by Jasmin Quinn
His eyes bored into hers. “You’re angry because I came to you on Saturday and we fucked?” He paused. “You seemed pretty fucking into it.”
“Was I?” She looked to the window, looked back. “I don’t fuck. I make love. I go on dates, I get kissed and held. I spend the night, or he does.”
Rusya barked out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t expect that from you. Something so… feminine.” He said the word like it was distasteful.
Esma blew out a breath as she considered Rusya. He truly didn’t understand, didn’t get her. Her eyes burned as she held the tears in, so fucking foreign for her to feel like crying before she met this asshole. “It’s human, Rusya, not feminine, to want to be held, cared for, loved. I don’t do one-night stands.”
Rusya narrowed his eyes at her and then looked away, thinking. Then back. “What makes you think there won’t be a second time?”
“There won’t.” Esma shook her head, walked away from him to the couch, to the folder on the coffee table and flipped it open, picking up the pencil beside it. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Rusya stalked over and dropped down on the couch next to her, took the file from her hands, replacing it on the coffee table, then gripped her hands with his. “First, Esma, the conversation is finished when I say it is, not you.”
As she opened her mouth to respond, he shook his head and squeezed her hands tighter, a small warning to shut up and listen. “Second, you’re walking a dangerous line this morning. You’re disrespectful.”
Esma tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, holding her anger in, keeping herself from totally showing him the extent of her disrespect.
“You will never hit me again, is that understood?” He held her hands a little tighter, squeezing her fingers, sending a small flare of pain through her, asserting his will.
She tried not to flinch, tried to keep her emotions leashed.
He leaned into her, to her ear. “I will come to your room whenever I want.”
She reared back, tried to pull her hands from his, but he wouldn’t let go. “No, you fucking won’t! Respect goes both ways. The next time you come to my room, you will ask permission. And you won’t fucking leave when you’ve decided you’ve had enough. I sleep with my lovers. Fuck, you didn’t even kiss me.”
It made Rusya angry that she referenced her other lovers – she could see it in his eyes before he shuttered them. Before he said, “I don’t sleep with anyone.”
Esma yanked her hands out of his grip and he let her go this time. She picked up the pencil that had fallen into her lap when he grabbed her hands and threw it at the folder on the table. It bounced off and skittered across the floor.
“I quit.” She stood and stalked angrily towards the door.
Rusya stood too. “You didn’t say no.”
She froze, stopped, turned back to face him. “What?”
“You didn’t say no when I came to you. You could have refused me.”
She returned to him, stopped a foot from him, her hands on her hips, her neck stretched so she could look into his face. “Really, Rusya? I could have said no? Who says no to Rusya Savisin?” And since she was already committed, she plowed ahead. “Maybe I didn’t want to say no. Maybe I didn’t realize you were there just for a fuck. Maybe I thought that there was more between us than lust.”
Rusya ran a hand across his face. “Esma, I know I’m fucking this up.” He blew out a breath as he looked down at her, then pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him as he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back. He dropped his lips on hers, not gently, but passionately, deepening the kiss, arms tightening around her, fingers pulling at her hair, biting, licking, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Then backing off a little, then again, until they were both breathless.
Esma felt it straight through her body, every nerve lighting up. Everything about the kiss erasing her memory of before, of any other time. The world faded. There were just the two of them, alone in the universe. It was too fucking much, this effect he had on her. If he told her to strip and bend over, in that moment she would have. Anything. Anything he fucking wanted.
He released her and stepped back, his hand on her cheek, his thumb tracing her lips. “You matter to me, Esma. But I can’t sleep with you. I don’t sleep with anyone.”
Esma had no words as hurt clawed at her. She groped around to find something meaningful to say, anything that sounded intelligent, but all that she managed to squeak out was, “Why?”
He started to say something, stopped, brushed her with his eyes, before he dropped his hand and turned. “I have a few calls to make.” He shifted away leaving Esma floundering. “Please work on the file – I need the translation by end of the day.” He stepped behind his desk and sat down.
Esma was confused, off-balance. Already missing him. Then as he pulled his phone from his jacket, he added, “It’s time to go to Russia. To Moscow. I think we’re ready. Wednesday. Pack a bag for a few days.”
Apparently quitting wasn’t an option. Esma stood frozen, casting about for something to say. But nothing came to her, nothing worth saying. She picked the file up off the table and the pencil off the floor. “I’ll work in my room.”
She didn’t wait to see if he would protest. She left.
Chapter 19
Rusya sat behind his desk and followed Esma with his eyes as she fled the room. He knew he needed to fix this. Whatever this was. Esma. He couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate on the business at hand. He had to go to Russia. Yuri, his father, was waiting. The Turkish deal needed negotiating. The documents passing back and forth were useful, but he needed to be there in person and he needed Esma to be with him.
He was trying to know his heart, understand his emotions. Understand what Esma needed from him. She wasn’t coy about her expectations and that should have mollified him but he thought maybe what she wanted was beyond his capabilities to give. He didn’t do relationships in the conventional sense. He didn’t… go on dates, he didn’t spend the night with a woman. Not since Irina.
