Jealous Russian Stalker (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 92)

by Flora Ferrari

  Espionage is simply the act of obtaining confidential information without the permission of the holder of the information, which brings me to the question…what information does he have on me and what information can I gather on him?

  I flip open my computer and study his background some more. He’s such an interesting person and I have to remind myself that these high stress situations that are attracting me to him do not mean we are right for each other or that I should pursue anything with him.

  I mean, come on, I’m out of here in less than a week. What could ever happen between us?

  Yes, he’s incredibly handsome and cool under the pressure of not only my grilling questions, but everything really.

  He’s straightforward and seems to be honest, at least that’s what he wants me to think but I don’t see how he could carry on a charade so long, even if he was a professional.

  Every time he speaks that accent of his makes me want nothing more than to hear him say dirty things to me, all night long.

  But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to learn and enjoy a bit of a quick vacation and then get back home and finish up my last couple weeks of school. Sure they’re meaningless as I already finished all my final exams and at this point I don’t think I technically even have to go back, but I’m always focused on doing things the right way and finishing what I started, even if it means just sitting on campus and going to the graduation ceremony.

  Not to mention I’m sure my mom wants to be there to witness me graduating from college. She doesn’t have a college degree so it means a lot to her, more than to me I think.

  And I owe her that. She’s done everything for me since dad up and left her just before she realized she was pregnant.

  She could have decided to terminate the pregnancy, but she didn’t. I’m forever thankful for that. She gave me a chance in this world, which always reminds me of something she said when I was a child.

  We went to a nursery to buy a simple pack of seeds. They didn’t even cost a single dollar.

  When we got home I dumped them out on the table and sorted through them. There were ten of them, as advertised, but two were in the poorest of conditions and didn’t look like they would amount to anything, if they even managed to break the surface.

  I asked my mother if I should throw them out and she said, “No. They all get a chance.” And as I’ve gotten older I’ve hung on to that. Everybody gets a chance, not matter how they look, where they’re from, or anything else. Everybody gets a chance…including this unique, yet strange, Russian man.

  He may be very hard to figure out, or maybe it’s just me looking for something that’s not there, but he’s proven himself with every interaction we’ve had.

  And most importantly I just can’t get him out of my head, and I know I never will.

  They say the most perfect love is the unrealized one. The one that’s just two ships passing in the night and the wonder of what could have been. It’s built on that instant attraction that sells billions of dollars worth of romance books every year…the ones that don’t always deal with the real ins and outs of everyday life. The stress of paying bills, raising a family the right way, heck even crossing the street these days can be a risky proposition in some places.

  And maybe that’s what he’ll always be…this kind of man I’ll never meet again, and will always wonder “what if.”

  But I’d rather live with that “what if” than get tangled up in something that makes me regret ever getting involved in the first place. At least that way I may have missed out on the man of my dreams, but I wouldn’t be in some weird Russian jail being interrogated by a man who wasn’t who he appeared to be.

  But why?

  Why is he so interested in me in the first place.

  They say a good way to start a story is with a question. It hooks the reader and even if the story is bad they often keep reading, needing to have that loop closed…that question answered.

  I’m not sure if this is a bad dream or he represents all my dreams come true, but I do know that question is in my mind.

  Who is Ivan Volkov…really?

  And I’m afraid that just like a cat, curiosity might ultimately get the best of me. What happens next is anybody’s guess.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ivan

  No matter what I try I can’t fall asleep.

  All I can think about is her.

  The minute I dropped her off at the front of the hotel I circled around the block and then stood outside on the side of the building where her window faces.

  I counted the windows from the edge of the building until I knew I was looking up at hers like Romeo and Juliet, like Rapunzel, or Rudāba. This time it wasn’t words on a page from Shakespeare, or the Brothers Grimm, or Ferdowsi. This time it was real life, my life, and the life I wanted with her.

  Seeing her light on…seeing her shadow on the ceiling as she moved throughout the room. Damn, I was hard as a rock.

  I ran up to my room and unleashed a load as big as the first one, because this time I wasn’t just fantasizing about her on a computer screen.

  This time I’d just spent time with her, gotten to see who she really is as a person. And she is fucking amazing.

  Fantasy never matches reality…until now.

  And my fantasy of what she was really like was sky high, and damn if she didn’t only meet it but somehow exceed it.

  I just can’t get over how sharp she is, and that’s in addition to being the most beautiful woman on the planet.

  Unbelievable.

