Filthy Russian Savior

by Reina J Richards

  She loves me. That's what she said. She loves me.

  How did I even get here? I shouldn't be here, with this incredible woman in my bed. I should have been dead before I turned 18—either from hunger or violence or the combination of everything forcing my brain to convince me it would be a good idea to be away from this earth, from this life.

  Though I don't have much to compare it to, I know this wasn't just sex, what we just shared. It was otherworldly and incredible and life-changing, even before she said those words that I had been thinking and secretly hoping for but maybe not so soon. I assumed I would have some time to let my brain catch up with what my heart has known since I first laid eyes on her. I assumed it would take her a little longer to recognize that we were meant to be. I suppose, foolishly, I assumed we would ease into this relationship.

  Of course, I don't know why I ever assumed that, considering how she rocked my world with just one look. But, I never said I wasn't a fool.

  And now, after hearing her confirm the thing I was too scared to admit to needing—I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like I should marry her now. I need a ring, I want babies with her, I want a dog and a house and a perfect life with her doing whatever it is she wants to do. I need to make her happy.

  She stirs slightly in her sleep, burrowing her head further into my chest where she fell fast asleep after delivering that bombshell. The sneaky thing has no idea she just sealed the deal between us forever.

  I let my fingers trail up and down her back, loving the softness of every inch of her, while I bring my other hand up to her crown of curls. They stick wildly out of her head, all over the place, like rays of her beauty that can't be contained inside of her. Just an extension of her perfection. I inhale the tropical scent of her hair and let it soothe me even further.

  I don't want to wake her, but I take a chance and kiss her on the forehead and then the cheek, just because I want to. She mumbles something, half-asleep, before the arm she has wrapped around my torso trails up and down my abdomen until she rests her hand on my chest.

  "Why are you still awake?" she mumbles against me.

  Her sleepy voice and cuddly warmth bring a smile to my face. "I'm just enjoying this moment with you, sweet girl. Just savoring it."

  She opens her eyes and props her head up to look at me. God, she's beautiful. Then, she gives me a little smile, shy almost, and I feel my heart pounding from the rush. The heady, indescribable sensation of having her attention focused on me like this, at close range, having her naked and pressed against me and so trusting and hopeful.

  "Do you have any idea just how perfect and beautiful you are?" I whisper, and she blushes a little before ducking her head to avoid my gaze. I'm not having it, so I gently tilt her chin up so she's looking at me again. "Don't hide from me, zvezda moya. I love looking at you." And I do. It's an understatement, really. If I didn't have to do things like eat and shower and work, I would like nothing more than to stare at her all day and night.

  Ava squeezes her eyes tight and scrunches her nose while I tell her how beautiful she is. She's adorable, but I'm frustrated that she won't take me seriously. "Sweetheart, why don't you want to believe me?"

  She opens her eyes, biting her lip in hesitation as she studies my face. "It's not—I don't—ugh. Okay, it's not that I don't believe you, necessarily. Like, I believe that you think I'm beautiful and all of those things."

  "But...?"

  "But, I also know that I'm not a lot of guys' preferred 'type' of woman," she says with a little shrug.

  I don't even try to fight back the angry growl that emerges as a natural response to hearing her words. She arches an eyebrow but doesn't seem particularly concerned by my outburst. I grab her around the waist and flip her over, pinning her to the bed and savoring her little gasp of shocked pleasure and the delicious bounce of her tits. I bury my face into her neck, licking and biting and marking her as mine.

  "Is it not enough that you bring me to my knees, woman? Is it not enough that I think you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen? You need other men to think so too?"

  I slip my hand down her body until my fingers reach her cleft, all swollen and already wet for me again. I part her lips with my fingers and sink into her wetness. She moans and spreads her legs for me even more, baring herself to me, giving me everything like an offering from God.

