Bad Russian 04 Page 3

  Claire says, “He’s not interested in me. He’s not interested in anything but you.”

  “For this evening. For tonight. This time tomorrow he’ll be fascinated by someone or something else.”

  “You didn’t see him, Margot. After you left. He was in a rage.”

  “Oh?” I try not to sound interested. Because I’m not. Obviously. Why would I be? What do his petulant tantrums mean to me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. “What did he say?”

  “He asked me when your shifts were.”

  I freeze.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What do you think, Margot? I said you come in as and when. Whenever you feel like it. Sometimes every day. Sometimes, when you have to study, you don’t come in for weeks.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “Thanks, Claire.”

  But in the pit of my stomach, I feel as if I know. When Claire told me he asked about my shifts, it was like a curtain parted. Like I heard the low sound of a bell, far away.

  I remember what he said. ‘Are you going to fight and struggle every step of the way?’

  Stiff after a long night with no sleep, in the morning I still remember her scent and the taste of her breath. I jump up from the couch. Almost spill my espresso.

  Chapter Four

  Him

  I HAVE TO HAVE her. I don’t care what it takes. I’ve tasted her breath. I’ve breathed her scent. She is the woman I need.

  When I found her, I had no idea that I was even looking for her. I never saw a woman who was remotely what I need. Ideas like that, I gave up a long time ago. Now, every moment apart from her is an agony.

  Just the thought that another man could be looking at her, salivating over the slow, sensual roll of her hips, stirring to the music of her voice. I can’t stand it. I want to tear down every wall between her and me, destroy any obstacle. Beat down every man in her sight. Protect her and keep her. Wrap her up in my strength and keep her precious tenderness safe.

  It doesn’t matter what I have to do. The bar where she works, I can camp out there night and day if that’s what it takes. Whatever I have to do will be worth it. I will have her. I will protect her and keep her for myself. She will bear my children. She is going to be the inspiration for the greatest art the world has ever known.

  I should be preparing a show. Even though I haven’t been able to make the dull, mercenary minds of the art world understand the greatness of my art, I must be ready with the work. The work will bring the brilliance of my vision to light the world.

  And yet, while I am parted from her, I cannot think. I can’t sketch. The paintbrush seems useless. I lift a hammer and chisel, and for what? I drop them again. What use is any of it if I don’t have the love of my life? The mother of my children. The beating heart of my inspiration. The river on which my art will flow.

  The only art that matters now is the art I will make with my body and hers. Her soft lips parting, her thighs opening. Her luscious round ass opening, spreading and bouncing on my thighs. On my mouth. On the fat length of my cock.

  Margot—her name is like a magic spell. A deep and secret prayer. It’s the incantation of love.

  All I’ve got to go on is the bar. My Margot seems to be off grid as far as social media is concerned, or at least, I can’t see any traces with the skills that I have.

  I’ll take work and a few books. Make a permanent place in Deke’s Downlow Cocktail Lounge for myself, in the same location as before, if they’ve cleaned up and fitted a new table. I’ll cruise more social media pages, see if I can turn anything up. And there must be plenty of people there who know her.

  Even if she doesn’t breeze in today for an evening shift, it isn’t going to take me long to track her down.

  She has to be mine. I cannot wait to taste her. Oh, the thought of her taste and her perfume when my tongue traces her lips. When I spread her and wrap her around me, bury myself deep inside her. When my seed takes hold in her.

  I spend the first hours of the morning drinking coffee and raking through social media sites, web sites, anywhere I might find a trace of her. Her friend said that she was studying, but she didn’t know where. More likely, she just wouldn’t tell me. She’s lucky that I wouldn’t hurt a woman. If she’d been a man, I would have twisted it out of her.

  As it is, I have almost nothing to go on. I can’t find a picture of her, anywhere. Not one single photograph. The bar opens at eleven. I’ll be there at ten thirty. Maybe the barman knows something. I should have asked him yesterday.

  I was in such a rage when I realized Margot had slipped away, I had to get out of there. I never felt this way before about anything. Even my art. Passion, fury, and anger, yes. The roaring surges of creativity. But nothing like this burning need. Every fiber of muscle I have, every thought in my head, every drive in my body is hot, hard, raging for her.

  I take the elevator down to the glass lobby of my building. Put on shades against the glare of the light. As I step out of the door, I’m stunned. For an instant I’m still. Unable to trust my senses.

  Like an apparition, with a glow of sunlight making a halo behind her. Right in front of me in a thin summer dress. My Margot. I leap to her. She holds up a hand. I stop. My head is low. I don’t mean to make a hunter’s crouch. It happens instinctively.

