by Bella Rose
I shook off my dark thoughts. Anya was nothing like the other women I had known. She was the daughter of a Pekhan. Whether she had liked it or not, she had lived a life of privilege purchased with the blood of her father’s soldiers—someone like me.
“Here.” She reached into her satchel with shaking hands. “I have keys.” She tried and failed to insert the key in the lock three times. Finally she shoved them at me. “You do it.”
“As you wish,” I murmured. I put the key in the lock, and it turned smoothly. “Shall I wait outside?”
“No.” She stumbled into her home and then turned to look at me. “Please come in.”
Anya
He might have been an archangel, but I would have been more accurate to call this man a temptation from the devil. Vasily he had called himself. Okay. Perhaps his name was Vasily, but sin was certainly on his list of talents. Nobody looked like this guy without being a complete player.
I flipped on the light in my tiny front room just to get a better look at him. The hair was dark blond. At least I thought it looked like the thick close-shaven stubble covering his head was the color of a lion’s mane. His eyes were dark, dark brown. Yet it was the face and body that left me almost breathless with what I quickly identified as lust.
His forehead was high, his cheekbones well defined, and his jaw cut from granite. Even his ears were well shaped. His mouth was sensual, with a lower lip that made the most perfect bow. The desire to kiss him was almost undeniable. I wanted to cup his face in my hands and see what that dark blond stubble felt like on my palms. Then I would trace his jaw with my thumbs and stroke his lower lip with my tongue. I wanted to taste him so that I could see if he tasted as dangerous as he looked.
He was tall. I’m only five foot six, and he towered over me. I could not imagine him being less than six foot two or three. His shoulders were broad but not overblown. He looked athletic and trim. What I could see of his torso beneath his long jacket seemed fit. His chest flowed straight down to a narrow waist and long, muscular legs. The guy looked like an underwear model.
“Are you all right?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and I realized that I was staring at him like an imbecile.
“I’m fine.” Then I noticed that there was a thin coating of a Russian accent over his words. Could he be from another crime family? “Why were you there just now?” I demanded suddenly. “I mean, how did you happen to be in the right place at the right time to help me?”
“I was waiting for someone to call, sitting on my bike,” he said without missing a beat. “I heard the men talking to you and decided it wouldn’t be right not to intervene when I could so easily help you.” He cocked his head to one side. “Would you have rather I let them hurt you?”
“No.” Why was he making me so jumpy? Was I so very unused to being around a hot guy? Ugh! He even smelled amazing. It was like smoke and the outdoors and maybe a hint of something like cinnamon and bergamot. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just wary of strangers.”
“For good reason it would seem,” he murmured.
Vasily
I felt bad using her good nature against her when she was only asking a perfectly logical question. Yet I couldn’t have her being suspicious of me right now. So I poked at her sense of fair play and made her feel as if she were questioning the value of my assistance. She immediately felt bad. But then so did I. And why did I care what she felt anyway?
I had not been lying when I told Boris that I did not remember his daughter. I didn’t. But I certainly had not expected the sight of Anya Romanov to be such a kick in the teeth—or balls as the case may be. She was like the promise of sex waiting to happen. All of that repressed sensuality wrapped up in her beautiful golden skin. Seeing her was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
The woman had a body built for sex. Her legs were long enough to wrap around my waist. Her hips were the perfect size for my hands to hold while I pounded my cock into her pussy. And her mouth. God her mouth! Those lips were so perfect that I could not stop imagining what they would look like against the shaft of my cock.
An image—a forbidden one—drifted through my mind. Anya on her knees with her hands bound behind her back. I wanted her looking up at me as she opened her mouth to accept my cock. I would thrust between those lips again and again until I felt her swallow my cum and saw her lick her lips for more. Yes. That was what I wanted.
“What can I do to help you relax and feel safe?” I managed to say. I stepped behind her sofa better to hide the raging erection pressing painfully against the zipper of my cargo pants.
“I’ll make some tea,” she decided. She began walking toward the kitchen, turning and casting a glance over her shoulder. “Would you like some?”
I considered her offer. “Do you have anything stronger?”
“Vodka?”
“Perfect.” So she was Boris’s daughter after all.
She pulled a bottle of good vodka off the top of her refrigerator and then retrieved a shot glass from her cabinet. Her motions were jerky, and she seemed distracted. She set the bottle and the glass on the countertop and then put the kettle on to boil. She was shaking a little. Trembling, I think. I wondered what I should do to put her at ease.
“Can I help you in any way?” I spoke softly, not wanting to startle her further.
“You’re disturbingly handsome, did you know that?” The words seemed to burst from her lips without thought. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth and looked mortified.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “I’ll thank you for the compliment. Although I might just send it right back to you. You’re a very beautiful woman. Yet we haven’t even been properly introduced, have we?” I held out my hand. “My name is Vasily Krachenko.”
She took my hand and gave it a delicate shake. “I am Anya Romanov. It’s very nice to meet you, Vasily.”
“Likewise,” I murmured. And then I wondered where I could convince her to go from here.
