Bad Russian 02.04 ivy

by May Ball, Alice

  When we’re wrapped completely together, I’m all the way in her, right up to my hilt, she jerks her hips like a horse rider. My body takes over.

  Rolling like a steam engine, lunging, plunging, pumping and pounding, I am wild. I hammer her like a road drill. She clings. Grips. Her nails gouge and claw into me. Her toes curl. I beat my shaft into her, slamming my hips up and slapping against the soft cushions of her ass.

  Her head shakes from side to side and her neck stretches. When I feel her shake and shudder into a third set of rolling waves, the walls of her pussy are exhausted from trilling and thrilling the thickness of my rod, I know I can’t hold back the hot pulses that are zinging in my cock.

  I ram into her, merciless. I bang against her, pile and ream her wide, rock her over one more edge.

  Our hands, our arms are all over one another as we flail to keep each other close. Tight. Seals and secure. We rock more gently and ripple like a stream. But together. Together.

  From now and forever. We will always be together.

  In the center of the room is a metal table with cuffs on a chain. The man isn’t wearing the cuffs. Smooth, rounded edges are also on the table and the two chairs. They’re fixed to the cement floor, too. So is the cot.

  I don’t recognize him at first. A lot of time has gone by. A lot of water flowed under many bridges. His face is gray, blotchy and worn. His hair is wiry and gray. There’s less of it and it’s unkempt. Looking at him, looking into his eyes, it’s like he slowly comes into focus.

  His quiet voice gives my recognition a jolt.

  “Sweetie. You’re looking fine. You’ve done well for yourself.”

  I don’t trust my instincts or my judgment. Especially around men. And he’s the reason. I have no idea how Arkady could have found him.

  Now that he’s here, I don’t trust him and I don’t trust myself. It’s all in the genes. I inherited uncertainty from Momma. Treachery from Daddy.

  I knew from the start, when I was very young, that I would have a tough time. Even at school I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to pair up easily with boys, whatever happened. I never took too much interest in any of the boys. Some wanted to take an interest in me, but I did nothing to give them encouragement. In fact, as far as I could, I kept them and myself apart. I saw what love had done to my momma. I certainly didn’t want any part of that.

  The reason for my deep-seated mistrust of men, of course, was him. Daddy.

  I sit. Across the table, he begins to speak. Quickly I raise a hand. Flat palm out. A ‘stop’ signal.

  I know what he will say.

  I say it for him. “‘I love you, sweetie. I’ll always love you.’ You said that, over and over.

  “‘You’re my special girl. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.’ You remember? And you told me all of the great things we were going to do together. All the time. Every day.

  “Until I was four. That was when you stepped out of the house one morning and you never once came back. We thought you were dead. You have any idea what you did to Momma? What you left her with? She had no idea how to cope with a child as well as all the bills and everything else that life threw at her. Not all on her own. Not when she’d had years of planning and dreaming and expecting and believing that her life was always going to be a part of a partnership.

  “But you had some other plans. All that she forgave you, all the shit that you dumped on her. You know she was ready to get over all of that. The only thing she could never get over was you leaving her. Leaving us.

  “You broke her.”

  But this is for me. Not for Momma. It’s too late for her.

  So.

  Now.

  I ask him, “Do you have any idea at all what that left me with?” I wait for him to answer but there’s nothing he can say. What could he say? So I go on. “At the age of four, everything I knew, all that I’d been told, the whole of my world, everything that mattered to me, one day it all just upped and walked out the door.

  “Not just you. You took yourself from me. But you took Momma from me too. Because after you’d gone there was almost nothing of her left.

  “You didn’t come back for me. Not even to see me. You didn’t call, you didn’t send me a text or even a postcard. Not a word to tell me what happened or why. Not one word.”

  “‘I’ll always love you.’ That was what you said.” His face sinks. The effort he makes to keep a smile on the front of it is not a good look. I tell him, “I didn’t believe a single word that any man ever told me since that.”

  “Sweetie,” he holds his hands open and apart.

  I cut across him. “I don’t want to hear it. I wanted to tell you what I just said. And to tell you that, after you betrayed Momma, and then you ran like —I was going to say you ran like a dog, but dogs are better that that— after you ran like a bully who’s been punched on the nose, she lost it.” He wants to speak. As he sucks in a dry breath, I go on, “That’s not to say it’s your fault she acted like she did. I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. It’s because she believed it was her fault. You took her faith, like you took mine. She didn’t trust herself after that.”

