by Raine Miller
I clear my throat and wait until she looks up at me. “I hope you don’t mind. I know it is presumptuous, but I thought you might like to stay with me.”
Scarlett’s lips open just slightly. Then she bites on the lower one, shy about the offer I’ve just made.
“It is okay if you think it is too soon. And the space is not big. I requested an apartment in the area where married couples and families stay. They gave me only the smallest apartment but have agreed you can stay with me if you would like.”
She gives me a soft smile and nods. “Okay. Yes. Sure.”
I can’t help but smile in return. I pick up her suitcase and we start the short walk.
My apartment is basically a living and dining area, a small bedroom with a double bed, and a bathroom. I am a big man and I barely fit on the bed alone, so sleeping in it with two people will be interesting, but I want Scarlett near me. I don’t want to spend another night away from her.
She looks around as we shove inside, and it is very hard to read her thoughts.
“It’s very…beige,” she finally says.
“Yes. They don’t allow adornments as it is only temporary housing.”
“I see. Well, it’ll be fine.”
“It is small.”
“It is. And you are large. But it’s going to be ours while I’m here, so that’ll be fun.”
I nod. “Speaking of fun. I have some things to show you. Would you like to take a walk with me?”
“I need to clean up a little. And maybe take a short nap. Would you be okay with me finding you in a little bit?”
I nod and lean down to kiss her forehead. “Of course. Actually, I have a fight later. You can walk down and see it. I will write the directions, but it is easy.”
“A fight?” Scarlett’s face is a mask of surprise.
“Sometimes the guys do MMA fighting here to let off steam.”
“MMA? Wow. I knew you liked to bet on the fights, but I didn’t realize you fought yourself. You don’t get enough of it on the ice?”
“MMA is a strategy game. It is all about controlled aggression. You will like it.”
“You think I’ll like watching you get pummeled? I doubt it.”
I lean in and place a kiss on her sweet lips. “You will love it.”
* * *
Scarlett
* * *
I wake up a couple of hours later, worried I’ve missed Viktor’s fight. But there’s a note on the kitchen counter with a lanyard pass that I assume will allow me entry into the fight, and I still have time. I head out after a five-minute shower and a change of clothes, following the map he drew for me to a warehouse-looking building just a few blocks away.
The sound of cheering tells me I’m in the right place. The guy at the door waves me in and I slip inside, standing in the back of the crowd. There are two men I don’t recognize in the ring right now. A man beside me yells, “Kick his ass, Popov!” so I at least know he speaks English. I ask him if Viktor has already fought.
“Demoskev? He won his first fight. He will fight again after this one.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Living in Vegas my whole life with a dad like mine, I’ve certainly seen a few MMA fights. Usually lower-level ones with dirty fighters and even dirtier managers. This fight, though, is more about skill, I notice. The fighters are both obviously athletes, and if I had to guess, they’d probably be in deep crap if they got hurt cage fighting when they have multi-million-dollar contracts awaiting them after the summer.
The guy named Popov easily wins his fight, making his opponent tap out with an arm bar in the second round. My neighbor cheers loudly and makes sure to tell everyone he’s up a hundred bucks.
“You want to place bet?” the guy asks me. “On Demoskev?”
“What are the odds?” I ask warily.
“Twenty-to-one now. Minimum bet is twenty dollars US.”
I pull a twenty from my pocket and hand it to him. He grins and writes my first name down in a little notebook, winking at me as he leaves to go take bets from others.
Viktor comes out, a hulking, sweaty beast of a man, shirtless and wearing just a pair of basketball shorts. He’s really such a glorious being to look at. His face is serious as he slips a mouth guard in and pounds one fist into the opposite palm. His opponent is shorter but stocky. He looks thick and muscular. And mean. He sneers at Viktor, who just keeps his head up and his focus laser sharp.
The first round starts with the opponent, someone the guys call Rybakov, going full out with a series of punches. Viktor seems to be holding back, blocking easily, moving in a circle to avoid getting pinned against the cage.
