Russian Next Door

by Flora Ferrari

  If this guy does try something, and the house isn’t bugged, then what?

  My training kicks in and I start thinking of all the possible escape routes and more importantly all the objects that could serve as weapons. I curse myself for not having thought this through earlier. He’s really throwing me off my game, so much so that I completely left the lemonade and the glasses on the counter earlier when I meant to take them over.

  “A lemonade?” I ask, trying to buy a second of time.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I grab two new glasses, fill them with ice, and pour the sweet and sour juice over ice cubes. I have the a/c on and this cool pitcher in my hands…so why do I feel so darn hot?

  I hand him a glass and he clinks his with mine before tipping the whole thing back like it’s nothing. My eyes move to that chiseled jawline which is raised as the last of the lemonade passes by his lips…lips that are masculine, yet not chapped or uncared for like often happens in this heat I would guess.

  “Another?” I ask before I’ve even had much more than a few sips of mine.

  “Please,” he says.

  I fill his back up wondering what in the heck this guy’s grocery bill is like on a weekly basis. I like that he’s big and unashamed to just drink the entire glass. There’s definitely no nipple on it, that’s for sure. The guy did not milk it one bit.

  His arm moves and I swear his entire forearm, which looks like corded rope, flexes, as does his chest. It causes my pussy to clench and come up empty and the thought of milking a drink suddenly takes on a whole other meaning.

  I can imagine Vasily inside me, filling me, on all these late nights we’re about to share. Having him as a neighbor is going to be great for whatever the F.B.I. wants, of course, but terrible for the things I’m finding myself wanting.

  What in the world has gotten into me? I’m not sure, but I know what I want to get into me.

  Him.

  “Want to grab a seat on the porch?” he asks.

  It sounds nice, but if the place is bugged I should probably keep him in here.

  “The couch is much more comfortable. I mean the couch and the chairs. I mean all the living room furniture.”

  He doesn’t bite on the accidentally sexual innuendo. “It’s such a nice day out. I’d hate to spend it inside.”

  He extends his hand toward the door offering for me to go first, but he doesn’t exactly move his body out of the way.

  I’m kind of pinned between the fridge and the small island bar behind him. I could walk the long way around but that would be weird, as would insisting we stay inside a second time.

  I turn my body sideways, sucking in and slide by him, not able to avoid brushing against him. Then again I probably could have made a better effort not too.

  My elbow catches a bit of his abs and wow, are they ever rock hard. I try and maneuver my body not to make it too obvious that I feel his muscles, but in doing so I brush against the fly of his jeans.

  I immediately feel his thick cock jerk to life and I practically jump forward into the open space past him.

  You’re here to do a job. You’re here to do a job. You’re here to do a job.

  I turn and see he’s right behind me, but when I look up at his eyes I catch them sweep over my body before quickly settling on mine.

  I put an extra wiggle in my walk and a few seconds later we’re on the patio.

  The two chairs that were here are gone, and all that remains is the swing…a two-person swing that wasn’t exactly designed for someone his size. Luckily my small size makes up for it though.

  “I had two chairs out here? What… Somebody stole them?”

  “Not stole. Somebody’s fixing them.”

  “Fixing them? What?”

  “You said you haven’t lived here long, but that water damage looks like it’s been whittling away for years. I took them over to my place. I’ll get them fixed up, stained, and back to you before the end of the week. It wasn’t safe for you to be sitting in those chairs.”

  “You took my…” Why am I looking a gift horse in the mouth here, not to mention he might do some of that work in his front yard…shirtless. Again. Then again maybe he’s going to plant some sort of device in or on them. Even if he tries that I can call in a unit while he’s out to give them a look. Maybe we’ll even learn something about Russian tactics. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you won’t be mad when I tilt the swing too far to one side,” he smirks.

  I look over at that swing wondering if it’s going to hold the both of us.

  “It’s not going to break. I can tell by looking at it.”

  “You can? Oh right, you’re the guy who’s fixing my chairs. Of course you can tell.” I take another sip of my drink as he moves toward the swing and sits down. The galvanized chain stresses and the top bar seems to bend just a little, but it holds.

  Keeping his feet in place his knees lock and release as he moves the swing back and forth. The thing is calling me, and I can’t help but answer.