Chapter Four
Anya
I’ve always heard people talk about how they “weren’t themselves” or how a situation “made me act completely unlike myself.” I’ll admit that I’ve always viewed those people with no small amount of skepticism. Mostly because I could not imagine a scenario where I would not act like myself. How was that even possible?
Yet as I sat in my living room laughing and flirting with Vasily, I realized that I was acting completely unlike myself. We were sitting companionably on my couch with only a few feet between us. Yet I didn’t even know what we were talking about half the time. I was too busy watching his lips and wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Would my toes curl up? Would my belly finally untie itself from these infernal knots? Would my pussy get even wetter? If that was even possible.
Vasily talked with his hands. Each time he illustrated a point or emphasized something, he would make an automatic gesture. I could not stop watching the graceful length of his fingers. Then my brain would automatically slide toward what it might feel like to have those same fingers trailing soft fire across my abdomen. He could touch my breasts, circle my nipples, and then dip lower toward my belly.
“I don’t see how you teach middle school kids anything,” Vasily said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I know I was completely hopeless at that age.”
“I’m not sure I can even imagine you at that age,” I replied. “Did you go to school here in the area?”
“No.” His voice grew almost vague. “It was in another district.”
“Did you move here recently, then?” I realized I knew almost no details about him, and yet I’d told him almost everything about myself. “You sound Russian.”
“Yes.” He nodded his head. “Although with a name like Romanov, you must be Russian as well.”
“Ah yes.” I rolled my eyes. “Every year I have at least half a dozen students who want to know if I’m related to the ill-fated and now infamous Anastasia.”
“And ar
e you?” His eyes were positively sparkling.
“Isn’t that a question for the ages?” I murmured, realizing that he had once again turned the conversation back to me. It was sort of odd really. There was something congenial and yet commanding in his way of speaking. It reminded me strangely of the book I had picked up in the library.
“I can tell you one thing about myself as a middle schooler,” he said in a confiding tone of voice. “I would have been out of my head for a teacher that looked like you.”
I drew back in surprise. “Is that right?”
He seemed to scoot closer to me, though I could not actually see him move. “Yes. You would have been the sort of teacher I fantasized about every night when I went to bed and every morning when I woke up.”
That should have creeped me out. At least I think it should have. But it was strangely flattering. The guy was telling me that he thought I was worthy of fascination. It was—well, it was exciting coming from him.
I swallowed back my nerves. “And what about now? Would the grown-up version of Vasily think that his history teacher was still hot?”
“Absolutely,” he murmured in that satin-covered rumble of his. “I would fantasize about you day and night.”
“What sort of fantasies would you have?” I could hardly catch my breath to speak. My chest was heaving, and I felt light-headed.
He cocked his head, looking more than a little bit like a wicked boy. “I think I would have to start with the undressing.”
“The undressing?”
“Every man wants to see a woman take her clothes off for him.”
“Why?” I swallowed, but my throat was dry and my tongue felt too big for my mouth.
He raised an eyebrow. “Because it shows a certain amount of desire. And maybe just a little bit of playfulness. A man likes to know that his woman is feeling willing and playful.”
“He does?” What was I asking here? How ridiculous! And yet I could not stop myself from continuing on. “So are you talking about a striptease? Or just yanking off my clothes—I mean, her clothes.”
He chuckled. The sound was as low and dark as rich chocolate. He’d caught my slipup. I knew he had. I didn’t care. He pointed to me. “Why don’t you find out?”
“Excuse me?”
“I suggested that you find out for yourself what the best way to strip for a man might be. I’m sitting here. I’m a man. You’re a woman. You’re wearing clothes. Try taking them off. If you hurry it up, does it feel sexy? Or does it feel better to turn and look at the man while you very carefully unbutton each button and slide your blouse down your arms?”
Now I was really having difficulty breathing. I should be telling him hell no. I wasn’t interested in any of this. Yet there was a big part of me that wanted to know. If I did as he said, would he want me? Would I be able to attract this gorgeous sex god? Or would I just fall flat the way I had a thousand times before with other men in other situations?
“Okay.” I stood up. “I want to try.”
“Good.” He did not flinch. It was almost as if he had expected me to volunteer for this. Was I that predictable, or was he that good?
Vasily
My brain kept saying that this had been too easy, and yet that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t easy. Anya wasn’t easy. There was something simmering between us that made this an inevitable conclusion to this evening’s events. I could not have named what it was, but there was a connection between Anya and me that defied the parameters of normal and caused the primal voice inside me to declare emphatically that this woman was mine and always had been.
She stood up. I could tell that she was uncomfortable, but that was more instinct that anything else. Not a bit of her apprehension showed in her expression. The woman had bedroom eyes. There was no doubt about that. Those baby blues were heavy lidded and sexy as hell. The combination of blue eyes and long black hair was killer. Especially since the first thing she did when she stood up was to unfasten the clip and let her hair fall around her shoulders like a silken wave.