I’m fascinated by how he moves. He’s a brick on the ice, unmovable unless he wants to be moved. Here, he almost dances with his opponent, his movement thoughtful, graceful. Every muscle ripples with tension, a coil ready to be sprung. It’s quite a sight and I suddenly wish I’d brought my camera. It also begs the question why Viktor can be so light on his feet in the ring, but have no skill on the dance floor.
It’s easy to see that Rybakov’s plan is to come out as aggressively as possible. He punches and kicks, most of it not really making much of an impact on Viktor. He gets in a few clean hits, which I assume Viktor has allowed. My sense is that he’s trying to let the guy use all of his energy, only for Viktor to be fully primed to take him down. He’s playing with his food.
They head into round two and Viktor has barely even taken a swing. Rybakov is breathing heavily, having expended an awful lot of energy. I can see Rybakov’s punches are getting sloppy. His kicks aren’t as high or as targeted. And Viktor sees it too, because he comes out of his shell, defense turning to offense as he jabs, right, right left, uppercut. Rybakov staggers back, having taken every single one of those punches. He’s dazed, a fact that Viktor takes advantage of with a roundhouse kick that sends the poor guy sprawling back against the cage. They get in a tussle, wrapped up in each other, as Viktor body slams the guy and gets him twisted like a pretzel. The arm bar is tight, and I can see Rybakov’s face go red as he struggles against the sheer size and strength of his opponent.
It’s over a minute later and the two shake hands as Viktor takes the win. I cheer, wildly turned on by the way he controlled that whole fight. He was right; I loved it. What does it say about me that I’m hot for a guy who just beat the crap out of another guy?
The bookie guy from earlier comes around and asks me if I want to bet again. I shake my head and he hands me a stack of twenties, which I accept with a big grin before heading off to find my man to the side of the octagon. He’s toweling off some of the sweat but pulls me close for a kiss before I can object. It’s long and sexy and I don’t care that people are watching.
“You were great out there.” I breathe as we pull apart.
“It helped knowing you were watching.”
“I doubt it,” I say. “I think you would have won, regardless. But it was still sexy.”
He grins and pulls on a T-shirt. “How much did you win?”
“I only bet twenty, but the odds were twenty-to-one, so I pocketed a big wad of cash. Dinner is on me tonight.”
“Dinner and dancing?” he asks, grabbing his gym bag and slinging it over his arm.
“Only if you shower first.”
“Only if you are there to watch.” The naughty smirk he adds on is an extra cute touch.
“Look at you with all the witty jokes. The Mad Russian has found his funny side.” I throw my own smirk right back his way.
“It is easy to make jokes and tease with you, Red Rocket. Now that you are here, I cannot seem to help myself. Please don’t tell anyone I am funny and ruin my longstanding bad reputation,” he says with a completely straight face. I think he’s being deadly serious.
This man kills me.
* * *
Viktor
* * *
“You look very beautiful.”
Scarlett’s hair is braided and hanging over one shoulder. She wears a black tan
k top, jeans, and high-heeled shoes. She looks down at herself and shrugs. “Thanks. I feel underdressed. I didn’t bring a lot of nice clothes.”
“You are perfect.”
“Well, you look pretty darn good yourself, mister. Remember that time you put on a tux just to take it off again?”
My lips twitch and so does my cock. “I really want to show you the city tonight.”
“Sexy plans thwarted. Dang.”
“Only postponed.”
“Were you serious about dancing? Because do I need to remind you that you are a very terrible dancer?”
“Come on.” I will not dignify an answer, but Scarlett snickers, nonetheless.
We head out and Scarlett seems curious to see a line of taxi cabs just outside the village gates. We get in one and I give the driver an address.
At the restaurant, I help Scarlett order from the menu, which is written in Russian, of course, and then she asks me about the fights.
“What about them?”
“How often do you do the actual fighting?”
“Not very often. A few times a year.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I enjoy the strategy of it.”
