89

Kayla The next morning, we sit on the patio of the Four Seasons, enjoying the California sun and a late brunch. I hate Sundays because it means our time is almost over. He’ll fly back to Chicago, and I’ll go back to my other life. The one where I’m not a sex slave or the girlfriend to a dangerous criminal.
There’s such a giant fissure between my twin selves now I can barely straddle it.
I’m also cracked open, with no armor, almost no sense of self at all because Pavel just turned me inside out upstairs.
I came without asking again this morning, so he spread my legs, spanked my pussy with the leather strap and then ate me out until I screamed myself hoarse. I feel so vulnerable after intense sessions like that. His seat across the table from me-less than three feet away-feels way too far. When I reach for his hand, he takes my fingers and caresses them. “Come here,” he says, seeming to understand. I stand, and he moves my chair around to the side of the table, right beside him. I scoot it even closer, and drape one of my knees over his.
“You want to go back up to the room for more aftercare?” He’s so patient and attentive with me post-scene. I know it’s not his usual way, which makes it all the more addictive.
Again, my roommates would say this is dysfunctional.
I rest my head on his shoulder. I know it’s ridiculous to be this needy. But I have to lean into Pavel to soak up a sense of safety when I’m this wide open.
My phone rings. I’m going to ignore it until I remember that it could be Lara, and then I lunge for my purse.
It is. I swipe across the screen to answer.
“I got you in, darling,” she sing-songs. “It took me all weekend to get someone to take my call, but you’re in. The audition is in ninety minutes. I’ll text you the address.”
“Oh!” I shoot a glance at Pavel, who must have overheard because he nods and throws some bills down on the table. “Great!” My heart’s already pounding like I’m at the audition. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
Pavel stands the moment I end the call. “You have an audition?” He slides my chair back as I stand, like a gentleman of a bygone time. The behavior is so at odds with his appearance and normal cocky behavior that it makes me a little swoony. But, of course, I’m already in the swooning state.
“Yes, for a television show. This could be my big break.” I sound breathless. My heart’s still rapping against my ribs like my life is in danger. “I’m sorry, I know this is our last few hours.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ll drive you.”
“Okay.” I flash a smile at him, as my excitement mounts. “I’ll go change.”
I didn’t bring audition clothes, and there’s probably not enough time to go back to my apartment, so I sort through my suitcase for what I have. I decide to wear the red dress I wore last night, just dressed down with a pair of Converse because it’s daytime. It’s quirky and hopefully will be memorable to the casting director.
Pavel packs his things and stays out of my way as I spin around the suite, touching up my makeup and hair and packing my suitcase.
“Okay,” I say when I’m ready.
“You look perfect.” Pavel stacks both our suitcases and takes them with one hand. With the other, he catches my fingers and twines his through them. “You’ve got this.”
We head down in the elevator, and Pavel checks out as I wait for the valet attendant to bring my old car around. Pavel slides behind the wheel and loads the address into his map app on his phone.
As the car sails smoothly into traffic, I shiver a little.
“Are you cold?” Pavel turns on the heater and adjusts the vents.
“No, I’m just…” He takes his eyes away from traffic to look at me.
“I’m freaking out a little bit. I’m nervous. This is usually where I try to channel Sasha because she’s not afraid of anything.”
Pavel lets out a soft scoff. “Yes, Sasha has a pretty high opinion of herself.”
I look at him in surprise. “Do you not like Sasha?”
“Sasha is Sasha.” He shrugs. “She’s the daughter of my former boss and the wife of a brother. I would kill or die for her.”
I blink, stunned by this little glimpse into his world. His loyalty. A code for living. Would he kill or die for me? Remembering his actions at the convenience store, I’m suddenly quite certain he would. And like that night, it turns me on, even as it scares me.
“You two are friends, though, right?”
Pavel shrugs again, like friend isn’t a word he would use with Sasha. “Why are you asking?”
I laugh a little at myself then confess, “I’ve been so jealous of what she has with you.”
He scoffs again. “She has nothing with me. She is my annoying housemate. Nothing more.” His gaze on me is bemused. “You were jealous? Of Sasha?” He can’t seem to believe it.
“She knows you better than I do.”
“Ah.” He sobers. “I understand.” Then he shakes his head. “She knows nothing. You see more of me than I show to anyone else. Don’t ever be jealous of another woman.”
“Why don’t you ever invite me to come to Chicago?”
He gives me a long look. “Because I’m a bastard, and I don’t want to share you. But if you want to come, you’re invited. Any time, Kayla.”
“Okay,” I say softly.
“You don’t need to be like Sasha for this audition,” he says, and I catch a little heat in his gaze.
“You’re you.”
Wings flap in my chest.
“I’m just scared because I don’t feel like myself. I still feel … raw from our scene.”
“I see.” He picks up my fingers and brings them to his mouth, kissing the backs of them. “Use it. I called you blossom the night we met because I thought you would be easily crushed, but I was wrong.
You are a flower-one that blooms under duress. You open wide. That’s your superpower, malysh.
