by Ava Walsh
And now suddenly, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. All he could do was think about her.
Fedor ran back to the villa, through the gates, past Pyotr who stared at him in shock. He had managed to dress, but untidily and he ran through the house till he reached his study.
“Boss?!” he heard Pyotr say, as he rapped on the study door.
Fedor stood over his desk, panting, running his hands through his graying thick dark hair. He was sensing trouble. He had done something that he couldn’t take back. He had fucked Sylvia Stern and had never felt this good before.
Chapter Eleven - Sylvia
When she got back to the house, there wasn’t a single human soul in sight. It was past midday, and she had spent a few hours by herself on the beach, trying to hold back tears that had threatened to appear.
This was what she had wanted! She wanted to seduce Fedor Volkov, fuck him so that she could tell her father and make him mad for sending her here. So what did it matter if he ran away from her? She had accomplished her mission.
He was nowhere in sight, and neither was Pyotr. Sylvia dejectedly climbed up the stairs to her room. She showered and changed into a flowing summery dress in cream with orange flowers. She looked at herself in the mirror as she did her hair. Her curls were thick and tight and she bunched them up, away from her face and clipped them to the back of her head.
She touched her neck where he had touched her, there was a burning sensation still on her breasts, around her nipples where his beard had grazed her skin.
She could still feel him inside her. She wasn’t a virgin anymore. She had orgasmed for the first time in her life. How had he done it? How had he made her come so quickly? It was like a drug. She wanted more of him. But he didn’t seem to want her.
It wasn’t a surprise. Fedor Volkov was a proud man. He also seemed like the kind of man who upheld codes and moral conduct. She knew it must have made him feel guilty, that he had fucked his friend’s daughter.
There was a knock on the door, and then Pyotr’s thick Russian accent floated through.
“Lunch is served in dining room, Miss,” he said and then she heard his retreating footsteps.
Pyotr’s accent reminded Sylvia of the tattoos on Fedor’s body. Till she saw his naked torso she could forget who he was. But now she knew for sure that he had served time in prison. That he was a criminal. No matter how soft-spoken and a gentle giant he might seem to be, it was all an act. Inside, he was a cold-hearted killer and a criminal like all her father’s friends.
Sylvia clenched her jaw as she looked at her own reflection. Her body was still reeling. She wanted to hate him so badly, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop thinking that there was more to Fedor than met the eye.
She was starving. So she left the room and walked towards the dining room.
What she wasn’t expecting was Fedor to be standing at the head of the table, behind the chair. The food was laid out, for one, just for her. Beautiful luxurious food that she wasn’t interested in eating anymore.
All she was concerned about was him. Fedor seemed to have showered too. His dark hair was damp and neatly combed to the side, his beard was freshly brushed and neat as well. He was in a fresh green shirt and dark tailored slacks and he stood with his hands clutching the back of the chair.
“Fedor.” His name escaped her lips when she came into the room. His eyes were a glassy blue and his pink lips were set in a grim straight line.
“Sit down, Sylvia,” he said, and she felt the goosebumps appear on her skin. Just his voice was enough. She wanted him again, but she was also suddenly afraid of him.
“Will you be joining me for lunch?” she asked, walking towards the chair that had been reserved for her. Fedor turned his eyes on her, and in the same flat gruff tone, he repeated himself.
“Sit down.”
She sat down, and turned to him in silence, looking at him with hopeful eyes again. She didn’t want him to apologize for what had just happened. She wanted him to tell her that he wanted her again, that she was irresistible to him. She felt like she could cry out of desperation for him.
“You have to leave,” he said and she gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. She had been expecting something else, anything else but this. The thought that he might send her away had never crossed her mind.
“I can’t leave,” she cried. Tears had pooled around her eyes. She had tried so desperately to believe that Fedor wasn’t the cold-hearted man she knew he was.
He shook his head in silence, his eyes narrowed and now he wasn’t shying away from looking at her.
“I’m sorry but you have to leave. You can’t stay here. Not after all this,” he said, still standing. Sylvia breathed in deeply and bit down on her lip. She had to try with all her might not to cry. She thought she could fix this. That it had all started off as a mistake but she could make amends. Their time together had been short but she had felt the connection, she had felt it in her bones. It was unmistakable. It didn’t make sense but it was there. And she thought that he had felt it too.
“You said it yourself, that I need to stay here for my own safety,” Sylvia said, clutching her fingers together in her lap. She knew that if she kept chewing her lip she would draw blood very soon, but she couldn’t stop. It was all she could do to stop herself from breaking into tears at the dining table.
“You need to stay out of harm’s way. Out of New York, but there are lots of other places you can be just as safe,” Fedor said, now breathing deeply. He looked angry more than anything else, and it seemed like he was directing all his anger towards her.
Chapter Twelve - Fedor
She looked so beautiful and so dignified as she sat there at the table. It was becoming humanly impossible for him to just stand there and send her away.
Sylvia was in a simple floral dress, with her hair clipped to the back so that some curls escaped and fell delicately on her shoulders. She looked slender and graceful, but her nostrils flared. Sylvia was definitely angry.
