by Raine Miller
“Tebe nravitsya moy chlen?” Which means, “Do you like my dick?”
“It is same as last time I saw it,” he says, humorless.
“Pissing in cup is same as last time. Same as always,” I say. “Clean piss. No drugs.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Not my problem.”
“Why must we do this?” I know the answer. I always know the answer, but it is fucking stupid. Vlad does not trust the American officials to be honest about my results. He thinks they have something against Russians and will accuse me of using performance-enhancing drugs even if I have not. He wants to send these samples back home so that we have independent, Russian confirmation that I am clean. Just in case.
I zip up, wash my hands, and head back out to the room, where Vlad flips through television channels as he waits.
“Done?” he asks.
I nod and roll my eyes.
“Good boy. Summer league starts next month, and you will have Olympic training early next season. It will be a busy year.”
“It would be good to have a second Olympic gold and a cup,” Oleg says. “Otherwise you piss so many times for nothing.”
Vasily laughs at this. “No cup or gold if your face is in red-haired pussy.”
“Do you think the hair of her pussy is also red?” Oleg asks.
This makes my blood boil. I cannot allow these two idiots to talk about Scarlett in this way. I growl at them in warning, my hands balling into fists.
“Leave him be,” Vlad says. “If he wants to fuck a little redhead, that is fine. He will leave soon anyway to focus on the ice once more.”
I suppose he is right. I will be leaving for the summer. It is not good to be so focused on a woman I will not see again until fall. She wants something serious. I cannot provide that, even if I wanted to.
“Well, walk us down to the lobby?” Vlad asks. “We can talk about your training schedule up until you leave for Russia?”
I follow the men out, listening to Vlad’s suggestions. I don’t really need him to play personal trainer. He has probably never worked out a day in his life. But I listen and nod, pretending I’m listening. When I step back into the elevator, I’ve already returned to thinking about Scarlett. So, it is almost as if I have conjured her when a ping sounds on floor number five and she stands waiting as the door opens.
“You!” She points as she steps into the metal box with me.
“Hello, Red Rocket. Where are you heading?”
“To go do some work for the Las Vegas Crush.” She is slurring her words and it is adorable. “Very important work. I’m very busy with important work to do.”
My eyebrows rise into my hairline. I nearly smile. She is very, very drunk.
“Who were those guys? Why were they carrying briefcases? Were they carrying drugs? Money? Guns? Are those guys in the mafia? Are you in the Russian mafia, Viktor?”
I am not sure how to answer these questions. I just say, “They are my agent and hockey officials. No one to worry about.”
“Bullshit.”
“And bullshit to you, too. You are not working. You are drunk.”
Scarlett peers at the row of numbers and punches in her floor she needs. She gives me a look and steps closer, her finger jabbing at my chest.
“You are very strange, Viktor. I don’t know who you think you are but I’m not hanging out with a guy who’s in the mafia.”
I grab her wrist and pull her to me, leaning down until my lips are nearly touching hers. My words are very clear.
“I am not in the mafia.”
* * *
Scarlett
* * *
My, oh, my. Viktor has a very deep voice…and very pretty lips.
I still totally think he’s mobbed-up. But I don’t care because he just denied it in the sexiest tone ever. It was almost animal, like a growl, and when he talks all gruff like that to me it turns me on something fierce.
I should not kiss him. I should not.
But his lips are on mine before I can pull away. His big hand encircles my wrist as if I’m made of twigs. I feel very small around him. And I’m not really all that small.
His tongue is in my mouth, his free hand on my ass. I lift a leg like a dog, pushing my crotch against his. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so horny. He pushes me against the wall of the elevator, his kiss so scorching, the feel of his growing cock between my legs so good, I’m helpless to resist.
The elevator pings and we break apart. It’s my floor. I literally run away, off the lift and down the hall. Because I am too drunk. He better not follow me…
I hear him call out behind me, “See you very soon, Red Rocket.”
