by L. L. Ash
“As long as you’re not a psycho killer, then that’s fine,” I chuckled.
She rolled her beautiful eyes at me before smiling again and pressing another chaste kiss onto my mouth.
“Promise,” she winked at me, then turned and swung her perfect, heart-shaped ass back to her desk.
I was never such a fan of those long pencil skirts but, damn. Maybe I’d have to rethink my policy.
Adele was making me rethink a lot of things.
“Six o’clock,” she called as I was closing the door behind me.
Ok. I had three hours to get home, get cleaned and empty my balls out so’s to lessen the pain of rejection that I’d get later on in the evening.
Chapter Twelve
Serge
I showed up to her place ten minutes early. And by saying ‘her place’, I meant the almost entire fucking building that she owned. There was a storefront downstairs that sold sports equipment, but the staircase that lead up was her place, and also down to what looked like a basement, led up to her tall, glass and white door.
Ringing the doorbell, it only took her a minute to open it up, barefoot, and wearing a simple silver, shift-style dress with a pink apron tied around her hips.
“Come in,” she grinned at me and led the way.
I closed and locked the door behind me before following her through the expansive living room and into her gorgeous, upscale kitchen.
Every surface shined and glimmered with money.
“Holy shit, this place is nice,” were the sophisticated words that came stumbling out of my mouth.
She giggled and went to the stove, simmering something that smelled like tomatoes and garlic.
“Thanks,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at me as I looked around.
“Swanky,” I nodded in approval.
The place was spectacularly lush with marble, leathers, and warm wood floors.
“It was my present to my mom.” she said with a sigh, dashing some seasonings into her pot on the stove.
“This place was your mom’s?”
Was her mom fantastically wealthy, too?
“She picked it out,” Adele smiled sweetly into the pot. “When she got sick, I insisted she lived with me and we went house shopping together. This place is what she chose.”
So basically, she was living in a crypt.
“Ok, I can see how being here alone would be depressing,” I told her, taking a few steps closer until I was standing beside her, ass against the counter ledge.
“It’s just...big. Big and full of...hard memories. But also good ones.”
“How many months ago was it?” I asked her.
“Almost six now. Wow, I can’t believe it...”
She blew a strand of hair out of her face, but it flopped right back into her eye.
Leaning over, I scooped the hair away, tucking it behind her ear.
She smiled over at me gratefully.
“So what happened to your dad?” I asked her, fully aware I might be opening a pandora's box.
“Oh, my dad’s around somewhere,” she shrugged. “He and my mom divorced when I was just a kid. They went their own ways, and my dad started a new family, promptly forgetting about us.”
“That sucks,” I sighed.
“What about you?” she asked me. “You said you were raised by your grandma. Where are your parents?”
“Alive,” I shrugged. “They dropped me with my grandma when I was a kid, when they went back to Russia. Said I was safer here, but went back themselves.”
Her eyes widened in horror.
“They just...abandoned you?”
I smiled a small smile at her.
“No. I hear from them sometimes. Emails from my mom once or twice a year. As I get older they get more and more sporadic.”
“Wow. That’s crazy.”
“Guess my dad was into politics or something. My mom followed him, but she didn't want to take me with them. Figured I was better off here with her mom. Babushka did a good job on me. Even if I turned out like this.”
“Pretty sure that your career choice had nothing to do with her, so much as this,” she pointed at my face, then my crotch. “And this.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I laughed softly.
“Well geez. Sorry you had to deal with that, Serge.”
“We all have our shit,” I lifted a shoulder. “Mine isn’t any worse than anyone else's.”
She nodded slowly while stirring.
“So what’re you making me?” I asked her, hoping to lift the conversation out of the shitty mud it’d landed in.
“I’m making spaghetti bolognese with roasted beets, fresh sourdough rolls from the bakery down the street, and some greens to start.”
“Wow, five star chef here, huh?”
She blushed.
“I enjoy cooking.”
“Maybe we can do this more often. ‘Cause I enjoy eating.”
She laughed at me, her eyes crinkling at the edges, and it was just so charming.
“Sounds like a deal to me,” she winked before placing a lid on the pot. “I’m not going to lie. I made sure we had about half an hour before dinner so I could show you around the house. You seem like you’d enjoy all the luxury here.”
“I am a man accustomed to the finer things,” I told her, lifting an eyebrow. “Not everyone gets to have hundred dollar underwear cradling their ass every day.”
She laughed again and stretched out her hand.
I took it and locked my fingers between hers as she led me around.
Everywhere I looked, there were windows upon windows, overlooking the city. Each space was a luxurious oasis, soft couches and chairs mixed with hardwoods and metal.
“I hired a designer to fill the place up. I didn’t have time to make it livable before my mom arrived from Vermont...”
“Wait. You’re from Vermont?”
She shrugged in the affirmative.