  "Hmm? Cat got your tongue, zvezda moya? Answer me," I demand, stilling my fingers inside her until she opens her eyes, moaning and whimpering in response to my teasing. "Tell me," I insist, "or I won't let you come."

  "Oh God, Maxim, I didn't say that. It's—it's not what I meant, okay? Of course, it's enough that you think I'm beautiful. It's hard to believe, but I am starting to realize that you must be telling the truth."

  "Tell me, what exactly do you think is not already perfect about you? Tell me, so I can disabuse you of that immediately."

  She glares at me, more anger than frustration, and I swear I love this fierce side of her. "You're not playing fair," she says, in a low voice that shouldn't turn me on as much as it does but fuck it, everything she does turns me on.

  "I'm not trying to play fair," I tell her, slowly pulling my fingers from inside her but letting my hand come to rest on her mound. "Tell me everything, gorgeous, and I'll let you come."

  She avoids my stare, choosing instead to keep her eyes focused on the ceiling above us. After a long moment, during which I think she might not answer me, she huffs out a sigh. And then: "For starters, I don't know if you noticed this but... I'm curvy. Thick. Fat. Whatever you want to call it."

  "And? You're perfect."

  She rolls her eyes at me before looking away again. "You asked me to tell you so I'm telling you. That's just the truth. But, despite what it might seem like, I don't feel bad about being fat. I like the way I look. Generally speaking, I like my body. But you—you're—guys like you don't go for girls like me."

  "Who said?"

  "Oh I don't know, history, media, personal experience," she says with a little laugh. "You can't be serious right now."

  I shrug.

  "When you were growing up, did you have any posters of girls like me on your wall? Did you see girls who looked like me on TV? Girls who were chubby and black with big hair and dark eyes?"

  "No," I say, choosing my words carefully. "I did not have posters of girls like you on my wall, because I didn't have a wall to put posters on half the time."

  I ignore her stricken look so I can get out what I want to say. "As for girls on TV—I didn't have one of those either. Once Luka's family took me in, I had more access to things like that, sure. And no, I didn't see girls like you when I turned on Russian television. I don't think I could have conjured someone like you in my wildest dreams, do you understand? You're like nobody I've ever seen before, and that's exactly why I've fallen so hard for you."

  Her eyes fill with tears again but I have to keep going, I have to make sure she understands.

  "Chubby? Who the fuck cares about chubby? All that means is I have more of you. All it means is that you have a big ass for me to bite, and thick thighs to wrap around me. Black? Yes, that's true. You're Black and I am not. It would be stupid of me to try and pretend like we're not different in that way. And if that is a problem, we can hopefully try to move past it together. I won't claim I know what it is like to be in your shoes, but I want to learn. I want to learn with you so I can learn the best way to support and protect you, okay?"

  She nods furiously and wipes away some tears that have already fallen. It breaks my heart but I power through and ignore the tears for just a little longer.

  "And your big hair and dark eyes? Princess, do you know I wouldn't change anything about you, not for anything in the world? I've already told you that your hair is sexy as fuck, and your eyes captivated me the moment you looked up at me."

  She chokes out a sob and I finally allow myself to comfort her. I kiss away her tears and stroke her soft cheeks. We stay entwined for a
long moment while I whisper words of comfort to her and she cuddles into my arms. I see our whole future ahead of us, once we figure out this business with her sister, I'm going to marry her right away and do whatever I can to make her so fucking happy.

  Ava must sense my mood shift because now it's her turn to ask the questions. "What are you thinking, Maxim?"

  "I'm thinking that you're the most perfect creature I've ever seen," I tell her, honestly, "and I'm wondering if you want to have babies."

  Chapter 17 - Ava

  I've gotta say, I was not expecting that question at this point in time.

  "Do you mean like, now...?"

  Maxim rushes to reassure me. "No no, wow that was stupid of me. I meant... is that something you could see yourself doing. At some point in the future?"

  Whew. Relief courses through me as I settle back against his broad, sturdy chest.

