by Maren Smith
“Misha… Daddy… I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“It’s nothing to talk about. You need to rest.” He scoops me up and cradles me to his chest, carrying me all the way up to the bedroom on the second floor. He feels different. Stiff. Angry.
“Do… do you want to punish me?” My cheeks burn. I don’t know what to do, how to mend this.
“Absolutely not,” he says, and that’s when I know something is really wrong. I choke down the sobs that want to escape, swallow against the agony in my chest and climb into bed, allowing him to tuck me in.
When I come to, I don’t know if it’s still today, or how much time has passed. Misha sits by my bed, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his lap. Next to me stands a tray with a glass of juice and a ham and cheese sandwich.
“I could force you to come with me, printsessa. I could wrap you up, muffle your screams, throw you over my shoulder and take you with me. Who would stop me? Who would dare? But that’s not how I want this. I don’t want to fight your stupid attempts at escape, your little uprisings. I want to relax. I want to come home to my warm, willing girl, waiting for me, eager to see me, eager to please Daddy. So, I bid you farewell. I don’t play games. I have no patience for them. People get hurt. I get hurt, and so will you. Farewell, Miss Ellerbrock.”
“You… you have two more weeks here.”
His smile is grim and doesn't reach his eyes. “My contract here can be considered… void.”
“Oh.”
He’s breaking my heart. I knew he would the moment I saw him, and it’s happening now.
I want to hold on to him, beg him to stay, my big, bad Russian Daddy, but he would be unhappy here, and as much as I am selfish, I also care too much about this strange man who has given me more than I could have ever asked for in the few short months we’ve known each other.
Swallowing, I try to come up with an answer, a greeting that will tell him everything I feel, everything that he has awoken, but I’m frozen in pain, unable, terrified of the lonely life that awaits me, knowing that I’ll never find anyone who can see right through to my core like Misha.
Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t believe that.”
He bows his head. “I accept your apology. Live a good life, Carrie Ellerbrock.” He stands, presses his lips against my forehead, and then he turns and leaves.
Just like that, he’s gone.
“No, So-ko-lov. Ivan. San Francisco. That’s all I have.”
“Got it. I’ll get back to you, ma’am.”
There are too many people living in this country, and finding a person if you’re a nobody with no contacts can be ridiculously hard. Finally, I’ve had to resort to finding a PI who’ll do the search for me since no Ivan Sokolov seems to exist.
That one time he mentioned his uncle is my only link to Misha. Trying to find him in Russia is an option I pass on before I even consider it. He left. He really left me. Somehow, I thought he’d give me an email address, or a cell phone number, or something, but he just disappeared.
I own my house again. I have no loans, and with the insurance money from the burnt-down Sugar Princess I’ll manage financially until I know what I want to do with the rest of my life.
Thing is, what I want might not be an option anymore.
It’s been two agonizing weeks. I should try to rebuild the store, or find another job. I still want to work with books. But my heart isn’t here. I can’t function without Misha. I miss him so much that I can’t eat or sleep. I take long walks with Cookie, in secret telling her goodbye because it hurts too much to say it out loud. I google Russian translations of every word I can think of, and blanch at how difficult it seems to learn another language. Do I start over at almost thirty? What life awaits me there? What life do I have left here?
I want to relax. I want to come home to my warm, willing girl, waiting for me, eager to see me, eager to please Daddy.
I want nothing more.
My phone rings.
“This is Carrie.” There’s always a little hope inside that it might be Daddy, but it’s crushed when the voice isn’t right.
“Miss Ellerbrock?”
“That’s me.”
“I hear you have been looking for me.”
Everything goes still. My heart thunders as if I have been running. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Ivan Sokolov.”
Everything is ready. I have an address in Moscow, and someone who’ll meet me at the airport. I have a passport and ticket. My bags are packed. I have a phone number for Misha, but I haven’t dared to call him. It’s a mad plan, but I’m hoping he won’t throw me out if I just show up on his doorstep. I want to show him that I’m dedicated. I don’t want him to talk me out of coming. I don’t want to be reasonable. If I travel across the globe and it turns out to be for nothing, then at least I gave it my everything.
I’m nervous, filled with trepidation and hope. With my hairbrush in one hand and a long list of things I need to do in the other, I bounce down the stairs. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve never been so ready for anything. I’ve never been so organized. I thank Daddy for that. He made me want to do better, be better, and no matter where we end up, I’ll always honor what he taught me.
I stop dead, a feeling of deja vu washing over me. A tall, dark figure stands in the middle of my kitchen, in his hands my ticket and passport. He looks up, and my knees fold. I grab the doorpost and hold on, thinking I’ll faint any moment.
“Daddy?”
“Going somewhere?”
“Daddy! You came back!” My heart somersaults. I drop the list of notes and the hairbrush and throw myself in his arms. “You came back!”