  Arms out from my sides, hands open. My knees slightly bent. Feet planted apart. Left foot forward.

  “Nikita.” Her smile warms me like sunshine. “I realize that you aren’t going to give up. That you’d stake me out, or track me down, or set some scary Russians on my trail, told to find me and drag me back.” Of course I wouldn’t do that. Well, not quite that.

  It costs me an effort to speak and remain still. I don’t want to frighten her. Not now that I have her. “I love your hair like that.”

  She frowns, puzzled. Touches her neck. “Oh. Don’t you like it up, how it was last night?”

  “I love it now and I loved it then. How did you find me?”

  “There was a piece about you on some prestigious art blog. It had a picture of you right here. Outside the Lanchester. It’s a pretty well-known building, Nikita. If you want to keep your personal life private and out of the spotlight, you need to think carefully about that sort of thing.”

  “You’re going to advise me on public presentation and social media! That’s wonderful Already we’re such a great team. I know that this is going to be brilliant. I am going to create the art movement for the twenty-first Century. And you, my muse, you will inspire me—”

  She takes a step back. I know. In the effort to hold myself back physically, I’m gushing. I need to listen. “Nikita, no. Stop. That’s not me. You’ve got the wrong girl.” My head cocks to one side. She’s wonderful. “I wanted to find you and tell you in person, because I know that you could be looking for me. I have to tell you, there’s no point. It’s not going to happen. It isn’t going to work. You and me. My head is in my studies. My life is to come. I’m building my future. You, Nikita? You’re too much for me.” Her voice bathes me. Cool. Fresh and lovely. Everything about her is lovely.

  “I wasn’t sure how I was going to find you.”

  “I wasn’t planning for you to find me. Anyway, now I found you. So you can lose me again.”

  “Let me at least take you home.”

  “I’m not going home.”

  “I didn’t mean your home.”

  Her eyes flicker with the start of a smile. I see her holding it back. Her hand by her side opens. Yes. She says, “I knew you would be persistent. I won’t change my mind, though, Nikita. I have studies. I have a plan. I know where my life is going.”

  “Come upstairs. Come and see the art.”

  “Nikita—” she starts, and my head cocks to the other side.

  “At least come and take a look at what you could inspire.” I nearly said, ‘will inspire.’ I’m proud that I held back.

  “Nikita—” I love the sound
of my name in her mouth.

  “Understand this, Margot. I am your protector. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do.”

  “But that’s just it, Nikita. Maybe I’m afraid of what I will want to do.”

  She tenses when I make one step forward. But she doesn’t move. She stays and stands her ground. I could reach out now. Touch her. Hold her. I don’t know if I ever had to exercise discipline on myself like this before.

  I will have her. I could take her now. And I will take her. Very soon. But it’s hard to hold back. All of my muscles vibrate. But I keep myself in check. I will win her first.

  Because this is going to be forever.

  Chapter Five

  Her

  “I SHOULD GO.” I need to leave. Now. I should turn and walk away. Put this man and this whole thing behind me. Leave him in front of his high glass pyramid and let it fade into the past. When I came to his building, I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that I would go and ask at the reception for Nikita Tchaikowsky.

  I wasn’t ready to see him. I didn’t expect him step out of the high, dazzling building, lumbering straight at me. Elegantly messed, brooding under his curls, squinting against the light, huge in a perfect billowing white shirt. Looking like a cross between a gangster and the hero in a Renaissance sculpture.

  He’s so close. I can almost feel his breath. If I don’t go now, I’ll… no, I cannot let myself think about that. This man is a disaster area on long, lean legs. Him and me together, we would be a walking, talking, all-action catastrophe.

  We were so close to a kiss last night. One kiss. Maybe. I could just have one. A moment. A second or two in the sunshine, wrapped in the big, strong arms of a man. A real masculine man who doesn’t care about anything but what he wants. A man who wants me.

  His eyes gleam. He’s watching me with an intensity, like a lion watching a gazelle or whatever those long, fast, sleek animals are. The ones that lions chase. The ones they eat.

  “Come,” he stretches out a hand and I almost jump back. Almost. but I don’t. His big, open hand. Palm up. I could sit in it. Oh, Margot! What am I thinking?

  “Come. Come up and see the work. You’ll be the first person ever to really understand it.”