“I can see that. You definitely had a plan. That guy burned all of his energy in the first round then all you had to do was strike.”
“It is often like that in amateur fighting,” I explain. “These are hockey players, but they are used to the pace on the ice. In fighting, it is different. It requires thinking differently. They do not adjust but I do.”
“Why do you fight so much on the ice?”
“It is about throwing your opponent off balance. I leverage my size against them, and they get angry. When they fight, they are off-kilter and it makes them play less strategically. Also, the crowd enjoys a good fight once in a while.”
“People used to say you were a dirty player, though. That you tried to hurt people.”
“I did sometimes. I am not proud of who I was before. This change has been good for me.”
“I’m glad you came to Vegas, if only because I wouldn’t have met you if you hadn’t.”
“I am glad also. For that reason and many others.”
“I never thought,” she starts to say. “It’s just that…” She sighs.
“What is it, Red Rocket?”
“It’s hard to believe you can find something again, you know? After you’ve lost someone? I have to pinch myself to remind myself that this is real. That we’re here together, having this adventure.”
“Scarlett, somehow I feel that the stars would have aligned for us, regardless. In a million years, I could not have imagined being in love with an American girl who visited me in Russia. But here we are, and I feel that it was meant to be. Is that sounding very silly?”
Scarlett’s eyes go wide and then she smiles and looks down at the table. “No. Not at all silly. It’s sweet. You’re sweet to me all the time.”
We eat and talk about Scarlett’s travel from the States, then head to a famous bar called Coyote Ugly. It’s based on a real place in America where the people get up on the top of the bar and dance. Scarlett tells me there is also a Coyote Ugly in Las Vegas inside the New York-New York casino, but she has never seen the movie.
Indeed, when we arrive, there are women dancing on top of the bar. We get drinks and watch for a while, but it is loud and crowded and Scarlett is not wrong—I am a very bad dancer. Still, I pull her to her feet, and we sway together to a song I don’t recognize. Scarlett seems to know it, though, and she hums the tune as we dance, our bodies aligned in a way that makes me want her badly. I cannot help that my cock wakes up from rubbing against her soft curves.
“Fighting in hockey is a little like this sometimes. An awkward dance,” I say in her ear.
“Only you probably don’t want to fuck your opponent.” She smiles up at me.
I push against her a little. “I like it when you say dirty things. Say that word again, Scarlett.”
“Fuck,” she breathes.
“I want that very much. To fuck you. To feel you. To taste you.”
“Well, if the goal is to make me feel off balance, it’s working.”
Suddenly, I can’t wait a moment longer. My lips meet hers urgently as I claim her in a wild kiss in the middle of a public dance floor. I have admitted I love her, and I think she feels the same. I know that I want her to feel the same, but I can’t push her to say something she may not be ready to tell me. I did not lie. Vegas has changed me. Scarlett has changed me. But perhaps, being away from her, not having as much…access to her has been the largest change. Even when Paulina, my ex, was away from me, I never felt the same yearning. As if I’d lost my rodstvennaya dusha. My mate for my soul.
Hockey is still my focus, but my heart has opened for Scarlett. I want nothing more than to be close to her. As close as it is possible for two people to be. I need to be inside her, making her come, giving her pleasure until she can’t take anymore.
Without a word, I take her hand and lead her out into the night. I hail a taxi and we spend the entire drive back to the village making out. I love kissing her. I can’t ever seem to get enough of her kisses.
I pick her up, her legs around my waist, and carry her into the apartment. It’s not the most romantic of environments, but I don’t care. She doesn’t care. I unlock the door and kick it back shut once we’re inside.
Scarlett’s feet hit the carpet and she asks for just a minute, slipping inside the bathroom. I don’t want to be away from her, though, so I push open the door and find her brushing her teeth. The space is too small for two people, but I crowd her. I stand right behind her, my arms on either side of the sink, caging her in. Her breathing becomes uneven, her eyes darkening as she looks at me in the mirror. My cock is so hard, and I am not in the least bit shy about letting her feel it against her ass. She finishes brushing, rinses, and then stares at me. It’s a willful look she wears, a dare.
