137

Nikolai
I’m finding it hard to regret my bad decision-making. Watching Chelle come undone was a fucking privilege.
I take care of business while Chelle showers-paying Oleg, Adrian and Ravil out of the pot, then I order some gyros and Greek salad to be delivered for lunch.
“You need a dining table,” Chelle announces when the food arrives, and I put it on the quartz breakfast bar.
“Do I?” I survey the apartment. I guess a dining table seemed pointless when it’s just me living here. “I rearranged many times but nothing seemed right,” I admit, waving my arm around the open-concept living area. “Where would I put it?”
“By the windows. Definitely.” There’s a warm timbre to her voice that does something strange to my insides.
“You’ll have to pick it out for me,” I tell her. “That’s your next assignment.”
“I get assignments, huh? That’s how this works?” I love the flirty lilt of her words.
“You do what you’re told. That’s all.” My words are harsh, but my tone is easy, as always.”I thought it was just sex.” She looks at me from under her lashes. She’s wearing mascara and light makeup, which for some reason turns me on. Maybe because she made an effort for me.
“It’s whatever the hell I want. Come and eat.” I pull back one of the barstools at the breakfast counter. The design of my suite is similar to the penthouse upstairs, only half the size.
She hops onto the stool and opens the bag of food. “You don’t cook much, do you?” She pops open a styrofoam container and makes an approving sound.
“I heat things in the microwave,” I tell her. “I can cook eggs. That’s about it. Do you like to cook?” I suddenly wish I’d had more time to stalk her on her Echo. Like I’ve missed out on all the things that make Chelle’s life, and I want to catch up.
“I like to cook,” she says. “Brunch is my favorite.”
“Brunch. What do you make for brunch?”
She smiles. “You know-breakfast food. Frittatas or quiche. Or ricotta pancakes. Fruit salad. Mimosas.”
An unfamiliar feeling stirs in my gut. Something like jealousy, which makes no sense.
“Who do you make this brunch for?” I sound far grumpier than usual.
She shrugs. “Zane. Or Shanna, my friend from the Red Room.” She picks up the gyro and squeezes it together to take a bite.
The jealousy remains. “Tomorrow you’ll make me brunch.” My imperious tone makes me sound like a total dick, but I can’t help myself. I want to be the recipient of her attention. Her food.
Fortunately, she doesn’t catch the asshole in my voice. Either that, or she really does like to cook brunch, because she perks up. “Okay. I need to go shopping because you don’t have much in the fridge.”
I nod. “We’ll go shopping together.”
“Are we shopping for furniture, too? Or do I do that on my own?”
Another unpleasant streak of anger runs through me. “We’ll go together.”
Blyad.’
I identify the feeling. Possessiveness. I’d felt it at the Red Room that night when the guy talked to her at the bar. Now I’m pissy about her giving her time or attention to anyone but me.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve never been possessive of a woman in my life. In fact, I usually can’t wait to bail as soon as we’ve had sex. No wonder I’ve broken all my rules when it comes to her. There’s something different about her, for sure. She’s captivated me. This surliness I feel is the same way Dima got with Natasha. Especially because he didn’t think he could have her.
Fuck.
The realization that I’m in the same fucking boat hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.
“What?” Chelle asks.
I immediately make my expression blank. It is what it is. A transaction. Thirty days for her brother’s note. Chelle doesn’t want a relationship with me, she’s already made that clear.
The dark jealousy rumbles in the pit of my stomach again.
“I’m just planning all the ways I’m going to torture you, little bunny,” I say darkly.
She stops chewing and squeezes her thighs together like she’s turned on.
And that makes it all worth it. At least we both will have our sexual fantasies fulfilled. Making Chelle scream, even for a short time, is almost as satisfying as getting to keep her.
Chelle
“So… what do I have to do to earn a spin class?” I crawl over Nikolai’s lap to straddle him where he was sitting on the couch. I don’t know when I became a seductress, but it’s so far out of the box for me that it feels powerful and fun.
We visited a couple furniture stores without me finding anything suitable and stopped to pick up groceries for the week. I let Nikolai pay for them, of course.
Now Nikolai and I are on the sofa looking online for a dining room set.