“Oh my God… I’m dating a Vermonter...” I made a sour face and she whacked me with the back of her hand.
I held the other hand tighter, not even caring about the sting her knuckles had caused.
That’s not true. I cared. Because I loved it.
“Shut up,” she gave me an equally sour face before pulling me up yet another staircase.
Five floors this went on for, but finally we ended on the top floor. The master bedroom.
“This is...” I started, but I had no words.
“It’s the best part of the house,” she agreed with my wordless praise.
“The view is amazing...and this bathroom...”
She followed me to the bathroom, the place entirely encased in marble tiles. A huge shower was on one side, with a big soaking tub settled next to a long set of windows that overlooked the city.
This room even beat the jacuzzi she had a couple floors down.
“Promise me something,” I told her, pulling her back to my chest as we stared out the window at the view.
“What’s that?” she murmured back.
“Promise me that someday, hopefully not in the far future, you and me, we’ll take a long, hot bath together right here in this tub.”
I felt her shiver at my words, goosebumps appearing down her arms.
“Deal,” she agreed breathlessly.
I loved how just a simple touch and a few words could completely undo her. It felt powerful, but also completely sweet.
“I need to go check on my sauce,” she suddenly pulled away from me, moving quickly out of the room.
And there she went again, running away from intimacy.
I followed her back down to the kitchen, taking the elevator this time.
That’s right. An elevator in her house.
“Could you open a bottle of wine?” Adele asked as I strolled into the kitchen again.
“Sure can. Want to open the one I brought or did you have something else in mind?”
“I actually have this one. The girl at the store said it’d go perf
ect with red sauce.”
“Sure,” I agreed as she pulled a bottle out of her wine cooler and placed it on the counter.
“Corkscrew is in there,” she pointed to a drawer across from me.
I retrieved the thing and started opening the bottle.
“It’s nice having someone else do that for a change,” Adele said with a laugh. “And it’s a lot sexier watching you do it with all those bulging muscles.”
“You like my bulging muscles?” I grunted out as I popped the cork.
“That’s got to be the stupidest question you’ve ever asked, Serge.”
Touché.
Adele directed me to the cabinet that held the glasses and I got them, pouring us two conservative glasses of wine.
“Do you know your way around the kitchen?” she asked me, putting some of the fresh-made noodles on a plate.
“I know how to survive,” I shrugged. “It’s not exactly our culture for men to do much in the kitchen. My grandma never allowed me in there unless it was to eat.”
She laughed.
“My mom loved cooking, and she taught me so much. I’ve taken some classes here and there, especially now that the channel is really going and they don’t need me there as much.”
“Seems like the times I visited you, you didn’t do a whole lot,” I quipped.
“Because you were distracting me, jerk,” she shot back. “But they can run just fine without me now, so I’ve been thinking about doing some traveling. I just don’t want to travel alone.”
She gulped, staring into the pot.
“You’ve created an empire, Adele. You deserve to take a break and just enjoy life a little.”
Shrugging, she spooned some sauce on top of the noodles.
“Where would you want to go?” I asked her, to get her talking about a dream of hers.
“I always wanted to go to Europe, and adventuring around Australia sounds fun. But Brazil is definitely on my list too, and the Caribbean.”
“Sounds like my idea of fun,” I laughed. “Just do it. Go. Hop on a plane and just...fly by your ass until you’re looking at David and the Mona Lisa.”
“I would love to see those things,” she smiled wistfully, placing the plate in my hand. “I love art, and it’s a dream of mine to see both of those things up close, along with a few others.”
“There’s literally nothing stopping you,” I reminded her, putting the plates down on the table in the eat-in dining room.
“Salad,” she pointed to the fridge and I moved to retrieve it. “Will you ever travel? You said that sounds like a dream, and you have money. Why don’t you?”
I shrugged.
“I guess for the same reason you don’t go,” I admitted. “But I have some time and more money to earn before I can really think about taking a break. I’m too young to need a break.”
“Thanks for calling me old, Serge!” she smacked at me again, this time with a wooden spoon straight to my ass.
I yelped and she laughed at me as she handed me the spoon and another for the salad.
“Be honest, Adele. Are you into BDSM? Cause you keep hitting me and I keep getting turned on.”
She blushed scarlet as she took the other plate to the table.
“I wouldn’t even know, to be honest,” she laughed nervously.
Oh, now we had to try it. Eventually. When I got her panties off again.
“But you’re open to it?”
“I’ll try just about anything once, with the right person.”
Her cheeks turned even redder as she sat at the table.
I took the other open chair, sitting to her right.
Did that mean I was the right person? Or maybe it was metaphorical with the ‘right person’.
Shit, I hated guessing things like that.
“Would you mind saying grace?” she asked me, pulling us completely off the subject.
“I only know Orthodox,” I admitted.
“So, do the Orthodox version,” she shrugged.