Eleven
James Bond Room Service
Scarlett
No, you will not!
Not gonna happen. Nope.
Geesh, what was I thinking, letting him kiss me like that? And humping him like an animal in heat. What was that fresh hell with Viktor in the elevator?!
I have had way too much to drink. I’ll just boil it down to being dumb-drunk and file it away in the “never to be thought of again” drawer. It’s not that it wasn’t hot. To be honest, it was scorching. Viktor is a good kisser. An intense kisser, which is no surprise, since he is intense all the time.
But first, I need to order some food. “Why doesn’t this key card work? Maybe I can’t stay in this suite, after all? No, there it goes. A happy green light means I can go inside. Yay! Greasy, deep-fried food would be best. I might have a thing for French fries when I’m drunk. I mean, they’re good on a normal day, but it’s like unicorn food when I’ve had too much to drink. I don’t know why.” I also don’t know why I am talking to myself about myself and drunk food. God, this is bad. So used to talking to yourself that you do it out loud too now? Pathetic.
Food ordered, I plop on the couch in this big-ass suite that I could never afford on a normal day, turn on the television and note with some embarrassment that it’s only like eleven at night. It’s not nearly late enough for me to be this intoxicated. I need to eat some alcohol-absorbing food, sober my ass up, and get back to that party. I’m not even sure I spoke to Pam tonight. Yikes. Better send her a text.
Scarlett: Waiting on room service. Need fries, stat!
Pam: Somebody did the shameful “drunk too early” thing?
Scarlett: If by “somebody” you mean me, then yes.
Scarlett: Not falling down drunk but def needed a break. Back up soon.
Pam: K. Don’t fall on Viktor’s dick on your way back. HAHAHAHA
Scarlett: Speaking of which…
Pam: ??!!
Scarlett: I *may* have smooched him in the elevator.
Pam: WHAT?!
Scarlett: He left with big dudes carrying briefcases. Then I ran back into him when they were gone.
Pam: And the smooching?
Scarlett: Long story. Also, we may have rubbed crotches.
Pam: Holy hell!
Scarlett: Be up soon.
Pam: Give me details!
Scarlett: Stop texting me. Go back to your guests!
Pam: That’s just pure evil.
While I wait for my food, I flip through the channels and land on some movie about the mafia. It gets me thinking about those guys in suits again. There was no good reason for those guys to be in that bar, eyeballing Viktor, leading him off to do “business.” Certainly not at ten o’clock at night while Viktor’s supposed to be at a friend’s engagement party.
What was inside those briefcases? It really kills me, not knowing. Thinking back on the game, it occurs to me that Viktor, a very experienced player, did a very dumb thing at a very critical point in the championship game. I wonder…
Is it possible he threw the final game on purpose? Maybe that was cash, his payoff in the briefcases?
My eyelids start to get heavy. I need to fight sleep so I can go back to the party. What kind of lightweight leaves a party so early?
A sharp knock at the door wakes me up. I hop
to my feet and head for the door. Thank God room service was quick tonight. No forty-minute wait for me.
Opening the door, the room-service cart is there, but…what is he doing here? In a full tuxedo, holding a bouquet of flowers. What the heck is Viktor doing here? I look out and down both ends of the hallway, expecting a camera crew or to see the hotel staff hanging around, or something. But the hallway is quiet. It’s just me and the big, hot, sexy, Russian who ticks every one of my erogenous boxes.
And he’s brought my fries. Let’s not forget about those. I grab the cloche-covered plate and head back in the room, singularly interested in my delicious-smelling duck-fat fries. Yes, I know what a cloche is. I work as a server. Duh.
I hear an honest-to-goodness chuckle as Viktor wheels the cart into the room behind me. “No tip?”
I’m too busy shoving food in my face to do more than just grunt in response. I’m sure I look quite ladylike, sitting on the couch in my cute dress, ramming fries in my mouth like a starving bear.