Misha hugs me close, tight, Daddy-tight, his scent, his strength, his very existence making everything right that was wrong.
“Seems you’re leaving, though.”
“I’m…” My cheeks heat up. What if he’ll admonish me? What if he won’t want me to go? “I was coming to you.”
“To Russia? Really?”
He doesn’t sound the least surprised. He sounds like he’s teasing me.
Hold on a minute…
“Why are you here?”
“A little bird whispered in my ear that a certain printsessa was going on a long journey all by herself.”
“I told Ivan not to tell you!”
Misha laughs. “And who do you think he’s more loyal to?”
Family is everything.
I groan. “I didn’t know if you still wanted me to come. I was gonna call you when I landed in Moscow.”
He strokes my hair and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I could have been on the other side of the world. Don’t ever do that again. Plan ahead, and never be afraid to ask me anything.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Now that’s my good, good girl.”
My heart feels like it’s bursting with joy and pride. When Misha calls me good, then everything is set right again.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy, for what I said. Was that why you left? I was beside myself. I can’t blame anyone else, the words came out of my mouth, but I didn’t think. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. I know you would never burn—”
Misha puts a finger to my lips, and I snap my mouth closed. He smiles and shakes his head. “It hurt some, but I knew you were in a dark place. I left because both you and I needed to clear our heads, little one. I felt… I wasn’t entirely in control. But I could never stay away. That was clever of you, remembering Ivan’s name.”
“It was all I had. Are you saying you were coming back?”
“Most certainly. Being away from you felt like trying to breathe under water.” His eyes glitter, making my insides ache with want. “Are you ready to leave?”
“What? Now?”
He nods.
I look around me. I am, actually. I’m very ready.
“My ticket is for—”
He tuts and shakes his head. “I have my own jet.”
<
br /> “Your own? Isn’t that really expensive?”
“It’s necessary when I need to be somewhere fast, and right now I need you bent over my kitchen table, with your ass bared accepting your punishment for what you’ve put me through these last weeks. Fast.”
And just like that, he’s got me. I’m his. Now and forever.
“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Dorogaya, I’m never letting you go now. You must know this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiles, then he laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.
“I love you, Carrie Ellerbrock.”
“I love you right back, Misha Mikhailov. Daddy… I learned to make syrniki for you. It’s just what I found online but… I wanted to surprise you, but I can never keep my mouth shut. Can I do that? When we get there? Will you let me make you sweet pancakes?”
My big brute, my gangster, my caretaker, my Russian teddy bear, my Daddy, takes my hand and then he scoops me up in his arms as if I weigh nothing. “Milyy printsessa, we’ll ask grandmother to teach you the old recipe. I’d love to taste your pancakes. I’m taking you home. You will never be alone again. There’s a huge family who can’t wait to meet you, and they will, after I’m done with you.”
“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”
His beautiful smile would be reward enough, but bundled up in his strong arms, I know there will be a lot more rewards to come.
The End
For more stories by Nicolina Martin, please click here.
Reed: Daddy of the Month Club Book 6
Rayanna Jamison and Allysa Hart
About the Authors
Allysa and Rayanna (or Ally and Ray as their friends call them) are author besties who met on Facebook years ago when they were both writing dirty kinky books. In 2018, they had two opportunities to co-write together, and so began the Dynamic Duo!
“The girls” as their PA likes to call them, live on different sides of the continent with husbands that look eerily similar. They each have 2 children, 2 dogs, and when they aren’t writing, they are generally video-chatting with each other, and terrorizing Facebook, often doing both at once. They share a mutual love for sushi, Lindor truffles, and books that make them laugh.
Since they are basically one person, Ray and Ally have a joint newsletter, a group they run together where they get up to all sorts of shenanigans, and a joint Facebook group where they share their love of kinky books and dirty rom-coms via sharing links, sales, giveaways and new releases from their favorite authors.
Copyright © 2020 by The Dynamic Duo and Red Hot Romance, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, locales, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental.
Untitled
For Amy
You make us smile
We hope this book makes you smile
Chapter One
Amy
July, two months prior…
“Thanks for inviting me out tonight,” Anna said, grabbing us a table near the stage. We had driven into the next town to watch Elias do the MC gig at The Battle of The Bands. “Spencer’s out of town for the week and I was going stir crazy. The coffee shop keeps me busy during the day, but at night, I miss him. There’s only so much binge-watching and online shopping a girl can do. And I don’t want to be one of those wives, sitting at home waiting for him to be able to face-time or whatever.”
I furrowed my brow and looked at her with concern. “But, besides the traveling thing and the work chaos, married life is good? You aren’t starting to regret it are you?”
A month ago, Anna had shocked us all by going out to lunch with one of her customers and returning several days later a married woman.
