Russian's Obsession: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 88)

by Flora Ferrari

  But just the idea of fucking her right now brought me to my knees.

  And the next time I get down on my knees it’s going to be for one of two reasons.

  To taste her sweet pussy or put a ring on her finger and make her mine forever.

  Both were going to happen, it was just a matter of which one came first.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sergey

  I squint as the sun comes up over Moscow.

  My eyes burn and I know they’re bloodshot without even looking.

  I can only imagine how spaced out I must look right now, not that anyone’s going to see me, but still. The fact is I am obsessed with this woman.

  Even after a night of staring into a computer screen I still feel hyper and jumpy.

  I was so focused I didn’t even turn on a light in the room, just making due with the light from the screen. It’s all I needed anyways, my eyes were focused on nothing else.

  She’s like an addiction and all I can think about is the next time I’m going to see her, and yes, I will see her again.

  The hardest part about this search is many of the names of these students are non-Russian names. They don’t have our Russian Facebook clone called Vkontakte, which has much better search features. Hell I could even call up Vladimir Putin and have his people look into it. He effectively took the company over from the founder, Pavel Durov, after he refused to hand over personal details after the Ukrainian crisis back in 2013 and 2014. If only Mark Zuckerberg had the same set of balls as his Russian equivalent, instead being more than happy to hand over everything about his users to any company or government with a big enough checkbook.

  So I continue to search Facebook, but many of these student’s names are common names…too common.

  Sarah Smith. Jennifer Johnson. How am I supposed to find the needle in the haystack with those names? I’m sure those woman are special snowflakes in their own right, but that doesn’t help me with my search.

  But I’m not going to quit. I don’t even need a cup of coffee. I’m still so wired from seeing her a second time in class.

  I take the scarf and walk into my in-house lab. For the next thirty minutes I try diligently to reproduce the scent, but I can’t even get close.

  This is absolutely crazy. I’m the world’s most authoritative person when it comes to smell. Normally I can reproduce anything in under five minutes.

  But this? Her? One of a kind.

  I’m a competitive guy and there’s a burning desire inside me to replicate it, but counter-intuitively I’m more than happy I’m failing.

  That just reaffirms what I already know. She is the diamond of all diamonds and when I have her I will have the most unique woman in the universe of scents where I rule as king.

  I have every mixing agent needed to reproduce any scent…but hers. And even if I could duplicate it, which I know I can’t, I would never sell it. Fuck no! And this is with absolute certainty that her scent would easily make me the world’s first trillionaire. It would be in such high demand and sell so quickly I would have to expand my biggest factories just to keep up with the demand. A trillion dollars. Damn.

  I walk back into my living room and sit down on the couch. For the first time in my life I wonder what does all this money really mean. Why am I still trying to make so much of it? Why am I still competing when I’ve already won the game?

  And the answer is clear as the daybreak.

  All this money means nothing if it can’t be used to enjoy life…to experience life with someone who you can’t stop thinking about, not now and not ever.

  Someone who makes you lose track of time.

  Someone who is your biggest cheerleader and supporter, just as you are hers.

  Someone you can grow with, and who you can impart wisdom on to make their life easier, more enjoyable, and more fulfilling.

  And she’s all that and more.

  It may not be a shoe, but the story of Cinderella finally makes sense. It’s not a fairy tale.

  I’ve got one item of hers and I need to somehow leverage it to find her.

  I run my long fingers over the scarf, moving it around in my hands. For the first time I can tell that this scarf wasn’t purchased at a shop. No. This scarf was made with love, by someone she knew. You can tell. It’s made of an extremely high quality and it’s been worn a very long time, but is still holding up like the day the last stitch was sewn.

  I roll it around in my hands and notice something in-between two of my fingers.

  I bring it up closer to my face. It’s a tag of some sort, but not a store kind.

  It’s as if this is a work of art and the artist has signed it here.

  I move it around, flattening it out so I can read it.

  Stay warm my little Anya. Love, Grandma.

  I jump up from my seat and run to the piece of paper with all the names of the students, which is on my dining room table.

  “Anya!” I yell. It’s a Russian name so I overlooked it.

  That girl isn’t Russia.

  My finger frantically scrolls down the list stopping when I see it. I pull it away and then tap the paper hard.

  Anya Andrews

  “That’s her! That’s her!” I say pumping my fist. “I know it!”

