do we not?”
“And what is that?” I prompt.
“Your happiness, of course,” he replies. I snort.
“Yeah, right.”
“You have a misguided idea of what it takes to be happy, but I will take the blame for that. Perhaps I have spoiled you too much. I made life too easy for you, and now your ego is bigger than your intellect. What a shame,” Daddy muses, clucking his tongue.
“Well, if you’re so worried about my intellect, why would you marry me off to some crusty old man rather than let me further my education?” I counter.
“Because, my little mouse, I am a shrewd businessman, and I know how to recognize a good offer when I see it,” he remarks cryptically.
“A good offer?” I repeat, frowning as the waiter silently sets down my soda and Daddy’s martini before scurrying away. “So you admit that this is about money? Is that it? You sold me off to Liev like I’m just another one of your assets?”
“My, my, you certainly have a most unromantic mind, don’t you?” he scolds, taking a sip of his drink. He winces at the taste. “And you could not have chosen a restaurant with a more palatable selection of liquor?” he complains.
I lean forward, trying to intimidate him. “If you think that drink tastes bitter, you’d better man up, because I have a much more difficult pill for you to swallow, Daddy,” I whisper.
He looks amused. “And what is that, dear daughter?”
I take a deep breath and launch into the speech I’ve been reciting in my head all day. “I refuse to marry Liev. I won’t do it. You can’t make me. I’m legally an adult, and I don’t have to do what you ask of me anymore. You can cut off my credit card, you can be angry with me, you can do whatever you want, but I’m putting my foot down. I don’t want to marry that criminal.”
Daddy rolls his eyes.
“Criminal? Let’s not play the moral superiority card.”
“Why not? Why is Mr. Ovechkin allowed to do the horrible things he does without consequences? What makes him so special?” I demand in a low voice.
“Money,” he answers simply. “And power. Come now, I thought you were at least smart enough to realize that.”
“But it’s not fair,” I reply. “You shouldn’t give him a free pass just because of his money or his status. That’s wrong, Daddy, and you know it.”
He shrugs
.
“There is no right or wrong in business, myshka. There are only losers and winners. Do you want to be a loser?”
I shake my head, totally in shock. “You are not the man I thought you were,” I mutter.
Daddy chuckles. “Then you are an even bigger fool than I knew.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough. I stand up suddenly and throw down my napkin. Daddy regards me placidly as I glare at him. “Daddy, with all due respect, screw you. I’m not going to marry Liev. I’m going to walk out of here now, and you can’t stop me.”
He leans back and shrugs. “I suppose you’re right. Go, have your little meltdown. But don’t come crying back to Papa when you realize you’ve lost,” he sneers.
Before even waiting to cancel my order, I storm out of the restaurant in tears, my hands curled into fists at my sides. I can’t believe how cold and cruel he is, how totally unlike the father I’ve loved he seems to be. That’s not the man I have looked up to my whole life. The curtain has been yanked back, and now the ugly truth is on full display. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m shocked. And I’m angry at myself for not seeing it sooner. I should have known.
I make my way up to the parking garage and step out of the elevator with tears streaming down my face. I can’t remember where exactly we parked, but my mind is too mixed up to figure it out. I start wandering aimlessly through the labyrinth of vehicles and cold concrete, my heart racing like mad. As I turn a corner, a flash of bright, searing pain rips through my body.
I don’t even have time to figure out what happened before I crumple to the ground, my head spinning. There’s a dull, horrible ache at the back of my head, and I feel sick to my stomach.
I hear heavy footsteps and a grunt, and I turn to look up just as a tall, scowling man with a familiar face lifts a plank of wood over his head to bring down upon me. I gasp and try to wiggle away, jerking out of dodge just as the plank smacks the concrete floor.
The man glares at me in annoyance, and in the back of my mind, through the pulsing agony, I remember who he is. I can’t conjure up a name, but I know he’s one of my father’s associates. A junior business partner of some kind.
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