by SR Jones
When he has me on my back, he takes my right leg and puts it over his hip, and then he reaches for the bedside drawer. He takes out a condom, rips the packet with his teeth, and rolls it down his impressive length. I bet he buys extra large condoms because he actually needs them, not for show.
I think he’s going to take it easy on me at first, but he tests me, finds me soaking, and thrusts in. I cry out and grab his shoulders because—holy fuck!
Ilya isn’t playing anymore. He fucks me with a brutal rhythm, and at first all I can do is hold on. It hurts a bit when he hits my cervix a couple of times, and he stops, watching me. He repositions us so his angle is different and moves more slowly this time. It’s better, much better, but he doesn’t seem satisfied. He moves again and pushes in at a different angle, and I cry out in shock as blinding pleasure hits me. It’s almost too much, and I try to move up the bed, but he grins and holds me in place.
“There,” he says with satisfaction.
He starts with the hard, fast rhythm again. I’ve come from sex before, but I have to touch myself, or have the guy touch me. I can’t come purely from penetration, but as Ilya hits that spot in me again and again, I know this time I’m going to.
I cry out louder and louder, and then my cries turn to dismay because I honestly don’t know if I’m going to come or maybe pee. But he doesn’t let up, and he whispers to let go, that it’s okay, in my ear.
I can’t. It’s too damn much.
He reaches between us and strokes my clit, and that’s it. I scream as I come so hard, I think I’ll faint.
He shouts something in Russian and comes too, the heat of him filling me inside as I cling to him, my pussy milking him dry.
When it’s over, he rolls off me, to his side, disposes of the condom, and then pulls me into him. Jesus, he’s a snuggler? Who’d have thought.
I’m tired after a night of dancing, the excitement at the restaurant, and the epic sex. I keep dropping off, dozing pleasantly, but at some point, Ilya hardens against me again, and I waken, rubbing into him.
He rubs back, one thing leads to another, and we start a lazy fuck. Him sliding into me from behind after he gloved up. However, it soon becomes more heated, and he pulls out of me, lifts me from the bed with ease, and pushes me up against the wall as he fucks me brutally again.
Once more, he makes me come so hard, I forget my own name.
His cock is magic. It should have its own religion or something.
The thought of never getting this level of epic sex again is deeply depressing. I’ll probably drift through life always thinking about the best cock I ever had.
We fuck twice more, and I have to admit, I wonder if he’s on Viagra or something, the way he keeps going. I conclude he’s just an incredibly fit man. He obviously takes good care of himself.
We finally drift into a deep sleep in the early hours. The last time I check the clock it’s four in the morning.
I awake with a start, my mouth dry and my thighs sticky. Ugh. I feel horrible. Stirring, I groan as the light hits my eyes from the partially open curtains.
“Morning,” the deep voice rumbles in my ear. “Do you want breakfast?”
Shit, what day is it? I grab for my bag on the floor and rummage around in it, finding my phone. Crap, shit, and fuck. I have a brunch date with my friend, my only friend, and if I leave her hanging, she’ll be pissed.
“I have to go,” I tell Ilya. God, I’m going to look like absolute crap when I arrive. My clothes are okay, but I have no makeup in my bag other than lipstick; I left it all at the club. I don’t even have a brush.
“Why?”
“I’m meeting a friend, and I can’t let her down because she’s having a really bad time. She’s … well, she’s my only friend.” I flush at the truth of those words. What a loser I am.
“I wanted to spend some more time with you before I return to Russia.”
I’m already out of the bed, gathering up my scattered clothes and heading for the bathroom. “I’m sorry. Truly, Ilya.”
I hit the bathroom and throw cold water on my face, under my arms, and run toothpaste around my mouth with my finger. It will have to do.
A pang of dismay hits me when I think I could be spending the day fucking the prime specimen of manhood in the other room, but really, it’s better this way. He’s too much of a bad boy even for me. This way, I don’t get involved in something dangerous that I can’t stop.