  “Yeah. Right. I don’t understand any modern art, not that I could say I’ve ever tried much. Come to that I don’t know that I understand any kind of art at all. Not more than being able to say, ‘that’s a beautiful painting,’ or whatever it is.” My voice is faltering. “Really, Nikita. You’re wasting your time with me.” I decide to turn. Nothing happens.

  “A moment with you could never be wasted, Margot.” I could just bathe in his voice forever. “Not by a man with the sense to appreciate your unique qualities.” My hair blows across my face. My knee trembles. “Please. Come up to my place of work. See my art. It is the pure expression of my soul. Then, leave if you want to.” His smile is easy. Light. He makes it all sound so simple.

  I can’t go with him. Obviously. I know I couldn’t trust myself with him for an instant. To say nothing of him. And I definitely can’t trust him. Not in that way.

  I drop my hand into his.

  “Okay,” I tell him.

  He pulls me to him. “You are going to see me from the inside.” His strong arms enfold me. “You will see me exposed. As I am. My soul will be naked to you.” His hand cups the back of my head as I melt into his strong, hard body.

  A sigh parts my lips. My breath mingles with his. The tastes of us combine. My head tips back and his mouth descends onto mine. I’m lost. Wrapped. Held in his arms. He could do anything, take me anywhere. Just as long as this kiss never ends.

  Hungry, my body presses onto him. Every part of me. My hips want him, my chest does. My breasts. My hands. I grab at his head. My fingers jam in his hair. I reach the other hand around his waist. Glide over the curve of his ass. Squeeze and pull him. My thigh lifts. Slides against his.

  The rock of my hips scrapes my pussy along the hard ridge of his thigh. Arcing my back I twist and roll in his arms. In his hands. He strokes my back, my waist.

  I feel the hardness of his cock against the inside of my thigh. I can't stop myself from tracing its length with cleft of my mound. We’re fully dressed but I feel like we’re fucking in public. Even though I’ve never fucked. Ever.

  His mouth starts to lift from mine. I grab his face. Pull him back. Kiss him longer. More. I don’t want to let go. Our breaths rise between us. They make us into a single beast. Two desperate creatures, needing to become one.

  I’m light-headed. I know that if I don’t get away immediately, this will all get completely out of hand. I’ll lose control with this man. I sway forward as he pulls back. Looking into his eyes, pleading, thinking, what have you done to me?

  He says, “Come. Come with me.”

  I follow him. He slips his arm around my waist as he walks me to the glass elevator. It rises through the high atrium of the building. We ascend to the top.

  On the way he leans to breathe into my ear. “You know that I’m going to drive my massive cock all the way through you, don’t you.” He’s looking one way. I’m looking the other. “You know that I’m going to undress you, then spread your lovely thighs, and I’m going to plunge my seed deep into you.”

  “I’m going to make you come until you scream.” My shoulders roll and my head tilts around his words. “I will fill you with my love.”

  Chapter Six

  Him

  THE SOFT FABRIC OF her dress waves over the roll of her ass. I glimpse the butterscotch fuzz of her tits in the open neckline, smell the sweet strawberries and hay scent of her hair. I know now why I studied the languages of love.

  I studied with patience and discipline like a Zen monk. As I did with combat skills, meditation, and the crafts of art.

  The ways of love were something I knew I would need to be expert in. A virtuoso. I had no use for the skills then, any more than I have since. Truthfully, I had given up on ever getting to put the trills of the tongue, or the minute micro-movements of the ends of the fingers into any actual practice at all.

  Of course, many beautiful women volunteered to be my practice subjects. I know that they all believed that theirs would be the charms to win my heart and my devotion.

  I knew from the start, though, that if the breathing exercises and the arts of serene meditative discipline during strenuous physical exertion were ever to be of a real use to me, they would have to be played out with the right woman. My perfect partner. My queen. The woman to bear my many children. My love.

  My emotions, my amorous feelings, all of my lusts and longings, all waited for a woman I was almost resigned to never finding.

  Seeing her in the glass elevator now, sliding smoothly, swiftly up, into the center of my penthouse apartment, I have to fight to restrain myself from simply pouncing on her. Pinning her up against the glass wall. Letting my lips loose on her ripe flesh. Unsheathing my cock, which is almost too hard and pumped to keep in my pants now.

  Beating her with it. Bursting through her. Drilling all the way into her sweet, soft, juicy wet cunt.

  But I have to wait. She is the one. Everything has to be perfect.

  Not long now. I’m going to have her. And she will get the hard, endless fucking that she truly deserves.

  We are nearly at my apartment. Me, with the mother of my many children.

  Chapter Seven