He grabs my ass and grinds me over his erection. Based on the way his eyelids droop, I’m sure he’s thinking of dozens of dirty things to order me to do, but then asks, “What’s the point of spin? Riding a bike indoors? I don’t get it.”
“Well, there’s an instructor and music and the whole energy of the class to keep you going. It’s fun.”
“Hmm.”
Not the answer I was going for. I’m pretty much addicted to my spin class. I rely on the exercise and endorphins to get me through my week and keep me in shape. I seriously won’t survive a month without spin class. Okay, that’s being overly dramatic, but it would suck. I’d rather come to an arrangement with Nikolai.
He loops a finger through the chain around my neck and fingers my little Star of David pendant.
“My dad gave it to me,” I say as an explanation because I sense the question in his gesture. “It was a bat mitzvah gift.”
Nikolai studies my face without comment. “Are you religious?”
I shrug. “No, but he’s dead.”
Nikolai nods. “I know.”
“You know? How?”
“Your brother’s been at my table for over a year now. It’s my business to know the background of my clients.”
I want to snort at the word client, but I sense sympathy in Nikolai’s gaze, and it pokes my tender spot. “Do you know how he died?” The bitter taste of grief and remaining anger coat my mouth.
Nikolai nods again and strokes a thumb lightly across my cheek. “I’m sorry, zayka. It must’ve been hard for you when your brother is still so young.”
Ack. He named it. Tears instantly pop into my eyes. “Yeah,” I choke. “Especially…” I break off because, well, Nikolai is the cause of my current stress over Zane. Of course, it’s Zane’s fault, but Nikolai’s the problem.
“Especially now?” he asks, guessing too much. “Zane’s gambling habit must be hard to watch after what happened with your dad.”
A sob rockets out of my throat, and I lurch to climb off his lap.
Nikolai catches my waist and pulls me back. “Don’t run, Freckles,” he murmurs. “I can take the tears. Let me have them.”
It’s a strange thing to say. I don’t know if it’s something that doesn’t translate the same from Russian, but it frees me. I punch his chest as I dissolve into a hysterical mess. He catches my wrists and tries to wrap his arms around me as I continue to struggle.
I haven’t even admitted this terror out loud. That Zane will end up like my dad, putting a bullet into his own head because of his gambling problem. Now that Nikolai just spoke it aloud, it looms up, huge and ugly-the shadow monster I’ve been trying to keep under lock. The thing I’ve been trying so hard to keep at bay for both of us.
I punch his chest again. “It’s your fault,” I accuse, even though it’s not true.
“I won’t let him back, okay? Even after the debt is paid.”
I throw myself against him, burying my wet face against his neck and wrapping my arms around his strong shoulders. “Thank you,” I sob, knowing full well that Nikolai refusing to allow Zane back doesn’t mean my brother won’t find another form of gambling if he wants to.
Zane needs help.
More than I can provide.
Nikolai strokes his hands up and down my back. “I spent half my life trying to keep my brother alive when he wasn’t sure he wanted to live,” Nikolai says. “I know what it’s like to be the one trying to keep the boat from flipping.”
“I’m sorry.” I move my lips against the soft skin of his neck. “I know this shit is Zane’s fault, not yours.”
“I play a part,” Nikolai owns. “But you’re innocent. It’s not fair to make you pay.”
I lift my head, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “You’re a good person, Nikolai. For a bad guy.”
A sad ghost of a smile around his mouth appears. Like he agrees he’s the bad guy but doesn’t want to be.
He shrugs. “I tried to be good. But you were too tempting.” His hands caress down my back and settle on my ass, where he gives a light squeeze.
I nuzzle into his neck and kiss him there. Light kisses that, like holding his hand, feel both shockingly intimate and easy at the same time. I kiss his jaw, his temple. I rock over his cock. I’m sore from last night and the butt plug this morning, but I could easily go again. This arrangement-or maybe it’s just Nikolai, himself-has turned me into someone I hardly recognize. A wanton hedonist who has the power to both seduce and surrender.
“So about that spin class,” I purr in his ear as I undulate over his lap.
“You’ll have to earn it,” he murmurs back, pulling my shirt over my head. “You’re doing a great job, but you’re not there yet.”