  He screwed his eyes. I waited until he was ready to speak again. I so wanted to punch his face. Instead, I said, “That’s why she gave up on herself and put her trust in a line of random men to take care of things. To take of her. And to take care of me.”

  He takes a breath to say something. My hand shoots up to stop him and my head turns. I fix him with one eye. The anger in my gut is like a stone. I want him to see it. To feel it. I want him to know.

  I look at him across the table for a long time. Pain creases his face. My anger spreads through me, bursts like a balloon filled with hot water. My fists bunch tight and my jaw clenches. The urge to hit him makes me vibrate.

  As his eyebrows wrinkle, I’m sure he’s feeling it. The rage begins to drain from me, and from the other side of the table, he flinches.

  I get up. He stands. I’m too late to stop him. He moves around the table. I lift my hand again.

  “I said what I want to say. I wanted you to know that. To hear it. I got what I needed. I don’t want anything else from you.” His eyes water. “You gave me life. And I’m grateful for that.”

  I still want to punch him on the nose but I know I’ll feel better if I don’t. Instead I turn to leave.

  He says, “You’ll always be my special girl.”

  Before I know it, I spin, jab a straight-arm punch square on his nose and he staggers back to crumple on the floor. I stand long enough to see that he’s not injured.

  I’m not proud of myself smiling as I turn and leave.

  Arkady is waiting at the top of the stairs. He hugs me and I feel strong. Complete.

  “I don’t know how you found him.”

  “Are you glad that I did?”

  “I guess ‘glad’ is probably not the word that I’d use. But it’s a very important thing for me. Having that opportunity. Being able to say those things to him. I do appreciate it, Arkady. I’m really grateful.”

  “I thought it would be the best way for you to be able to progress past it.”

  “Get closure, you mean?”

  “Well, I was thinking more that you could take your revenge. Or have reconciliation. Whichever. Your choice.”

  “You are such a man.”

  “Only for you. I’m your man.”

  I hug him. Lay my cheek against his chest. He’s my rock. My ‘wall’ as he says it.

  He holds me, and I hold him like that for a while. Then we go into the kitchen and both take a shot of chilled vodka.

  After that, he goes down to the basement. Takes the old man out and drives him away. When he comes back, I don’t ask where he took him.

  It’s a few days later when I get an SMS message from Momma. I tell Arkady.

  “Momma said Daddy came to see her. Said he’s going to stay.”

  “Should we go and chase him away?”

  �
�No. Him coming back into her life is probably a disaster. But the only thing worse would have been her next bad choice of a man. It’s the best chance for both of them. I wish them all the best. I’ll call and tell them. Soon.”

  Epilogue One

  Him

  After Drinkwater and McCleaver’s first debriefings at Langley, Saskia and I travel to Moscow with Drinkwater in a goodwill intelligence trade with the FSB. The goodwill is on our part, as well as that of the CIA and the FSB. Drinkwater travels with us in manacles.

  We leave him there on loan, for an extended stay of about six months before a CIA team and a group of UA Marshalls bring him back for his sentence. He is the first of many packages of intelligence product in the new US–Russian Intel Alliance in the joint efforts to combat the rise of China.

  My wonderful Saskia finishes her studies, gets her law degree, and passes the bar in DC. All the time, she does work for Mr. Beck, the State Department Director of Archives and Records. A lot of the work is in intelligence liaison with the FSB with the US-RIA.

  Most important, she has my babies. Sascha is our first and he is going to grow up a fighter like his mom and a ruthless political operator or businessman, like his papa. Beautiful Alexandria is my princess. She is nearly three now and more lovely like her mother every day. Saskia is still my queen, of course, and she always will be.

  Saskia and I will go on with our important work, building closer ties between our nations’ intelligence networks. This is the way to make peace through strength. I know it.

  Unbelievably, Saskia’s parents stayed together. I didn’t know her Momma before but what I see now and what Saskia tells me, she seems to have found a new lease of life. They aren’t what you would call a happy couple, but they seem to give each other what they need. I try not to see her father, and Saskia avoids him as much as she can. They live their own lives.

  I bought them a house in Colorado, and that keeps them out of both of our hair.

  Most important of all, we go on loving each other. I buy her jewels, boats, art, houses–anything. Whatever will make her eyes give me that special sparkle.