  "Oh, yeah, I have always wanted to be a mom, so I imagine I'll have some kids at some point. I want to finish all my degrees and stuff before that though."

  God, I hope that's not a dealbreaker. I hope he's not some macho man who expects his woman to stay home and pop babies out immediately. I guess it would be better to find that out now instead of later on, but it would seriously make me sad considering I've already fallen for him.

  "Sweetheart," he says, as if he can see the direction of my thoughts, "I am most definitely not in a rush. You have so much of your life to figure out, and I would just be honored to be a part of it. If you had said you didn't want kids, that would be okay too. I was just trying to gauge what your goals were."

  "Ugh, why are you so perfect?" I say with an eye roll. He laughs and kisses my forehead.

  "I can assure you, sweet girl, I am not."

  We both go silent for a moment, and I wonder if he's also thinking about what has transpired between us and how much we still have to do.

  "We'll find her, okay? I promise you."

  I nod, knowing he's telling the truth.

  "How did you get involved with this anyway? Will you tell me what it is that you do?"

  "For bratva?" He waits for me to confirm, then lets out a huge sigh before telling me the history of how he got hooked up with the family. He recounts it all with an almost detached air, of a childhood spent hungry and alone most of the time, of living on the streets with his mother at age 12, of meeting a boy at primary school who, against all odds, really took a liking to him.

  "It sounds childish to say," he says, his voice deep with foreign emotion, "but until I met Luka at school, I don't think I ever had a friend. He was my friend and he didn't care that I had no money, that I had dirty shoes, that I was nothing. He was so kind to me in a way I think I'm still trying to understand. Because he didn't have to be, you know? His family had money, he could have ignored me as all the other school children did. But he didn't."

  I try to be discreet about wiping away a tear, but of course Maxim sees it.

  "You're crying for me?" he says, with something akin to awe in his voice.

  "Hush, don't make fun of me. I'm crying for you as a little boy and for that hard life you had. And I'm crying for the fact that you made a friend so wonderful."

  He stares at me for a moment longer, that incredulous look still in his eye. He reaches out with a thumb to catch one of my tears and sucks his thumb into his mouth before I can even think to protest.

  "So," he continues, "that is how I met Luka. And his family—his dad especially—they just took me in. His dad was a hardass, very much, but he cared about letting us be children, at least for longer than some other fathers in the organization allowed their sons."

  "And when did you officially... start working for them I guess?"

  He considers this for a moment as if trying to remember the exact events and timeline. "Once I turned 18 I was slowly brought into the operation. After that, I was always sent on jobs with Luka, and was basically his bodyguard and right-hand-man since day one."

  Maxim stops to look down at me, capturing my eyes with that piercing gaze of his.

  "What's up?" I ask, wondering if I have something on my face.

  "It would not be easy, but if I have to, I want you to know that I would choose you. Over everybody. Absolutely, no hesitation."

  I know everybody includes Luka and, after just learning their whole history together, it means even more to me how Maxim is willing to give that up for me. I would never ask him to do that, which I tell him. He shakes his head.

  "It's not about asking, sweetheart. I know you wouldn't. But I want you to know that I'm with you, no matter what that means, okay?"

  Once again, Maxim has me on the verge of tears with his sweetness. I'm not used to this, I'm not used to being someone's number one. I let the tears fall and he cups my face in concern.

  "Every time I make you cry, I swear I want to punch myself in the dick."

  "It's not... I'm not crying because I'm sad," I rush to explain. "I've just... I feel overwhelmed by these feelings and the fact that you're... I don't know. Nobody has ever taken care of me. Or wanted to."

  “Your parents?”

  I shake my head and briefly explain that dad died when Maya was barely a year old, and Mom never really seemed to love being a mom at all. She worked to put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads, but she wasn’t interested in the touchy-feely aspects of parenting. And Maya and I have been on our own since she died. Except, now it’s just me.