  And now I know exactly what to do next.

  CHAPTER 7

  Anya

  I walk through the hallway with my classmate Ivan, approaching the front steps.

  “Are you enjoying your time in Moscow?” he asks.

  “Yes, it’s been great so far. I just arrived though so I still have a lot to see and to learn.”

  Ivan seems really nice and was extremely helpful in class today with part of the assignment that the teacher had a difficult time explaining in clear English.

  “So if you are new I am guessing you do not have a boyfriend?” he asks.

  I’m still getting accustomed to the Russian way of being very direct and open with one’s intentions. It’s a bit shocking at times, and sometimes off-putting when you receive a cold “no” in response to a request, but I have to say I’m warming up to it.

  You know exactly where you stand with people and if someone tells you no it just means no. There doesn’t have to be an apology or a bunch of extra words added to it. In a way it’s refreshing, although still a bit of a punch in the gut at times I’m not ready for it.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, but there’s someone who…looks like there might be a possibility with,” I say as we leave the building and walk down the steps.

  “He must be a lucky boy,” he says.

  “You mean a lucky man,” a serrating voice says, the tone sounding like leather wrapped in steel.

  I look just five feet in front of us and slightly at an angle.

  My books fall from my hands, as do Ivan’s.

  There he was. It was like his entire body took up half the sidewalk. He wore a suit, but looked artfully disheveled. The top two buttons of his white shirt were open, his hair a bit tousled as if his grooming “routine” this morning had been to run a single hand through it after getting out of the shower.

  His eyes were red, but there was an intense hunger to them.

  His body conveyed the same. His legs were spread and he was squared up to me as if ready to attack. And if he did attack he most certainly had a thick spear he could use.

  Good lord, there was a bulge in his pants that ran half way down his thigh. It was thick, throbbing, and doing its best to point right at me.

  His eyes were locked in on me, but as Ivan moved to pick up his books first he turned his focus to my classmate.

  “Hello Mr. Smirnov,” Ivan says, extending a hand to him. “It’s an honor to have you at our university.”

  Sergey extends his hand to the boy, his inked digits engulfing the entire hand of the boy my age, making his hand disappear as he honored his request with a shake.

  But the way he looked at Ivan was anything but honorable. Sergey’s brows were furrowed and you could see
his teeth were clenched underneath his pursed lips.

  His back was straight and shoulders back, making his body look huge, so huge in fact that I hadn’t even noticed that when Ivan moved towards him he walked right into Sergey’s shadow which put him in a cool, dark place.

  “I was just leaving,” Sergey says, his face turning towards me. “With Anya.”

  I feel chills run up my spine and goosebumps cover my skin. How did he get my name?

  “You know Anya?” Ivan says.

  “It’s best you run along, son,” Sergey says, releasing Ivan’s hand.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” he says, before hurriedly turning back towards me and waving.

  I want to wave back, but my body is still frozen in place. I can’t move and I can’t think. I try and slow my breathing to get myself under control, but it doesn’t work.

  Ivan walks away quickly in the other direction.

  “Did I interrupt a moment there between you and your boyfriend?” Sergey says.

  He looks almost as angry as he did the first time I saw him at the bar and when those guys were saying things about me.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I reply quickly. “How did you find me?”

  I feel sweat covering my skin, thinking he shouldn’t have been able to track me down. It’s not that I didn’t want him to, contrary to my behavior on the prior two occasions, but I want to know I have some degree of privacy in a country known for snooping in on everything and everyone.

  What was I thinking?

  He takes a step closer to me and although I should take a step back I find myself doing practically the opposite, as my body leans in, wanting to be closer to his.

  I feel my heart beating in my chest and all the tiny hairs on my arm standing on end.

  He was just in front of me now, covering so much ground with a single step. His eyes lock on mine and I feel like my feet are glued to the ground, like I was standing in quicksand and I had to do something before I was in too deep.

  “Who I want to be with is my business. You can’t be following me around or snooping on me,” I say.

  “How did I know you’d be so feisty,” he says, and it’s not a question.

  “I’m serious.”

  “And I’m serious too. Very serious,” he says as he moves in even closer.

  I can feel my whole body shaking in anticipation as my head leans slightly to the side, exposing my neck to a predator who has the hungriest of looks still clearly radiating from his eyes.