But there was nothing else Fedor could do. He had to send her away, for her own well-being. The longer she stayed here with him, the more difficult it would be to keep away from each other. And he couldn’t do it again, not to Will’s daughter, not to a woman who was capable of ruining all his plans. He had been satisfied, if not happy, at least satisfied in his life till she suddenly showed up.
“So where are you sending me?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts about how beautiful she looked. Fedor licked his lips.
“I’ve made arrangements. To my friend Petrov. I trust him, and your father knows him too. He’ll take you in for a few weeks,” Fedor said and crossed his arms across his chest. He watched as her wide brown eyes followed his every movement. He wanted so desperately to just grab her by the shoulders, hold her close to him. But she was brave, she was strong. She wasn’t going to break so easily.
“And where does he live?” she asked.
“Florida. Very far away from New York,” he replied and Sylvia slowly stood up from the chair.
“You should eat something,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, but he was actually desperate to hold her. He wanted to do everything he could to keep her in the room, to continue talking to her. Sylvia smiled, a wide sarcastic smile.
“I don’t want to eat at the house of a man who doesn’t want me around. I know when I’m not wanted somewhere,” she said, smoothening the skirt of her dress. She looked down at her dress as she did it and Fedor took the time to take in his fill of her, of how beautiful she looked, to burn that image of her in his head.
“Sylvia I wouldn’t ever do something to put you in harm’s way. You’ll be safe in Florida,” he said, as quietly and reassuringly as possible. How was he supposed to explain to her that he was sending her away so that he could behave himself? She didn’t deserve him. She deserved better. A normal life with a normal decent man. She was too young to understand what a life with him, a relationship with him could me
an.
“I’m just a plaything in all your hands. First in my father’s and then in my captor’s. Now I’m being passed on to another man who will only imprison me, just like you all have. All my life.” Rage and contempt were dripping from Sylvia’s voice as she hurled the words at him. They pinched Fedor.
“I’m sorry if you felt like a captive in my house,” he said and she remained quiet. Her breasts heaved with every deep breath she took in and let out. She was trying to keep her rage in check, she was trying to be well behaved. Her breasts were hidden by the fabric of her dress, but Fedor had no trouble imagining them again. He knew what they looked like, how they tasted. He could still feel her nipples inside his mouth, how sweet they tasted, how beautiful her skin smelt. How tight and warm she was, how quickly he had come inside her. She was like no woman he had ever met before, he was falling hard for her and she needed to leave now.
“I’ll do my bidding, Sir,” Sylvia said sarcastically. “When do you want me to leave?” Fedor clenched his jaw. She was making this more difficult than it had to be.
“In two hours. Pyotr is going with you, he will drop you off at Petrov’s home personally,” Fedor said and Sylvia turned to walk towards the door.
“I should go and pack then. Bye Fedor Volkov, it was nice meeting you,” she said when she turned to look at him at the door.
And then she was gone. He could hear her footsteps on the marble floor again, and with every step she took away from him, Fedor could hear his own heart breaking.
Sylvia Stern had stormed into his life. She fought him, resisted him, seduced him and charmed him and all of a sudden all he wanted to do was tell her everything. This girl, this young girl… he could never have imagined.
Fedor picked up a bowl of cold soup from the table and flung it to the wall behind him, growling in rage.
He heard Pyotr’s footsteps running to the door.
“Go the fuck away. Get out of here!” he screamed in Russian before Pyotr could open the door.
“Boss?” Pyotr said from the other side of the door, Fedor was panting. He was angry with everything, and most of all with himself.
“Just get her out of here. Out of my sight,” he screamed and smashed a glass on the floor next. He heard Pyotr’s retreating footsteps and finally began to calm down.
He needed whiskey, he needed more whiskey.
“Where is my fucking drink?” he thundered, not entirely sure if anybody had heard his command or not. He didn’t care, he just wanted to scream and yell and punch things.
Sylvia Stern was going away. He was sending her away. If luck would have it, he would never see her again. This is what was the right thing to do, for her sake. For the first time in his life, he was doing something that wasn’t selfish and he was doing it for her, because he knew that one more day with her and he would be so pathetically in love that he would never be able to turn this thing around.
Chapter Thirteen - Sylvia
At least Florida had the same weather as Puerto Rico and the view from her new room was similar, if not the same. Petrov Vasili’s home was large and stood to face a private beach as well. As soon as she arrived, Sylvia realized that she was alone in this house. This wasn’t Petrov’s family home, it was one of his many houses, which meant that Sylvia spent all of her days alone, by herself, followed around by a bodyguard who Petrov had assigned to her at Fedor’s orders.
It had been over six weeks since she had reached Florida, and now that she was back on the mainland, she wasn’t allowed to leave the house. There was no more strolling on the beach, she had no freedom here. Everybody’s fear was that she was being followed and she could be kidnapped or killed at any moment.
She hadn’t even heard from her father since he packed her bags and shuffled her into a private jet that took her to Puerto Rico. Petrov assured her that he was alive and safe, and trying to get things back under control. He just hadn’t got in touch with her because he didn’t want to tip off his enemies of his daughter’s whereabouts.