Finally, after running my fingers through my hair and straightening my hastily thrown on clothes, I head back to the bedroom.
Ilya is sitting up in bed, and he looks good enough to eat with his rumpled hair and broad chest.
“Can I take your number?” he asks.
I hesitate, but then I think. What can it hurt? He’s going back to Russia today. I give him my number and a kiss, one he deepens until I’m panting for him again, then leave.
I close the door and don’t look back despite everything in me, every instinct, screaming at me to go back to that room and screw that man’s brains out again.
I’m twenty minutes late when I hit the café where I’m meeting Joanne. She sighs at me and rolls her eyes.
“I swear to God, you get worse.”
Then she looks at me properly, and her brows shoot up. “Are you… Have you done the walk of shame?”
I nod and grin as I sit.
“Woah. Okay, I forgive you for being late. Spill!”
So, I do. I tell her all about it. I leave out the fact that Ilya is a bona fide mobster and tell her he’s a businessman from Russia who was at the new club I’m working.
When I’ve finished, she grins at me. “I have to say, babe, you’re glowing. I’d pay my dermatologist a lot of money for that glow you’ve got going on, and you got it for free. I hope you’ll be seeing him again?”
I shake my head. “It’s not meant to be. He’s a lot older than me and widowed. I like him, more than I should, but he’s not relationship material.”
She gives me a sly little smile. “Oh well, we’ll see. The heart wants what the heart wants, right?”
“Maybe, or maybe he’s a ship that passes in the night.”
We both focus on our menus then order. and From that point our conversation revolves around Joanne and her nightmare ex-husband who is making her life utter hell.
After brunch, I walk back to my apartment and take a long shower. Then I snuggle on the sofa and read. I’m halfway through a brilliant thriller when my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Worrying it might be Joanne with more news of her dick of an ex, I pick it up and swallow when I see the unknown number.
I open the message and sure enough, it’s Ilya.
Hey, beautiful. I’ve decided to stay a little longer in the UK. I hope you will see me again. Maybe tomorrow night? Let me know. Ilya.
Not sure how I feel about him staying longer, I place my phone down carefully and stare at it for a long while. Is he staying longer for me? Or simply for business and he wants to fit me in?
Do I want to see him again? My heart does a little leap, and I know I do; I’m not sure it’s wise, though.
I decide to be an adult and sit on it for a few hours, think about things before I reply.
I fall asleep, and when I wake it is dark.
My phone is ringing and dancing on the table, and my stomach flips. I pick it up, expecting to see Ilya’s number, but it’s the club.
“Hello, Amber here.” I press the answer button and speak.
“Amber, thank God, it’s Michelle. Can you work tomorrow night? Two girls have called in sick, and a third has walked out tonight, meaning we are seriously short on dancers.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” she gushes. “You’re a star.”
As I hang up, I realize I can’t see Ilya tomorrow now. Maybe I ought to text him and ask him to come meet me at the club?
Still unsure, I decide to see how I feel later, or even in the morning. I might be clearer
if I sleep on it. I don’t want to keep him waiting, though. Don’t wish to play games with him.
I grab my phone and shove it in my pocket as I stand. I need some food, I have nothing in, and my stomach is growling. I decide to grow the fuck up. I’ll go for a walk, stretch my legs and get some food, and then I’ll message Ilya and make my mind up one way or the other.
I hit the street, and it’s dark and empty. For some reason, I shiver as I rush along. I’m not usually skittish like this around here. I know the area well, and the corner shop is only two minutes away.
Footsteps echo behind me, and I glance around but see no one. Shaking my head at the nerves dancing in my stomach, I keep my pace steady and my steps firm. Never show fear, I tell myself. Predators can smell fear; don’t show it, and they won’t be interested.
Once more, I swear I hear footsteps behind me, but when I turn I see no one. Is someone playing a game? Ilya? No, I immediately discount the idea. He’s not the sort of man to do such a thing. If he wanted me that much, he’d simply take me; I’m sure of it. The thought is both terrifying and reassuring. He’s a man you know where you stand with.