I lean forward and kiss along the back of her neck. Her head falls back, allowing me more access. I back off only enough to allow her to turn and face me, my hand pushing her tank top pulling her heavy breast from her bra. It spills over the material and I kiss and lick and suckle the hard nipple as Scarlett sighs, a satisfied moan spilling from her throat.
“This is a very tiny bathroom.” she breathes.
“The bed is also very small.” I groan. “But we will manage.”
We take the few steps to the bedroom, Scarlett pulling her shirt over her head as I work the clasp on her bra. Her breasts are so perfect. I hold them in my hands and pay them great attention as she arches into me. I get lost in their heaviness, in the way her hard nipples feel against my tongue, in the moans of desire that come with every nip and bite and pinch.
My mouth moves down to her belly as I unbutton her jeans and slip them down, helping her step free before allowing my hands to explore her inner thighs. She spreads her legs, an invitation, her body bare to me now. I touch and caress as much of her as I can, pleased when her skin erupts in gooseflesh. When my mouth finds her cunt, she sags against me with a sigh.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, please. Please.”
I kiss and lick, my tongue flicking at her clit, my fingers parting her folds and finding her sweet pussy wet and willing. I finger her until she cries out, sucking her clit until the clench of her cunt around my fingers shows proof of her satisfaction.
We move slightly as I push her to the bed, pulling my clothing off, stroking my cock so she can see how hard and ready I am. She watches with hooded eyes, her fingers playing idly at her nipples, her red hair now loose from its braid, wild around her like fire.
“Open your legs wide, Red Rocket. Let me see you.”
She spreads her legs so wide and I take in the sight of her swollen pussy, glistening with desire, ready for the taking. I kiss her there one more time before moving to kiss her lips. Our tongues mingle as I let her taste what I taste. I tell her over and over how good she is, how much
I want her. When I push inside, she cries out, her fingertips digging into my back.
“I’ve missed you,” she says. “God, I’ve missed you so much. Fuck me. Make it hard. Make me yours.”
“Say it again,” I growl.
“Fuck me, Viktor. Take me. Fuck me. Hard. Fast. I need it so badly.”
I won’t last long like this. I’ve imagined this since the day I left, and I want to make it last forever. But Scarlett gets what Scarlett wants when it comes to this. So I fuck her, hard and fast. Her gorgeous tits bounce as she reaches back for the headboard. I watch every expression on her face and when her eyes close and her breathing halts; I know the telltale clench will come next. She comes and comes and then I am coming, too and neither of us breathes while we disappear into our collective pleasure.
When I collapse on top of her, she strokes the bare skin of my back and kisses my cheek. It’s a long time before I can will myself to roll away from her, and I find her already asleep. She curls into a ball on her side and I wrap myself around her, skin to skin, never wanting to let go.
Yes, I believe I am truly in love with this woman.
And I want nothing more than to give her the world.
Twenty-Two
Clear as Mud
Scarlett
A week into my trip and I’m finally finding my legs in a foreign country. My days are full of work on the off-season stories like Fiona and I arranged, and my nights are full of Viktor. It’s a fantastic combination for me—something I could totally get used to. Today, Pam and I are watching the guys practice. I take a ton of photos and make notes for our social media feeds, reviewing periodically to see if I’m getting anything I can use.
“These are really good shots,” Pam comments over my shoulder. She holds her cup of to-die-for Russian coffee in both hands. Its official name is Raf coffee, but I have no idea what that means. Viktor told me it’s made with espresso and cream and vanilla sugar that’s been caramelized, then topped with whipped cream (of course) to make it just that bit more decadent. It’s divine and I’m going to have to learn how to make it once I’m home because I’m not giving it up. “You could have potential as a photographer, you know. Have you ever thought of pursuing photography, Scarlett?”