I sighed, hoping I remembered the prayer Babushka always said over meals before bowing my head and gripping my thumb and first two fingers together to do the sign of the cross once, twice, three times, then I pressed my hands together.
“Christ our God, bless us Your servants, our home, the food and drink before us for You are the Source of all blessings, now and forever and ever. Amen.”
Not going to lie, it felt a little weird to be praying over a meal with a woman who was paying me to have sex with her.
Well, we hadn’t had sex yet, but the point was legitimate.
“I like that,” she smiled at me when I opened my eyes and unclasped my hands.
“It’s been a while,” I admitted.
I usually waited until after Grandma returned from church to visit her so I didn’t get roped into it. Because if I was there, I was going. Period.
“Are you religious?” she asked, taking a roll from the warm basket and breaking it to put some butter on it.
“No. My grandmother is, so I went as a kid. Once I moved out though, I never made it back there.”
“My mother was a Roman Catholic,” she winked at me. “She’s probably rolling in her grave that I’m breaking bread with an Orthodox Christian.”
I humphed.
“It’s a good thing my Babushka isn’t in the grave then. I don’t want to know what she’d be doing right now.”
Adele laughed, taking a bite of her bread and sighing in contentment.
“I like this side of you,” she said after chewing. “This is nice.”
“It is,” I agreed.
It really was. I hadn’t talked to someone this freely in...well, years.
“So we’ve talked about family, religion...”
“You never answered whether you went or not,” I stopped her.
For some reason it really mattered. Maybe because Babushka would kill me if I actually dated a real Catholic.
“I sometimes go for Christmas or Easter mass, just to please my mom, and now to feel her with me. But other then that, I don’t have the time for it. Do you know how often they have mass?”
I laughed and nodded.
“My grandma is so religious. I attended so many fucking services and I still turned out like this.”
“Does your grandma know what you do?” she asked, eyebrow lifted.
“Not a fucking chance. She thinks I’m a salesman like everyone else in the world,” I practically choked.
Again, Babushka would literally kill me.
Literally.
Like, with a blunt object, kill me.
“Well, she won’t hear it from me,” she grinned and took up a forkful of her dinner.
“Thank God for that,” I winked at her and did the same.
Chapter Thirteen
Serge
Dinner was really, really good. I know they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, well that phrase is doubly true for Russian men.
Even my Babushka would be proud. Even if the meal lacked general dairy and pickled things.
But hey, there were beets!
“I’m going to admit right now,” I told her, plopping my napkin down on my plate. “You’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me now. Good fucking luck.”
Adele laughed and picked up the plate in front of me, bringing both of ours to the sink.
“Need help with dishes?”
“Oh no. I have someone that comes through a couple times a week and helps do those types of things. She’ll be here in the morning to clean this up.”
So, now what?
Normally I’d take her to bed and ravage her, but that wasn’t what my malishka wanted.
And, being true to this new form that I promised Adele I’d stick to, I just spoke my mind.
“What now, Adele?”
She looked up at me from the kitchen counter as I approached.
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking anxious all of a sudden.
“I
mean,” I drawled. “Now that dinner is done, what do you want?”
She stuttered for a minute, until I swooped in to save her.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked her.
“No!” she practically shouted, then slapped her hand over her own mouth. “I mean, I want you to stay. I liked cuddling with you last time...”
“Ok. Cuddling I can do,” I nodded.
She breathed out in relief as she hurried toward the stairs.
“Am I supposed to follow you?” I called after her, trying not to laugh while she yelled back at me.
“Count to ten then come up!”
My God… this woman was ridiculous.
Counting to a very fast ten, I bounded up the stairs, two at a time, catching her in the closet, changing.
“Just in time!” I said, leaning against the wall to watch.
She jumped in surprise as she dumped the nightgown she wore down over what looked like matching black panties.
No bra, just panties and a short nightgown.
Yep, she was trying to kill me.
“I didn’t think to have you bring some clothes,” she said nervously, slipping past me to the bathroom.
“I sleep naked, anyway,” I answered and she choked on her toothpaste.
“I-I have an extra toothbrush though,” she said around the thick foam in her mouth.
Did I ever mention that she was adorable? Because she was.
“I’ll take it,” I said, accepting the package she was holding out.
Grabbing some toothpaste from the same tube, I brushed alongside her, spitting a moment after her.
It was all so domestic and sweet.
“I have to uh...” she started, but threw her hands around. “Nevermind.”
“What? Don’t let me stop you from doing your thing.”
“Well I normally take my makeup off but I...”
Her cheeks blushed again, the color blossoming down to her chest.
I stepped up to her and looked her in the eye.
She probably thought I was going to say something profound and romantic, but what came out of my mouth made her laugh, instead.
“If it makes you feel better, I can take my makeup off, too.”
She chuckled as she turned back to the mirror, moving away from me so she could get to the wipes tucked inside a vanity drawer.