Trust. It came down to trust. Or did it?
Fuck, he needed someone to talk to, but there was only one person he would dream of discussing this with and whenever he thought to talk to Anto, words failed him. A date. It’s not like he didn’t know what they were about. Bring flowers, eat dinner, make small talk and then have a good fuck. He grinned at the thought, then frowned, dropped his head in his hands and shook himself.
He worked through the morning, ate lunch at his desk, made phone calls, read, puttered, paced, had a drink of vodka and then another and waited for Esma to come back to the office. Waited all day. At the end of it, he called Janice in.
“Please have dinner served in my suite tonight. For two. Esma will join me. Let her know.”
Janice’s gaze settled on him. She looked like she was struggling with herself. “Rusya, may I offer some advice.”
He shot her a narrow glance, but didn’t say no.
“Ask her to have dinner with you. Don’t send me to tell her. The way to woo a woman is by showing regard for her.”
Then she stopped as he clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. She waited for him to say something. Finally, “Tell her I’ll expect her at 7.”
Chapter 20
Esma was angry that Rusya had summoned her to his suite. Lucky her, getting to cross the almighty master’s threshold. She couldn’t say no, she knew that. She was in Rusya’s home, in his employ, and knew she was pushing the edges of his boundaries.
Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to say no, especially after the devastating kiss he laid on her this morning. But still, he didn’t sleep with anyone. That was a pretty fucking clear message to her about what he did do with his women, her included. She couldn’t get past the hurt of those words. Couldn’t move past her anger. He was still a fucking prick no matter the effect he had on her.
She stared at herself in the mirror, slapped at the top of her head trying to flatten
a handful of rogue curls. They stubbornly refused to be tamed. She frowned at her reflection, wrestling once again with the notion of defying him. If she said no, told him to go to hell, it would end badly. No one turned down Rusya Savisin. No one said no to him. But it was all so fucking wrong. He didn’t have a clue and she wished she could have a drink.
She touched her thumb to the corner of her mouth, tucked a curl behind her ear and pressed her hands under her breasts, adjusting them in her bra. If she were truly being honest with herself, she wanted to go to him. If she lived for this moment in time, then she could get through this. Because before didn’t matter and after was irrelevant. Right now was all she had. Right now she wanted him.
At 7pm, she walked down the hall to Rusya’s suite, hesitating before rapping lightly on the door. Feeling her pulse quicken, her heart thud, she turned the knob, stepped in, not waiting for his invite. Rusya was seated, holding a glass, with vodka, she guessed, but stood when Esma entered. She hovered by the door. All the things she wanted to say but didn’t. Because he invited her and she came and she didn’t want him to ask her to leave.
Esma’s gaze drifted as she took in the room. His was a luxurious apartment. A living room with a sofa and chair facing a fireplace, a log fully aflame. Polished, carved tables. A television, a small desk, a small bar, a table set for two, candles burning. Flowers. He was trying to seduce her. She giggled, and he furrowed his brow but said nothing for a moment.
Finally, “What do you want to drink?” His piercing eyes reminded Esma who he was.
“Juice is fine. Orange if you have it.” Her drink of choice now. She almost asked him to throw a shot of vodka in it, but that was just her mind fucking around on her. He wouldn’t anyway. He poured the drink, brought it to her, and brushed her fingers as he handed it off. A shiver raced up her spine.
“Esma,” he started, dropped his head down and looked at his shoes, then back to her face. “Tell me what you want.”
Esma twisted the orange juice in her hands nervously, licked her lips as she craned her neck and stared at this man. Too spare with his words. Too wary, constrained. Her opposite, because she was a mess. A drunk, a traitor. A waste of skin. “You. Just you.” Her voice cracked. What else could she say?
He took a sip of his vodka as he studied her. “How?”
She stepped back, bumped against the table as she looked around the room. Heavy curtains across the windows, the fireplace. Candles, flowers. It tugged at her heart. He was trying. It was clumsy, but at least he was trying. She set her orange juice on the table and then kicked off her shoes. He watched as she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped to the floor, then unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall too. Stepped out of it and kicked it to the side.
His gaze darkened as she reached back to undo her bra. “Wait.”
And she stilled, dropping her arms and watching him as his eyes travelled over her body, slowly, lingering on her breasts, her belly, her pussy. They were both lost souls, she realized. Both carrying too much pain, making them who they were today. Making him careful, controlled, off-limits. Making her wild, unrestrained, too needy.
She whispered his name, letting it fall from her lips. An invitation.
He took two steps until he was almost touching her with his body, reached past and set his glass on the table beside hers. He dropped his face to the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Then his lips grazed her collarbone sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. Her nipples hardened and she grew warmer and wetter.
“Undress me.” Commanding, as he took a step back.
Esma’s heart hammered in her chest as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and undid his tie, looping it out of his collar. Then his shirt, button by button. She glanced at him and he gripped her chin, tilted it up and kissed her mouth, softly, pressing her lips, taking her gently. Her heart stuttered at the promise of more and her fingers became clumsy as she tried to force the shirt from him. Her hands brushed his chest - he was so hard, so strong. It took her breath away. She wanted nothing more than to have the strength of his arms wrapped around her. Cradling her, holding her.