Viktor shoves his hands in his pockets and heads over to the large row of windows looking down on the Strip. “It is a nice view from here.”
I switch the television to the music channels until it lands on some soft jazz music that fills the strange silence in the room. I take a few more bites as I study his silhouette against the window. The view of Viktor in a tux on display for me to stare at to my heart’s content is indeed a “nice” one. He fills out his bespoke tuxedo very nicely…indeed. Arms crossed; the flexing of his biceps tightens the fabric of his jacket sleeves while he appreciates the view of nighttime Vegas.
I shake myself out of my shameless gawking and stand up, testing my sobriety before slowly walking over to him.
“Yes,” I agree. “I grew up here, but the view never gets old.”
A long silence stretches between us. Why is it so hard to make small talk with this guy?
“So, you’re all dressed up.” He was in a nice, button-down and jeans earlier. He looked sexy in that, but in a tux? He looks spectacular. Viktor is quite the snappy dresser as I’ve noticed in pre-game press videos of players arriving to the arena dressed in their suits per the NHL dress code. All the guys have no choice really. But some pull it off better than others. Viktor’s tux is European cut and he looks freaking delicious in it.
“You look so lovely in that dress, I felt I should, what do they say? Turn up my heat? Heat up the game?”
I let out a laugh at this. “I think you’ve combined two sayings, ‘turn up the heat’ with ‘up my game.’ Which you did. You look like James Bond.”
“I think that is good? Yes?”
I can’t help the wide smile I know is on my face. “Yes, it’s good.”
“Excellent.” His expression has lost the hardness it usually has, but still not anything close to a smile.
“You just happened to have a tuxedo lying around your hotel room?”
“I brought several options. I don’t go to parties like this one often. I was not sure what the dress code would be.”
“It’s Vegas. Anything goes.”
“I think I understand your meaning.”
“I mean, you could show up in your underwear and no one would probably think a thing of it.”
He looks perplexed, his nose wrinkling kind of cutely as he considers going to a party in his underwear. “I don’t think that this would be good for me…because I am not wearing underwear.”
I nearly choke with shock, laughing out loud at this admission. My reaction must amuse Viktor because his lips quirk. It’s a smirk, maybe? Not a full smile, certainly. I am not sure if he’s even capable of those. But it’s a look of amusement, anyway. I think Viktor just made a joke, though. It’s a breakthrough!
“We should probably go back up to the party,” I suggest.
“I don’t want to go back to the party.” He holds out a hand for me to take. “I would rather stay here with you, Red Rocket.”
I bite the corner of my bottom lip. The squiggly haze of too many drinks has dulled. I see more clearly now, the flecks of color in his eyes. The softness of his lips. The sharpness of his features. “What would you like to do if we stay?” I ask as I put my hand into his.
My question is heavy with implication. The whole vibe around us has changed from light and jovial to hot and dark. I know I should say no. I totally should. And I try to say no, I really do. But instead I hear myself asking, “You didn’t put on that tux just to hide out in a hotel room, did you?”
He’s still holding my hand. My heart is pounding and roaring in my ears, but I think he says, “I put on this tux only to take it off again.”
I’m pulled to Viktor, my head only hitting the hard wall of his chest because he’s so tall. He wraps an arm around my waist, still holding my hand. He starts to move, just slightly, and I realize he’s trying to dance with me. It’s a little shocking, something I never would’ve expected from him.
“I have not done this in a very long time.”
“Dancing?”
“Courting,” he corrects. “Dancing. Talking. Touching. Kissing. Fucking. I have not done any of it in a long time.”
Well then…
I won’t be a cliché. I won’t be the girl who balks and says she’s not that kind of girl. I am that kind of girl. I am not afraid of sex. I enjoy it. Even though I haven’t had any in a long time.
Either.