  But she better believe I was as serious as a heart attack when I told her she’s going to be mine.

  Mine and no one else’s. I don’t care if I have to move to Jupiter, Florida or Jupiter the fucking planet to be with her. I’ll do whatever it takes.

  And right now nothing I do is helping me fall asleep.

  I grab my key from the desk and head outside for a walk. Maybe I can somehow tire myself out.

  I move at a brisk pace trying to get my heart going in the cool Moscow night, and an hour later I’m back in front of the hotel.

  I enter and the bar is completely empty, no weird Americans casing the place tonight it seems. Good. They’re fools if they think they can harm me or her.

  When I arrive at my room I put the key to the pad and the red light flashes. What the…?

  I try again and get the same result.

  Then it hits me. I picked up the key off the table and not the one that was in the slot that controls the electricity to the room.

  I took the key to her room, and not my own.

  Fuck!

  Everyone in the hotel is asleep at this hour so I’m the only one on their security cameras.

  I walk back outside and exit the property.

  Do I ask for a duplicate of my own room, after they’ve seen that I do have a key? I can’t say I lost it if they saw me.

  Or do I…? No, I can’t. I can’t go to her room. It’s not right.

  I walk back to the hotel grounds on the side her room faces, seeing her light go out just as I walk up.

  I wonder if she saw me. I wonder if now she’s the one watching me.

  Is she standing back from the window, hiding behind the curtains knowing I’m out here looking up at her?

  Knowing the need I have for her?

  Seeing what she does to me?

  I’m known for my impeccable manners but right now I swear I could whip my dick out and stroke it right here on the side of the hotel just knowing she’s up there in her bed. Knowing that she just laid down for the night.

  Fuck, maybe she’s not even wearing anything.

  My cock twitches, fighting against my clothes trying to break free.

  My heart is racing at the thought of what I want to do and my mind has no control over my actions anymore.

  I march right back into the hotel, get in the elevator, and hit the button for her floor.

  I take deep breaths in the elevator preparing for what I
have to do. If there’s any indecision when it’s time to enter the security might pick up on it and come up to check.

  On the other hand if I do it slowly, like my soon to be loving wife, is asleep and I don’t want to wake her up, than everything should be fine.

  The elevator dings and I walk down the hallway like I’ve done it hundreds of times before.

  I feel my heart pumping in my chest with each footstep until I’m right in front of her door.

  I tap the keycard to the box below the handle and the green light appears and the lock disengages.

  I push the handle down and slowly open the door, not knowing if she’s going to be asleep or the coffee pot that comes complimentary in every room will come crashing down on my skull, or worst, gash my face.

  I stick my foot in and slowly inch inside.

  Nothing.

  I quietly shut the door, careful not to let the handle thud closed.

  Once the door is shut and the electronic noise is made letting me know it’s just the two of us locked inside, together, I freeze.

  And listen.

  I hear the light sound of someone sleeping and suddenly I’m glad we did have those greasy cheeseburgers, which apparently served as the best sleeping pill a few rubles could ever buy.

  I carefully slide out of my shoes and walk flat-footed into the room, where I see her.

  Even asleep she looks like an angel…my angel.

  The light sounds of her sleeping are almost a snore and it’s cute as hell. Cute…there’s a word that’s never entered my lexicon before, but then again she’d never entered my world before.

  Everything is different now. Everything.

  I just stand there a few feet from her bed watching her. If she wakes up for any reason I’m in deep shit, but I just can’t take my eyes of her.

  She’s so damn perfect.

  Suddenly she rolls over onto her side so that she’s facing me. My heart hitches in my chest.

  She mumbles something, but continues sleeping.

  I close my eyes and exhale slowly, and quietly, through my nose.

  All the blood in my body rushes from my head to my dick and I feel like I’m about to pass out, like I stood up way to quickly.

  Then my eyes rake across her body and I realize that when she rolled over the covers didn’t exactly move in tandem with her body.

  In the middle of the bed I can clearly see her ass, plain as day lit by the moonlight through the window.

  She’s got on a tiny pair of boxer briefs, which look to be men’s.

  My hands form fists, jealous of whose those used to be or who gave those to her.

  I’m pissed beyond belief, but then again maybe she bought them herself. It’s definitely in the realm of possibilities.

  I just take in the curve of the side of her exposed lower back and that ample apple bottom ass of hers. Damn do I want to sink my teeth into it, after I slap it silly and mark it with my palm print, letting her, and the whole world, know it belongs to me.