She stepped back from him, trembling, afraid of saying it, but did anyway. “Could you put your arms around me, just for a minute.” Her voice cracked. In her life, it had rarely happened. To have a man who cared hold her tenderly.
He said nothing as he pulled her to him, pulled her against his chest, his arms pinning her to him. Tightly. She thought maybe he was glad for this, to also be embraced by someone who cared. She brought her hands around, felt the strong ridges in his back, followed their lines under her sensitive fingertips. His breath on the top of her head, warming her.
They stood that way for the length of a minute, then he slackened his hold and pulled back. “I can’t just hold you.” He kicked off his shoes and stripped off the rest of his clothing. He was erect, hard, ready and Esma was reminded why she felt so full, so tight around him. He turned her, undid her bra, then pulled it down her arms. There was moment of hesitation as he brought the bra to her wrists, but then he pulled it past her hands and let it drop. Pulling her against his chest, one hand stroking her pussy through her panties, the other gently squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples.
Esma moaned as he held her steady, touching her, in control. She wanted to tell him to get out of his head. She wanted him to drop his guard.
He brought his hands to her waist then slid them to her panties, pulling the lace over her hips down her legs to her feet. She stepped out of them, kicked them to the side. She was naked and he was hungry. She saw it in his eyes as they travelled her body, exploring her curves like he was mapping her. He drew her into his arms, carried her to the bedroom and dropped her on the bed. She flattened her hand on his chest as he hovered over her. “I’m giving you my trust,” he said as he dropped his lips to hers.
She froze. His trust? Fuck, no. She shimmied out from under him, put space between them as she sat up. Her heart hammering again, but not for the same reason. “What’s that mean?”
He sat up too, ran a hand through his hair and seared her with his eyes. She saw it all, frustration, anger, impatience. “Fuck, Esma. I’m doing what you asked. No restraints, I’ll sleep with you. I’m giving you my trust.”
Esma blew out a breath. This was so fucked up. She was going to break his heart. She was going to die. And she was also a little pissed at the way he said it, like it was a concession. She needed to think, she needed space. Why did this have to be so fucking complicated? His trust. That’s why he didn’t sleep with women. He didn’t want to give up that control. So obvious now. The problem of course is that she was the last person he should trust.
She scratched her head with her fingers, didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but they slipped from her lips. “I don’t know.”
Rusya squeezed his eyes shut as if a bolt of pain had seared him, then refocused on her. “Don’t know what?”
Esma licked her lips. They were both naked, facing each other. Both needy and what was the harm in doing? So what if she broke his heart tomorrow. Or he broke hers. What did matter? What did any of it matter? But it did. It all did.
She slipped off the bed. She couldn’t let him give her his trust. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” As she stumbled from the bedroom, she heard him behind her.
He grabbed her, wrenched her around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He didn’t give her time to answer. He hauled her back into the bedroom and threw her on the bed. She bounced on the mattress, tried to bounce up to her feet, but he flattened her with his body, dropping down on her with his weight. “You’re not fucking leaving.”
Anger, on his face, in his eyes. One hand crushing her wrists together and over her head, his other hand cradling the back of her head, fingers through her hair, grabbing it, pulling her back and restraining her, then him shoving her legs open with his knees, his hips settling between her thighs. His cock, fully erect as he entered her hard, punishing. Fucking
her, savagely. Taking her, claiming her.
She swore at him as she struggled under him as ferociously as he fucked her, trying to make him stop, trying to pull her hands from his grip. But she was no match for his strength. He held her bruisingly, and each violent thrust, each stroke of his cock, swept her up with him. Growing her need, her wanting, embracing his savageness, his loss of control. It’s what she wanted. Him.
She stopped resisting, her attempts to fight shifting to an uncontrolled hunger, a need to meet his savagery. Each thrust taking her higher, stripping her sanity. She arched her back, met him wildly, wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper. Until she was full with him, so close she was part of him.
He brought his lips to hers, kissing her hard, nipping her lower lip, tongue in her mouth, fingers lacing through her hair, his other hand letting go of her wrists, pushing himself up on his elbows so he could see her. He gripped her shoulder, hard, crushing. Esma let the pain race through her, knew his control had completely slipped, wanted to see where that would take them.
“Fuck me, Rusya!” she gasped. “Please.”
He growled and pulled himself out, flipped her over on her stomach, then brought her to her knees and entered her from behind. His hands held her hips as he slammed into her, his breaths short, uneven, his groans rough and throaty.
“No!” Esma cried as he slammed into her. She tried to struggle from him, but she couldn’t overcome him. “I want to see you.”
He slowed his thrusts but didn’t stop, leaned over her back, his breathing laboured. “Not yet.”
“Fuck,” Esma groaned as he slammed into her. “It’s not enough.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Rusya gripped her hair, forced her head back as he fucked her, forced her eyes to his. He was gasping, close, his groans louder, less measured. Then he stopped, slid out of her and dropped his hand to her pussy.