I round a corner and see the light of the shop spilling yellow onto the pavement. I’m so relieved, I almost laugh, but I don’t. I lock it down and keep on walking.
My feet leave the ground and for a moment, I’m flying. I’m totally disoriented as I go weightless, before my body hits the ground. Hard.
The air rushes from my lungs, and pain fills the empty spaces it leaves.
“Fucking stuck up bitch,” a voice growls. A voice that’s oddly familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
What the hell is going on? Am I being robbed?
I try to get the money and bank card stuffed in my pocket to offer to the man on top of me, but I can’t move; he’s pinning me down.
“I’ve been watching you for weeks. You’re so predictable. You act as if you’re better than anyone else, with those stupid cocktail dresses you wear at work. In reality, you’re a lonely, sad bitch, who lives on noodles from the late-night store. Pathetic. Good for me, though, that you’re so predictable. I knew one of these nights you’d head out here for your late-night snacks, and so I’ve been waiting.”
Rough hands grab me and pull me to my feet. I open my mouth to scream, but something cold and hard presses against my throat.
“Scream and I cut, then you die. Don’t worry, gorgeous, the car is right here. Parked in this alley and waited, didn’t I? Waited outside your poky little flat for when you came out. I waited last night too, but you never came home. Were you with him? That cunt who hit me?”
Oh, shit. Those words tell me all I need to know. This is the man Ilya punched, the man who got handsy in the dancing booth. The man, who if he is to be believed, has been following me for a long time. How come I’ve never seen him before?
“Right about now, you’re thinking, how come you didn’t notice me, right? I’m invisible to cunts like you. Average height. A little bit portly. Boring features. Bitches like you look right through me. It’s my greatest sorrow.” He makes a mock crying sound, then laughs. “And my best weapon. You’re about to regret treating me the way you did, fucking whore.”
Then the punches me, and the world goes dark.
3
Ilya
I glance at my phone. Amber … Amanda, hasn’t replied. I think she won’t now. Maybe she has decided to stay away from me. Probably a smart decision. I’m not a good guy, not a nice guy. I’ve done a lot of bad things in life, and I sometimes wonder if I’m cursed. If it’s why I lost my wife.
“Drink up, fucker.” Allyov points at my glass. “Let us go have fun. We will go to the club again. You liked it there, I hear, and a certain lady is working tonight.”
I hesitate. I shouldn’t. It will be like a stalker for me to go to her place of work, when she hasn’t texted me back. Is it appropriate? Then again, when did I ever care about appropriate?
Andrius sighs. “I have to go home. Shit to do.”
Allyov narrows his eyes at him. “I swear, you’re so boring these days, Andrius. Where is your sense of fun?”
“I lost it somewhere many years ago,” Andrius deadpans.
“You should come. Get laid.” Allyov frowns.
Andrius raises one brow, laconic and laidback, but I notice the tic in his jaw. I bet Allyov’s been riding him about this shit for some time.
“You’re always saying the girls aren’t there to service us guys, and you don’t like them charging for extras.”
Allyov laughs as if Andrius has told the world’s funniest joke. “As if you’d have to pay, my friend. The women would pay you. You know how they look at you. Hungry.”
“Another time. Ilya.” Andrius nods at me and gets up and leaves.
Allyov gives an annoyed growl in the back of his throat.
“I think he’s gay,” Misha says.
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Allyov replies.
“Does it matter either way?” I ask.
Misha frowns. “Yeah, it does. I want to know if that fucker is thinking dirty thoughts about me.”
“That fucker could kill you with his bare hands, and if he does swing that way, I doubt you’d be his type.” I can’t help the words; they’re out before I stop myself.
“Why? What’s wrong with me?”
He’s ugly is what’s wrong with him, but I don’t say that. I shrug. “I’m fucking with you. Andrius isn’t gay, and if he was, it’s none of our business.”