“Oh yeah, totally good. I promise. Married life is great, and we are definitely still in the honeymoon phase. It just sucks to be in the honeymoon phase when we are currently on two different continents.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Setting my purse down on the table, I sat in one of the three empty chairs at the small table. “Well, two different continents or not, I am totally jealous.”
Anna gave me a hopeful smile. “You’ll find someone. There seems to be something in the water these days. Everyone is hooking up and getting married. Who knows? You could totally be next.”
I rolled my eyes. “I already put my money on Mom, so if I’m next, then I’m out twenty dollars, and I really can’t afford that. Starving student and all.”
“Well, maybe you’ll be after Sue then,” she teased. “Do you really think your parents are going to end up getting back together? After all these years?”
I shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Especially lately.”
“Stranger things have happened,” she agreed. “You know, I just realized I don’t actually know. What kind of guy are you interested in? What qualities or physical characteristics does a man need to have to rev your engine?”
I blushed and looked down at the table. “In real life? I don’t even know, but in my fantasies, I definitely have a type.”
“Do tell.” Anna scootched her chair closer to mine. She leaned in so I could whisper.
“It’s so cliché,” I whined. “I’m ashamed.”
“Fantasies are nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, now I’m really curious.”
“Okay, so if I were to build my ideal man... he would be a bit older than me, but not too much older. Maybe ten to fifteen years. He would be smart, and dark haired. He would have a great smile, great teeth, and dimples. I would want him taller than me, but not by more than six inches. He’d be kind of preppy, but not like jock, football-player preppy. More like geek chic preppy. He’d have glasses and dress in sweaters with oxford shirts underneath. Slacks. Glasses are a must.”
“Oh. My. God.” She cut me off. “You have a hot professor fetish! Don’t you?”
I shrugged again, probably turning purple judging by the heat wave flowing up to scald my face. “Keep your voice down,” I reminded her.
“Sorry. So, when you said cliché, you meant you have a whole naughty-schoolgirl fantasy going on,” she whispered. “Are there any professors at your school that get your engine going? Anyone with a recurring role in your fantasy reel?”
“God no. All my professors are old or female. And I haven’t seen anyone noticeably hot around campus either. Besides, I just like the look. I don’t actually want an illicit affair with my teacher. That would be weird.”
“Yeah, true.” Her eyes roamed the room, and she grabbed my arm on the table. “Hey, maybe you’ll meet someone here tonight!”
“Pft. No. I’m not into grungy musician types. All the guys here are rockers and metalheads.”
“Oh really? Are you sure about that? What about that guy?”
When she pointed, I grabbed her hand and jerked it down. But I did follow her line of vision. And she was totally right. The man she’d spotted was neither rocker or metalhead looking and he was walking across the room, in our direction.
I noticed him as he approached, and I’d be lying if I said that my lady bits didn’t take instant notice of his sexy geek-chic masculinity. He was pretty much exactly the type of man I had described, as picture-perfect as if I’d just ordered him off the bar menu. At least six-foot tall, lean, with square-framed glasses, and the perfect bit of scruff with just a dash of salt and pepper mixed into the thick, dark hair both on his head and beard, he looked every bit the kind of sexy professor that would titillate my naughty schoolgirl fantasies.
I’d have been happy just staring at him and using his memory as fantasy fodder later that night when I
was alone in my room with my battery-operated-boyfriend. But then he had smiled, showing off a perfect set of dazzling-white teeth in a wide smile. Framed by giant dimples, no less. My nipples stood at attention under the thin fabric of my lace bra.
“Hello,” he said as he strode up to us with all the sexy confidence that my diamond-hard nipples so loved to admire. “It’s very busy tonight. Standing room only.” He put his hands on the back of the empty chair at our table and I tried to hide my disappointment. Of course. He wanted our chair. What other reason would a man who looked like that have to talk to me?
“Take it,” I said at the same time he said, “Can I sit here?”
His broad, wide, teeth-baring grin had turned into an impish grin, and he had chocolate brown eyes behind his glasses. I looked behind me, expecting to see a table full of buxom blonde cheerleader types, but all I saw was a group of metalhead rockers.
“Oh,” I said before I could stop myself. He wanted to sit with us?
He watched me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Sure! Yes, um, sit… here. Be my pleasure. I mean, my guest. Be my guest. Oh god,” I groaned, throwing my hands over my face to hide in shame. Why couldn’t I get a word out that didn’t sound obnoxiously buffoon-like?
By some miracle of the God of Hot Dudes, sexy professor-teddy-bear-daddy didn’t bat an eyelash at my verbally fumbled faux pas.
“Thank you. I’m Reed,” he offered, extending his hand as he sat in the chair next to mine.
“I’m… um… thank you. Nice to meet you.” Still tripping over my tongue, I drank in his smile, his dimples, and the way the hard lines of his pecs and abs could be seen through his tight polo shirt. I’d never before been attracted to a man in a polo shirt but I’d never before seen a man who looked this hot wearing one.