I swallowed back a groan and tried to act like a grown man and not a randy boy. It barely worked. Then she gently touched the buttons on her blouse. She unfastened them one by one, slowly exposing the round creamy tops of her breasts. Her bra was white satin. The innocence of that was in direct contrast to the heated look of desire in her eyes.
Her blouse fell down over her shoulders, and she shrugged it off. Gently holding it with one finger, she raised an eyebrow and gave me the sassiest glance any woman could give a man. Then she tossed that blouse right at my head. I could not help but laugh as I caught it and laid it over the end of the couch. I liked her spirit. I certainly wasn’t going to quash it just yet.
Then she turned on her heel and put her back to me. My mouth went dry as I took in every inch of that soft skin. She was so perfect. And when she reached up and unzipped the rear fastening of her skirt, I realized that I had unleashed some kind of vixen. She shimmied that garment right down over her round backside and generous hips. It landed on the floor, and she kicked it aside with a nimbly pointed toe.
Her panties were the same white satin as that bra. And when she reached up between her shoulder blades to unfasten her bra strap, I thought I might die of straight-up lust. I wanted to see those breasts badly. I had seen them clothed. I had a pretty good idea of how gorgeous they were. But the reality was going to be so much better than my fantasies ever could have been.
“Show me,” I ordered.
She did not hesitate. In fact, the way she followed my command made me believe that she had indeed been meant just for me. Turning around, she dropped the arm she had been using to hold up her bra. The cups fell away, and her breasts swung free. The full globes were perfection. A pale pink nipple topped each heavy mound. As I watched, they hardened into points that crowned her puckered areolae. I longed to take them each in my mouth and suck until she was begging me for more.
“Lie down,” I told her. My voice sounded rough, but I didn’t care. None of that mattered right now. “Lie down and spread your legs for me. Show me your pussy.”
She did exactly as I told her. There was no hesitation in her. She gently lowered herself to the rug and propped her weight on her elbows. Then she spread her knees for me. She was still wearing panties. I could see the wet spot in the soft glow of the lights in her living room.
“I’m going to take those pretty panties off,” I told her. “I don’t want you to move. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I loved her immediate response almost as much as I loved how eager she seemed for me to take her underwear off. When she was fully naked, I enjoyed the sight of her perfectly positioned on the floor. My cock was hard, and the blood was pumping furiously through my body, but I knew what I wanted most of all. At least for now.
“Touch yourself,” I ordered. “I want to see your fingers in your pussy. Show me what you like. Show me what you do when you’re alone. I want to know, Anya.”
She whimpered, but she did not disobey. She placed two fingers against her pussy and slipped them into her wet folds. The sound of her fingers sliding against her sex filled the room. She was so swollen with arousal. Her sweet flesh glistened with the juices spilling from her opening. She was so wet and so ready that I could watch her opening flex and buck with each brush of her fingers against the distended hood of her clit. It was erotic beyond endurance, and yet I did not want the torture to stop.
Her moans filled the room. She straddled her clit with her second and third fingers and began making tiny circles around it. She rubbed the pads of her fingers against her opening and then returned to her clit. She continued this way until I could see her poised on the edge of orgasm.
There had never been a sight as beautiful as the one she made. Her legs were open, her thighs smeared with her own cream and her pussy wet and ready to climax for my viewing enjoyment. I touched her knee, and she opened her eyes.
“I’m going to put my fingers in you,” I
told her softly. “I want to feel how hard you come. Understand?”
She seemed unable to answer. All she could do was whimper and moan. I pushed two fingers inside her pussy. She was so damn tight I thought she might break them off. Then I felt her inner muscles quiver. She uttered a high-pitched wail, and I felt her pussy melt all over my hand. The shocking sensation was followed by her undulating muscular contractions as she had a hard orgasm right there in my hand, all because I had told her that’s what I wanted.
Chapter Five
Anya
I was going to hell. That was the only possibility. At least if I was going to go down in flames, I would be well satisfied while I was doing it. My body was so alive. I’d never felt that way before. Not just desire, but something dark and primal. It felt as though I could not breathe without Vasily, and I had only just met him! My logical mind knew that it made no sense, and yet something deep inside me was beyond that point.
“Go to your room and wait for me there.” The order came in a low voice tinged with such a deep layer of power that I could not even imagine arguing.
I got up off the floor and turned toward my bedroom without even looking at him. Perhaps in that moment I couldn’t look at him. The emotions I felt were still too raw. I didn’t want him to see that written all over my face. It would have made me feel so—exposed. So I retreated to my bedroom.
It was almost as if every one of my senses was on high alert. He was still out in the living room, but I could hear him moving around. I heard the rustle of his pants and the muted thump as his boots hit the floor one by one. Each noise sent my blood pressure skyrocketing until I was sure I would jump out of my skin.
I lay down on my bed and tried not to pass out as all the blood rushed to my head. The room swam a little and then came sharply into focus. Blood surged through my veins, and I felt the most delicious sense of eagerness for what was going to happen. Of course, I had no idea what was going to happen, but I was pretty sure I was going to like it.