  He was so big, so strong, and everything guys my age weren’t. He had my classmate in awe and frightened at the same time. The power and confidence he exuded energized me, and made me feel like I was walking on pins and needles at the same time.

  He made me feel things I’d never felt before, and right now one of those things was the puddle that was very apparently forming in my panties.

  And I hadn’t even touched him yet, hadn’t even felt his skin on mine, or his lips on mine.

  From his look that was all about to change very soon.

  His right hand comes up from his side and stops just short of my cheek as if admiring it, before slowly he closes the gap and the pad of his thumb finds my skin.

  I swear a volt of electricity shoots through my entire body and I jump a little.

  “Do I scare you?”

  I nod slightly, feeling his finger slide across my cheek as I do.

  “Do you like it?”

  I should punch him for saying something like that, but he’s not embarrassing me in front of other people with that comment. It’s just the two of us in this spot right now, and even if we were standing in a crowded elevator I wouldn’t even notice. The only one that matters is him.

  “Yes,” I say softly.

  “Do you like the feeling of power? Do you feel powerful right now?”

  “I feel powerful and powerless at the same time.”

  “Powerless to resist what everything inside you wants?”

  I nod.

  “I understand the feeling…because I feel exactly the same.”

  As soon as the last word clears his lips his face comes forward, those manly lips of his crashing down hard on mine, as he pulls my body in tight with his other hand.

  I feel his cock throbbing against me and my knees weaken.

  I feel light, beautiful, like I’m floating on a cloud.

  His lips come off mine and his big hand takes mine and we start walking away from the university.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.”

  I stop and he practically drags me the first step, I’m so small in comparison. He stops, turning back to look at me, but not letting go of my hand.

  “I don’t just go places with strangers,” I say.

  “I bet you don’t kiss strangers either do you?”

  I say nothing.

  “Good. Then we’re not strangers anymore. Let’s go talk about this scarf your grandmother gave you…and other things.”

  “You have my scarf?”

  “Yes, and I will give it to you now, as soon as we reach my car and you’re free to go if you want. I won’t use it as a bargaining chip. But I will tell you that if you decide to walk away now it’s not the end of this, because I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you mine. I will hunt you like the animal you’ve turned me into. I will pursue you until you see in me what I see in you…everything. And then I will make you mine forever.”

  I always knew that confidence was the most attractive thing a man can have, but I have never in my life seen confidence displayed the way he displays it. And it’s not an act. He’s completely congruent in everything he says and does and I have no ability to resist it, nor would I want to.

  One of my favorite writers, Lesley Arfin, once said that, “There’s only a teeny wading pool in-between the lake of total assholes and the bay of fucking pussies,” and she’s right.

  With so many hipster guys these days the bay of pussies has more than spilled over and become one gigantic global ocean.

  Sergey isn’t an asshole, he’s just self-assured, with a lot of confidence and a bit of cockiness thrown in.

  And I’ll take that over the alternative every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

  But this isn’t a compromise. Sergey is a throwback. He’s old school. He lives in a land of real men, a place where relationships rule the roost, and calling in a favor is probably how he found me in the first place.

  This country is primal with people thinking with their lizard brains, to use a scientific term, and not wallowing in existential crises like some of the people I know back home do more often than not.

  He’s real, no b.s., in your face honest.

  When he says he’s going to make me his I know he means it with absolute certainty.

  And while the thought of getting my scarf and getting out of here seems appealing, if for no other reason that to allow him to hunt me down and enjoy the chase, that’s the last thing on my mind right now…because I want him just as much as he wants me.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  CHAPTER 8

  Anya

  Sergey opens the passenger door to his all black Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV and helps me in, his hand going right from holding mine to gentlemanly showing me into my seat.

  His car is masculine and sophisticated, just like him. The leather seats hug me and I feel safe, like I’m practically in a bulletproof tank, which is about how the SUV looks from the outside.

  I quickly pull out my phone and put a beacon on our location and send it to my cloud server. I set Google Maps to track me, just incase anything goes awry. I feel good about this, but I don’t want to be naïve.

  As soon as he gets in he puts the car in first and we’re off.

  So much for never getting in cars with strangers, not to mention how did this go from me leaving class to going on an instadate so fast?

  He stays on Ulitsa Kosygina, the road that hugs the river and just
a few short minutes later he pulls up to a valet.