  He makes a pained sort of noise, not quite a grunt or a growl, as he wipes my tears away yet again. "Baby girl, I'm so sorry you've had to do everything alone—"

  "So did you, and you're not here complaining about it. I feel like such a baby," I admit, sort of hating myself for how foolish and childish I sound.

  "If you think I have not complained about it, you have a very limited understanding of me. Of course, I complained about it. I thought my life was cursed. I wanted to die. In fact, I wished for it many times."

  His admission shocks through me like a bucket of ice water. He must see the panic in my eyes, because he pulls me closer to him, holding my head against his chest. "You have nothing to worry about. It was a long time ago, okay? I was in a very bad place, very depressed, and I just wondered why I was even here. But now—my God—now I can see that I just had to be patient and wait because eventually, I'd find you."

  I love him. I wasn't lying when I said it as I was falling asleep. I don't think he said it back, even though I passed out so I can't be too sure. Still, I don't think he did, and I have to keep myself from blurting it out again because I know it is crazy. Of course, it is. But I can't help it. I don't know how to stop.

  So instead of telling him again, I just pull him into a fierce kiss, savoring the way his mouth seems to fit perfectly against mine. We devour each other, his big hands roaming every inch of my body and driving me nearly mindless with anticipation. Before he can distract me, I work my way down his body, determined to make him feel good.

  Chapter 18 - Maxim

  Something is very wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I know it in my bones the minute I turn up at the casino after leaving Ava sleeping peacefully this morning. On the surface, everything seems normal enough. But I notice that the guards from last night have been replaced by two men I’ve never seen before. It could be a coincidence, or it could be a setup.

  I walk into Eric’s office after a guard lets me in, telling me that the boss will be right in to meet me. I wait a couple of minutes before that bad feeling intensifies even further. Before I can consider what I’m doing, I pull up Luka’s contact in my phone and send it to Ava, along with a message telling her to contact him immediately and listen to whatever he tells her to do. The thought of leaving her in the care of someone else makes me blind with rage, but I don’t know what else to do.

  For a split second, I consider telling Ava I love her. Because fuck me, I do love her. But I cannot tell her this in a text, when I might be about to die. I can only pray that I will make my way
back to her and tell her in person.

  Just before Eric enters the room, I delete my texts to Ava and remove any trace of our conversation from my phone. In my message to her, I cautioned her not to respond. There’s no way I want her in danger because of me. Briefly, I remember that Eric knows about her leaving with me yesterday. But it’s too late to deal with that right now.

  The cold barrel of a pistol at my temple pulls me out of my thoughts. Suddenly, every prick of awareness narrows down to that one location. This is certainly not the first time I’ve been moments away from death. But, it occurs to me now, that this is the first time I’ve cared enough whether I live or die. It’s sad I’ve made it this long in life with nothing anchoring me to this world, but now that I have found Ava, there’s no way in hell I can let her go. I was born to take care of her, to make her happy, to love her forever. Christ, I can’t believe I left her without telling her how I feel.

  Okay, if I can just stay calm and stall for a bit, I think I can hold off the inevitable at least long enough for Ava to get my message to Luka.

  The guard with his gun to my temple nudges me forward, and soon we’re walking in the basement of the hotel, and I already know that they’re putting me in a car. Eric is stupid, but not stupid enough to kill me in Luka’s hotel. Sure enough, I’m shoved into a blacked-out SUV limo, where Eric waits on the bench seat across from me. The guard assigned to me slides in next to me, keeping his gun trained on my head until Eric signals him to stand down.

  “Hello again Maxim. I hope you don’t mind, I changed the location of today’s meeting,” Eric says.

  I say nothing, choosing instead to meet his shifty gaze head-on.

  The car starts moving. Eric glances out of the window at the passing landscape for a moment. He talks to me without looking away from the window.

  “I thought you and I could have a little chat before we get to our destination. I hope that’s alright,” he says, finally turning back to me with a fake sincere smile.