  Epilogue Two

  Him

  Now, I can’t see her eyes. With her hair in my hands, I’m looking down the creamy slope of her naked back to the magnificent roll of her ass. The scents of her make me crazy like they always do. And the sounds of her. Her groans and gasps as my cock parts her walls and stretches her, deep inside.

  Her beautiful globes of flesh ripple each time I slap them, and with every piston-slide as my thighs bang into her ass cheeks, tilted high up for me to gain maximum access.

  The heavenly hot wetness of her tangy juice slathers over my cock and streams down my thighs.

  “Come for me, Saskia,” I tug on her hair and slap her ass again as I feel myself reaching a high plateau. All of my nerves buzz like a choir as I feel it begin. “Come for me now.”

  “Arkady! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!”

  I cannon into her, riding low to high, so I scrape and pull against the very front of her opening. The hard underside of my cock saws against the base of her bean. Her hood stretches around her clit. The crown of my cock grazes her trigger, high inside. It’s buried in curtains and folds of her warm, suckling flesh, but I know how to find it.

  Now I grip her ass. Pull her so I can penetrate her even deeper. Fill her more. Have more of her flesh around more of mine. I want to feel all of her. On all of me.

  Her rising tides begin to swell. I know the signs. She trembles hard as she grips me. Her toes curl and her knees scrape and scurry. Her hands claw and clench. Her throat tightens and reddens.

  My favorite parts are the vibrations in her thighs and then the slow, rhythmic clenches of her ass.

  “Arkady! Arkady!”

  I hold her harder. Hammer deeper.

  “Arkady, Come with me! Fill me!”

  “Come on, Saskia. You can come again. One more time. Come, Saskia.”

  “Arkady!”

  “Let’s make twins!” I slap her once more.

  “Fuck me, Arkady!”

  I spout into her wonderful gushing cunt. She slams and grinds back into me.

  After she collapses forward on the floor, and I collapse on top of her, and I squeeze and kiss her breasts and nuzzle and nibble around her ears, she turns her head. I’m still inside her with a respectable semi.

  Her voice is low and dark. Full of teasing mystery and promise. “I think you’ve got another one in you.” Just the sound of her makes me harden.

  We move so that she’s on top of me. She slips me out deliberately. I know what comes next.

  She slips, easing, nuzzling, nibbling with her wings, the lips of her flower, over my tip. Along my length. She slides her hips and rolls her pelvis. She knows the soft squeeze of her ass on my thighs always gets my motor running.

  She slips down further to take me between her lovely soft breasts as she scratches and claws over my abs, my ass, my ribs. She slides her mouth over me, the looks up. “Mmm, you taste of me.”

  “Show me?”

  She wriggles back up to bring me her mouth. As I taste her, and me, on her lips, I slide my cock up. And in. Deep into her wetness. We rock. Slow. Close.

  I murmur, “I know your body now, like my own.”

  “It is your own.”

  “Like mine is yours.”

  I can almost see her fireworks as her eyes light up and we come together.

  I was only kidding, but we did make twins that day, my queen Saskia and I.

  I really hope you enjoyed that fast, sizzling tale.

  A BILLIONAIRE BIKER, DRIVEN BY REVENGE

  DISTRACTED BY LUST

  A huge Russian biker, visiting a US chapter, Yevgeni has come to talk truces, make peace and cut a deal.

  He hasn’t come for a bouncy blonde virgin to drag him into a beef with the local chapter,

  or to get his life entangled with hers

  Prologue

  Her scent doesn’t lie. Her head shakes slowly. But she knows. Now is the time. She danced and swerved around it. Pushing me. Grazing her soft ass on my pants when she passes me. Leaning so her big, soft tits are squeezed against me. Rolling them around so I get a feel of her hard little buds. Then giggling and acting innocent.

  Looking at me with big eyes and on ‘o’ mouth.

  Not any more.

  She’s pushed me too far. She can’t tease any more. Now she’s going to find out what happens to little girls who light fires in big men.

  All the boys she know try it, I know. They’ll do anything to be near her. Catch her scent. Try and talk her into letting them cop a feel. I get it.

  She’s going to learn, a real man’s not like that. I see what I need, especially with her shaking it in my face, I’m going to take it.

  My balls have ached for her. Too hard. Too long. Too often.

  Now I’m going to fill up her soft, wet pussy with my stiff rod and thick bolts of hot cum.

  I’ve gotten myself in danger for her, even taken a risk of harming my purpose coming here. But there’s no stopping me now.