So use it. When you’re in that audition, don’t try to hide that openness. There’s no person on this planet who won’t connect with you when you’re like that, period. And if you don’t get this part, then it’s because it wasn’t the right one for you, not because you weren’t absolutely perfect.”
I blink back the wetness in my eyes, my chest warm and glowy from his words. I’ve been told before to believe it’s not me, it’s just about the part-we actors tell ourselves this all the time to soothe the sting of rejection. But this time, when Pavel says it, I actually believe it.
He pulls up in front of the building, and I take a deep breath.
“Knock them dead, blossom. Text me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you up.”
“Thank you.” I lean over for a kiss. It’s awkward because he didn’t lean my way or try to touch me, but he cradles my face and kisses me back lightly.
“You’ve got this.”
I step out of the car. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know up from down. Maybe that’s why I believe Pavel implicitly. My defenses are down, and Pavel thinks I’m perfect. All I can do is show up and be me.
Pavel I don’t know how long it will take Kayla, but I figure there’s time to take her car to a carwash and get an exterior and interior clean. She hasn’t texted by the time it’s finished, so I take a chance and bring it to the Jiffy Lube for an oil change and tune up, sliding a hundred dollar bill into the guy in charge’s hand to get it done quickly.
Afterward, I drive around L. A., looking at it for the first time. I realize I don’t even know where Kayla lives. I was playing fantasy dom-meeting her at Black Light and then bringing her to a hotel room for the weekend.
Now, though, things have shifted.
I see a commercial real estate sign in front of a large apartment complex and some wild and ridiculous notion pops in my head. I pull over to call the number on the sign.
“This is Larry,” a guy practically yells over the phone. Sounds like he’s driving a convertible.
“Yeah, just wondering the selling price for the property on Wilmont.”
“Are you an agent?” he demands.
“No. This is Pavel Pushkin. I’m a real estate investor from Chicago.”
“It’s five million, eight. I won’t show it until you’ve proven you have funding.”
I ignore his last statement. “How many units?”
“Six one-bedroom units and six two. The top floor is a penthouse suite, and there’s a pool on the roof.”
“How big are the units?”
“Eight hundred square feet and one thousand.”
“I’ll be in touch,” I say and end the call without a thank you. Groveling isn’t my thing.
I stare at the building and run the numbers in my head.
Real estate is the true secret to Ravil’s wealth. He may run smuggling and gambling and loan shark operations-staples of the bratva business-but he invested his money wisely. Somehow, he made enough-or maybe he killed the right people to inherit enough-to buy the Kremlin-lakefront property in Chicago. Definitely worth multiple millions. And now, with his beautiful new crime-intolerant wife, Ravil has steered the organization in a relatively legit direction. He can because he’s now a real estate mogul, not a crime lord.
I wonder, briefly, if Igor bankrolled him. I never asked because it’s none of my business.
All this time, I’ve saved all my earnings, so when things have cooled down enough to return to Moscow, I could get myself set up somehow. Oh, I’d still work for the bratva. The only way out of the bratva is in a box, or so they say. But having my own business-sanctioned by the pakhan, of course -has been my goal.
Sasha just inherited something like sixty million when Igor died. I wonder if she could be talked into backing me on something like this?
But that’s a crazy thought. Why would I start a business venture in Los Angeles if I’m moving to Moscow?
Well, the why is pretty obvious.
I’m thinking with my dick.
But my mother’s alone in Russia. Friendless, isolated, depressed.
Because of what I did.
So giving any thought to not returning would make me even more heartless than everyone thinks I am.
Blyad’.
A text comes through on my phone from Kayla, and I put the car back in drive and swing in front of the building where she auditioned to pick her up.
There’s a calmness around her as she walks out that hits me square in the chest. It’s not the kind of hair-tossing confidence Sasha wields, but she looks grounded. Happy.
I get out to open the door for her, and she leans into me, lifting her face with a smile and big moon eyes. “You’re awfully nice to your slave,” she purrs.
“My slave earned it.” I brush her cheek with my thumb. “How’d it go?”
She exhales with a smile. “Really well. As good as it could have. I did a couple scenes for them, and one made me tear up. It was perfect, honestly. Thanks for the pep talk before I went in. It really helped.”
“You don’t need pep talks, little flower. You already have it all. Believe that.”
She keeps leaning against me, her tits pressing soft against my ribs. My dick twitches against my zipper at the contact. I want to throw her over my shoulder, run back into that building and find some supply closet where I can fuck her brains out one last time before I go.
As if she’s reading my mind, she asks, “What time’s your flight?”
I shrug. “I already missed it. I’m sure I can find another one going out tonight.”
“Do you want me to take you to the airport?”
This is new, too. We’ve always just met at Black Light or the hotel. When it’s over, I take a cab or rideshare, and she drives away.
I know I should tell her no. That I’ll call a ride share. There’s something desperate and clingy about us needing to stay together until the last possible minute.
But the fact is, I do want these last few moments with her. Even after a solid forty-eight hours and more orgasms than I can count, it’s never enough. There’s something thoroughly addictive about Kayla that makes me want to change every plan I’ve ever made.
I brush my lips over hers. “Yeah. That would be nice. Thanks.”