I rock over his erection like he’s already inside me. “No?” I make my voice velvet. “What would it take?”
He unsnaps my bra and pulls it off. “You’re getting there. But you’re still wearing clothes. Why is that?”
I slide backward off his lap and shimmy out of my jeans and panties while he unbuttons his pants and pulls a condom out of his back pocket. “Because I would’ve been arrested if we’d gone shopping naked,” I say and spread my arms wide. “Problem solved.””I want you naked in my apartment,” he says as I straddle his waist. “Or close to it.” He touches the star at my throat. “I would’ve made you wear my collar, but I don’t want to fuck with that.”
I pause as I digest that-the unexpected turn-on of hearing he wants to collar me like a pet as well as his consideration of my tribute to my father. I throw myself at him again, kissing his mouth, my tongue twining with his as he rolls a condom on and holds his cock steady for me to sink onto.
“That’s it, zayka. Forget your spin class. You can ride me.”
I laugh and bounce up and down over his cock, loving how powerful and sexy I feel. How interesting and admired.
No one has ever made me feel this way before.
I love it, and it destroys me at the same time.
Because I have to remember-this isn’t real. It’s thirty days to Zane’s freedom.
Nikolai’s a player, and this isn’t real.
That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it while I’m here.
Nikolai holds my waist and helps me as I fatigue. I close my eyes, drop my head back to let my long hair brush my spine and just enjoy the delicious sensations.
After riding a peak, we slow our rhythm, and I change to a more circular undulation of my hips, grinding my clit against his loins. We breathe together. Time slows. Maybe it stops. We’re suspended in this place of carnal pleasure. Nikolai pinches one of my nipples, rolling and tugging it between his fingers and then suddenly slow is not enough. I ride him in earnest, like my life depends on reaching that climax.
“Don’t come until I give you permission,” he reminds me.
“You’re mean,” I pant, getting close. So close.
“Be careful, or I won’t let you come at all.”
“Mean,” I repeat. Maybe I’m half-goading him. I sort of loved that spanking he gave me the night I got drunk at the Red Room. It hurt, but it was hot.
I can tell he’s getting close because he doesn’t answer. His mouth is open, jaw slightly forward. “You’re sexy when you’re mean,” I admit.
He pinches both my nipples at once, hard, and I cry out, my orgasm starting.
Nikolai grabs my hips and shoves up inside me at the same time he yanks me down, getting deeper than I would’ve thought possible. He repeats the action again and again and then shouts something in Russian and comes. Reaching between us, he rubs my clit with his thumb and the rest of my climax tumbles out, my muscles spasming around his thick cock, milking the rest of his seed into the condom.
“Oh my gawd,” I pant, rocking slowly over his cock, arching my breasts toward his face each time.
“You broke the rule.” Nikolai’s blue eyes are warm, his smirk sexy as hell. “No spin class for you.”
I stop rocking my hips and open my mouth wide in protest.
He gives the side of my ass a light slap. “I am mean.”
“No spin class ever or just not this afternoon?”
“Depends, Freckles. You’re going to have to show me how good a girl you can be.”
I pull a pout. “Maybe I didn’t want to be a good girl.”
He chuckles and lifts me off his lap. “That’s what I suspected.” He removes the condom and gets up. I reach for my clothes, but he stops me with a sharp, “Clothes stay off” as he walks to the bathroom to throw the condom away.
“What if I get cold?”
“You won’t be. Come here, little bunny.” He takes my hand and leads me to the end of the couch, where he pushes my torso down.
“Wait, no-” I say when I realize what he intends, but it’s too late. His hand cracks down on my bare ass with a resounding slap.
“Ouch!” I squeal.
He doesn’t stop. He delivers a dozen or so swift slaps while I dance in place then stops and rubs my ass. “Is that what you wanted, Freckles?”
“No,” I sulk, even though it is. The sting of his slaps is already morphing to heat and tingling between my legs.
“You’re lying.” He spanks me a few more times.
I laugh out an “ow” and rise up on my tiptoes, relieved when he stops once more to massage away the sting.
He leans down and bites the side of my waist. “You’re so damn cute.” He gives me one more slap. “Let’s make dinner. You can put my shirt on, but only my shirt. I can’t wait to see how you plan to use all those groceries.”