“In our world, it’s not good, though,” Allyov says. He leans in toward me, cutting Misha out of the conversation. “The men talk sometimes.”
I laugh. “I think Andrius can take care of himself. Who is going to give him shit for anything like that? Andrius could be into fucking his car, and no one would dare say a damn word.”
“It bothers me, though, if the other bosses think this of him. Makes him have a weakness in their eyes that I don’t like.”
This conversation is pissing me off now. “Allyov, him fucking men is not a weakness.”
“I know that, you know that, but a lot of our world is old-fashioned.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is backward. Come, let’s go to the club.”
I’ve decided I want to see Amanda, even if it is for the last time. I don’t want to return home without having seen her again.
When we get to the club, the emptiness inside surprises me. “Slow night,” Allyov says.
He’s not kidding. It is slow. The girl on stage isn’t Amanda, and I wonder where she is. Or rather, where her alter-ego, Amber, is.
Michelle comes over, and she looks worried.
“Mr. Allyov, I am sorry, but we’re down on girls tonight. I’m not happy because I called and asked Amber to cover, and she said she would, but she hasn’t turned up, and she’s not answering her phone. I had heard she was very reliable from the other clubs she worked for, so I thought she’d be good on her promise to come in. I can’t get any other girls to cover at such short notice either.”
Sergei clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “When she does bother to get in touch, dock her a week’s tips, and if she argues, fire her.” He shakes his head.
I stop Michelle as she goes to leave. “No one’s heard from her?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve left three increasingly fraught messages, and she hasn’t got back to me.”
Something akin to anxiety begins a slow burn in my gut. I listen to my instincts, always have. It’s what got me where I am today. Feared and respected, and no longer having to do street level shit. Now, most of my work is legal, or only borderline illegal, and I am respected by all. I got here by relying on instincts. They have rarely served me wrong, and they’re telling me this isn’t simply Amber letting down her workplace. More is going on here.
I take out my phone and call her, but it goes to voicemail. I send her a message and tell her it’s urgent and I need her to get back to me asap. Then I
try to stop worrying, as I have a few drinks. Two girls come over and offer me dances, but I decline.
After an hour has passed, I’m getting antsy. I call Andrius.
“Do you know how to track a phone number?” I ask.
He sighs. “I know someone who does. Depends why you’re wanting to do it; they’re kind of prissy about what they do and who they help.”
“I think one of the girls in the club might be missing.” I hold my breath and hope he’s going to help.
He sighs again. “Give me the number and I’ll see what I can do.”
I do so and tell myself to relax. Still, I don’t drink anymore alcohol, preferring instead to drink water in case I need to have my wits about me.
Less than an hour later, my phone goes. “Yeah?”
“This is weird. My contact got a location, and it’s at a shithole ex-industrial estate. Nothing there. Empty buildings and offices mostly.”
My gut dips like when you go over a steep hill too fast in the car. This isn’t good.
“You want back up?” Andrius asks.
I shake my head, then force myself to speak. “No. Thank you, friend. Myself and Lucien will handle this.”
I call Lucien and tell him to meet me at the club. He sounds pissed, and I think I’ve got him out of bed … with a woman. This is more important than him getting to come, though. Even if I didn’t like Amber as much as I do, I’d be concerned for her well-being.
I turn to Allyov. “I think your girl didn’t show because she’s in some kind of trouble. Her phone traces to an abandoned industrial estate; no way she’d be there voluntarily. Why would she? I’m going to check it out with Lucien.”
Allyov scowls. No one threatens or harms his girls. It’s a matter of pride with him, and a way for him to keep Andrius happy too. God, the pair of them have a strange old relationship, like some sort of dysfunctional father and son bullshit.
“Take Misha with you as well.”
I’m about to refuse, but then I stop to re-consider. I doubt she’s been taken by an organized gang of any sort because it makes no sense at all that she would be, but a bit more backup wouldn’t hurt.