  My eyes move up and I can see she’s not wearing a shirt.

  Fuck!

  She’s got her hands together almost in a prayer position and they’re up by her face, which pulls the covers straight up from the foot of the bed, keeping her chest covered…most of it at least.

  I’m getting a little sideboob and as I lean to the side I’m also able to see a bit of underboob.

  As much as I wish she really was mine, and I could come home to this every day for the rest of my life, my cock is content with dancing by itself right now.

  I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to.

  I cup one hand over my fly to block the noise and slowly unzip my pants with the other.

  My dick is so long and hard I have to squat and do some moves like a three-year-old who is about to piss his pants in order to pull the fucker out.

  But once it is I bring my cupped hand to my mouth, spitting in it silently, and then bring it back down underneath my rod.

  I take a step forward, now just inches from her and start stroking my dick with a vengeance.

  Damn I want to reach out and touch her with my other hand, run my hands gently through her hair, just the tips as to not wake her.

  But I can’t. It’s too much of a risk. If I wake her I’m toast, plus we still didn’t get answers to our questions at dinner.

  Someone’s watching us both, I’m sure of this now. And one, or both, of us may unknowingly have spy dust on us.

  Spy dust, or metka, as it’s known in Russian intelligence circles is an ingenious invention. It came about during a secret program to pollinate suspect C.I.A. Officers at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow years ago.

  It’s a yellow, yeasty, powdery chemical compound known as nitrophenyl pentadienal, or NPPD.

  Russian techs in labs would squeeze rubber bulbs full of it on clothing, steering wheels, floor mats…anywhere. From there it was designed to spread like sticky pollen from a daffodil, easily transferring via a handshake to a sheet of paper or to a coat lapel. Anywhere.

  It invisibly marked anything an American C.I.A. officer touched. If you were Russian under suspicion and your hands or clothes anything else in relation to your daily activities or home life fluoresced with NPPD, you were done. Done as in dead, or as good as.

  Then the techs got really smart and cooked up different batches of metka, tagging them with distinct marking compounds that could identify specific American hosts.

  I’ve found my American host all right. The host for the seed I’m going to plant inside her and make our first baby with.

  I’ve done everything so far to avoid coming into contact with her, but I can’t resist anymore.

  The underside of my cock glides along my slick palm as my grip tightens, my thumb applying pressure from the top.

  I imaging my wet fist is her pussy, and I squeeze tighter.

  I can’t last any longer, the thought bringing me to near completion.

  My balls pull up and I feel the come inside me prepare to thrust out, searching for her cunt, my mind knowing it won’t be found…not yet.

  My other hand quickly cups the crown of my cock and I explode into my hand, the voluminous release is caught, but it quickly overwhelms even the deep valley my mitt creates and spills off onto the floor just an inch from her bed.

  I close my fingers around the rest of it and just stare at her, trying not to breath hard, my hand full of spunk just inches from her face.

  I have no idea what the fuck gets into me, something possessive just shoots through me and I peel back my first two fingers and move my hand towards her, gently running my load across her cheek.

  My nostrils flare as I pull my hand back, seeing her there with my mark on her. With my seed on her skin, the next time knowing it will be inside her where it belongs.

  Her hand reaches up as if to swat away a fly, but as she gets close to my gift she simply stops and her hand returns to its resting place.

  It’s the most beautiful, and most sick, thing I’ve ever seen. There is no gray area here. This is black and white and complete polar opposites.

  I quickly backpedal into the bathroom where I silently unroll what must be fifty squares of toilet paper, cleaning up the mess. When I’m finished I have no option but to jam the soiled substance in my pocket. Never leave a trail, never leave a trace.

  I get zipped back up and move quietly back to her bed, staring at the mark I left on her. Seeing how quickly it’s dried on her cheek, knowing she’ll find it in the morning and wonder if it was a bug, or maybe some stale water from the fire extinguishers above leaked out during the night.

  No, beautiful. That was me claiming you.

  I reach across her body carefully grabbing the corner of the sheet and covering her with it.

  Moscow is still cold at night, very cold, and I don’t want my princess catching a cold…especially when we’ve got so much more to do.

  I want her body healthy and perfect, as it is, so she can accept my seed and make us the healthies
t baby we possibly can.

  I slowly make my way back to the door, turning the handle one last time.

  “Sleep tight my angel, soon you will be mine.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Ivan