Sylvia had no need or even interest to change into proper clothes. She spent her days in her pajamas or a dressing gown, flipping through channels on the large screen TV in the lavish living room.
Her bodyguard Viktor always stood by, keeping his hands together, watching her every move.
She yearned for Fedor. She didn’t feel safe in this empty house, even with Viktor who never spoke to her. She missed Fedor’s company, his blue eyes, a chance to hold him again.
The experience was making her sick, and after six weeks of being alone in this deserted, nearly haunted mansion by a Florida beach, Sylvia woke up in her bed and broke into tears.
She had woken up with a splitting headache and she couldn’t bear it anymore. She jumped out of bed and ran to the toilet to throw up into the bathtub. She felt like all her insides were splashing out, her stomach was churning. She could feel her hair damp and matted to her forehead. This had happened several times over the past weeks, and Sylvia knew it could only mean one thing.
Still sitting hunched on the floor of the toilet, she reached for her bathrobe hanging from the back of the door. She wrapped it around her slim body and stood up, unsteadily on her feet.
She opened the door, stepped out into the room and then called for Viktor.
“Miss?” He appeared at the bedroom door, and she noticed the look of worry in his eyes.
“I got sick in the bathtub, again,” Sylvia said in a weak voice, pointing to the bathroom door.
“You should go lie down Miss. I’ll…I’ll take care of it,” Viktor said, rushing past her into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
Sylvia gulped, her knees trembling as she watched the door shut. Then she dashed.
She ran out of the bedroom, hurried down the stairs, bunching up the robe in her hands. Then she ran to the front door and was out on the gravel path that led to the beach.
She smiled when she felt the fresh sea breeze on her face. The sun was strong and coastal as it shone on her and Sylvia walked with purpose. She was headed towards the waves. She wanted to sit on the sand, feel the waves lapping at her feet. It was where she could feel closest to Fedor. Taste a slice of freedom, even if only for a few minutes till Viktor found her again.
Sylvia ran as fast as she could till her bare feet touched the sand. She finally felt free again. She could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks.
She collapsed at the edge of the waves. The scent of the sea was strong in her nostrils, it pricked her skin and she knew she was going to be sick again.
She threw up into the water, the waves crashing gently all around her. She knew she was very close to the edge but she didn’t care anymore.
She could never escape this life. She could never have a normal life or a job. The one ray of hope that she had found in this life was Fedor but he didn’t want her either. She was just a silly spoilt girl to him.
Sylvia felt sick, sicker than she was feeling when she first woke up. She rested her face against the cold damp sand and lay down. The water crashed all around her and she knew she’d drown if she stayed there any longer.
And then there were hands on her body, on her shoulders, dragging her. Sylvia blinked, trying to open her eyes to the sun but she couldn’t. She felt weak, like water was stuck in her lungs and she couldn’t breathe.
She could see Fedor’s face in front of her, but she knew it was Viktor holding her, dragging her back to safety, away from the waves. But she wanted it to be Fedor, she wanted it to be him who saved her.
She wanted to cry, she wanted to breathe but the world was closing in on her. She had made a mistake, she wanted to take it all back. What had she done? She was going to lose her baby. She was going to lose Fedor’s baby. Sylvia couldn’t even cry, her brain was shutting down.
Chapter Fourteen - Fedor
Fedor had dragged her out of the water, and now Sylvia was lying on the couch in Petrov’s living room, still not conscious.
He had arrived at the ho
use to find Viktor in the bathroom, cleaning the tub and by the time he had run down the gravel path he could see Sylvia walking directly into the waves.
Fedor ran his hands through his hair over and over again. Pyotr had followed him into the waters too, but he had flung Sylvia over his shoulders and carried her back. She wouldn’t do it on purpose, he knew she wouldn’t do something like that on purpose. She was depressed in this house, sick and alone. In that moment he hated Will for abandoning his daughter, and he hated himself for sending her away.
“I’m sorry, Boss. I didn’t think she would leave the house,” Viktor was groveling. He was very close to crying, afraid that he was going to be punished for his inability to keep Sylvia safe. Fedor paced the floor of the room. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think straight.
Sylvia was wet, her robe was soaked, her hair was damp and she lay peacefully on the couch, at least still breathing.
“Boss, I’m sorry,” Viktor said again and this time Fedor lost it. In one swift blow, he punched Viktor, hitting him against the jaw. He felt like his knuckle cracked, but Sylvia woke up.
“Fedor!” she cried with her first breath. He turned to find her struggling to sit up on the couch.
“Did you just punch Viktor?” she asked as he rushed to her.
“Sylvia, what were you thinking?” he asked, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her close to his chest. He knelt beside her on the floor and looked into her large watery brown eyes.
“It isn’t his fault. I tricked him,” she said, looking up at his face. He didn’t care that Pyotr and Viktor were looking, that they could see him close to kissing Will Stern’s daughter.
“Why did you do that, Sylvia?” he asked and she rubbed her palms on her cheeks.