I haven’t wanted some quick, drunken hookup. I want to make a connection with someone who wants the same thing. And even though I thought Viktor would just want a quick hookup, now I’m not so sure. I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for—not yet—but I feel certain it’s not something meaningless. I could sense a great deal of honesty in his words.
Frankly, I’m not sure it matters anyway. The way he just said fucking? Straight down to my core it went. Holy hell.
“You’re very direct, Viktor.”
“There is no point in playing games, Red Rocket.”
“My name is Scarlett.” It comes out kind of breathless. How embarrassing.
“Scarlett. A name as red as your hair. Beautiful.”
“It was there when I was born. Word is that my mother saw all that red and picked my name on the spot. My father thought it was too literal but—”
He stops my babbling with a kiss.
Thank God.
Why were we even talking at all?
His kiss is gentler than the one before in the elevator. Just his soft lips on mine, but my hands find their way to his nicely stubbled cheeks as I push myself closer. My mouth opens from his tongue pressing for access. He takes possession of my mouth at the same instant his hands grip my ass to pick me up. Which he does effortlessly—my skirt pushing up my hips as I wrap my legs around his torso for support.
His lips move to my jaw, my neck. Gooseflesh raises on my skin; it feels so good. I let out a sigh of want. Viktor responds by walking us into the bedroom and laying me down on the large bed. The white duvet is soft, a puff of air escaping as my weight settles down into the fluffiness. I feel so swept away in the moment. As if I am unable to say no or steer us away from what will happen.
And I know without a shadow of a doubt what is going to happen here with this man in this room tonight.
Sex. Some really dirty, hot, kinky, sex.
“Take your hair down.” Four small words delivered in a commanding tone that requires nothing but my compliance. God, he does not waste time with unnecessary words. Or maybe it’s just how he says them. To me.
It takes a moment to find all the pins and undo the braids, but the look on Viktor’s face as he watches my hair unravel to splay out on the white duvet is totally worth it. That tiny smile is there at the corners of his lips again, but his eyes have gone dark with want.
“That’s it, Scarlett.” Then he says something in Russian. I have no idea what, and he doesn’t translate for me, but it sounds dirty. I like it. A lot.
“What now?” I ask, my chest heaving from my breasts r
eady to push out of the top of my strapless dress.
“Roll over.” It’s another order, not a request.
I roll to my stomach, nervous with anticipation as Viktor puts a hand on my ass before sliding it up to the top of my zipper. I shiver as he pulls the zipper all the way down in one single move. He finds the hem of my green dress and tugs down sharply. My dress is no match for his determination and strength. It obeys without protest and lands on the floor with a swish. I’m left shivering in the cool air with only my black thong for a covering.
“On your knees, Red Rocket. I want your pretty ass in the air.”
I do it without hesitation.
And then just the tips of his fingers make contact with the exposed skin of my backside. I’m so worked up I forget to breathe as I wait for what he’ll do next. But then he hooks a finger under the slim fabric along the crack of my ass, pulling it down, baring everything I have to his eyes. I’m totally naked.
He makes a sound that can only be termed a growl. And again, he speaks Russian words that make me feel like I might combust. I push toward him, needing to feel his touch.
He has one hand caressing my hair but that’s not what I want right now. A whimper escapes my throat. He responds with a sharp tug on my hair in tandem with a cracking smack of his other hand to my ass. Total caveman in the bedroom too. And I freaking love it. I moan and clench my thighs together in desperation as I am held captive by my Mad Russian caveman. Jesus, help me.
“Use your words, Red Rocket. Tell me what you want.”
“I want—I want—to be touched and…fucked.”
“Say, please.”
“Pleeease, Viktor.”
He answers quickly. He dips his fingertips along my pussy, finding me slick and wet. When he presses two fingers inside me, I nearly die it feels so good. Without warning, I sink back onto his hand to push those fingers even deeper. I start to move my hips back and forth, but the bastard punishes me. His fingers disappear along with his touch as his hand retreats.