  I move to the swing and sit down in the small space that remains, my arm brushing against his. I feel goosebumps form immediately as my feet reach for the ground, but come up short.

  “What is it that you do? I mean besides being such a good neighbor.” I ask.

  “I’m a social worker, with a heavy emphasis in information technology.”

  “Ah, so you like helping people. That says a lot.”

  “Kids mostly…and animals. I never really understood all the games adults play.”

  “Adults? But you’re—”

  “Thirty-seven and still haven’t figured it out…but I have figured out something much more important.”

  My eyebrows raise and I feel my body shake slightly. He let's that statement hang in the air and I’m not sure I’m ready to take the bait and oblige him.

  Do your job, Amanda. Don’t think out it, but he goes silent, allowing my thoughts to run wild.

  “What’s that?” I ask, succumbing to the silence and curiosity.

  “I want to kiss you.”

  My entire body freezes as his head moves closer to mine. I should tell him to stop. I should tell him I don’t want this, but that wouldn’t just be lying to him…but to myself.

  As he inches closer any attempts at logic are overrun by desire. My lips part softly and before I really know what’s going on his lips find mine, sending a warm tingling feeling throughout my body like one I’ve never experienced.

  He pulls away and I just sit there frozen, the swing no longer moving.

  “Are you okay?” I feel his gaze on me from the side.

  I nod. “I have to go,” I say, suddenly standing up and running back inside the house to the kitchen.

  My hand comes up to my chest as I try and catch my breath.

  Did someone see what just happened? Is someone from The Bureau watching me? Is this considered good or bad to them?

  Is this considered good or bad to me?

  I know how it felt…it felt incredible.

  But this is so wrong, and against everything I stand for. I despise bad people and we wouldn’t be watching Vasily if he weren’t…right?

  The one thing I never thought would happen in my life is happening. The line in between what’s right and wrong is being blurred. There’s a gray area and I’ve firmly stepped inside it.

  I’m angry with myself for what I did. But I’m even more upset that I liked it. Oh, did I ever like it.

  CHAPTER 6

  Vasily

  The next morning

  At fifteen minutes after nine in the morning I’m already at my desk and starting my first day of work. To say it’s uneventful would be the understatement of the year.

  First and foremost because one of our Kremlin connections somehow had a contact here at the orphanage, I was able to get the job as Head of IT without even interviewing. They don’t know they’ve hired a Russian at all. Sure, they see my name, which is very obviously Russian,
but with my lack of an accent and practiced mannerisms they think I’m an American guy, born and bred.

  I can’t say I wouldn’t know either. I have a social security number, from a dead guy of course, and my U.S. passport was fabricated by some of the best counterfeiters in the world back in Moscow. Carrying it with me on the plane was a bit dicey, but turned out to be fine.

  I don’t care about what I carried with me when I came here, all I care about now is what I’ve been carrying with me since the moment I arrived.

  Thoughts of her…my need for her.

  When she took off from the swing yesterday I thought to follow her inside to make sure everything was okay. I stayed a couple more minutes tossing the idea over in my mind as my stomach rolled over right along with it. The thought that I may have rushed her into something she wasn’t ready for was eating away at me, but I know I hadn’t. The way she leaned into the kiss, the little mewl sound that escaped her lips as I tasted her sweetness…not a chance. But still, there was a lot of internal conflict going on inside her and I need to find out why.

  There’s something she’s holding back, and not just her affection for me. Something’s going on in that sexy head of hers, and I need to get to the bottom of it.

  I check the security for the computer network at the orphanage and see they’re running a firewall that hasn’t been updated in over a decade. Unbelievable. I type in username “admin” and password “admin” and all the personnel files spring to life in the database in addition to all the information about each of these kids.

  The Kremlin would be doing a backflip if I told them how easy this was, but I don’t want to do anything of that sort.

  I need to buy time so I can continue to learn more about Amanda and show her my intentions are real and long term. I need time to bond with her, and not just in the physical way although that is the most pressing and the one that’s constantly on my mind.

  But right up there with it is this desire to know more about her.

  But first I have to secure the information for these kids. If someone hacked the network, and with the security non-existent as it is you can barely call it a hack…it’s just negligence, these kids could be at risk. Not looking out for kids or animals, things that are small and defenseless, makes me angrier than anything in the world.

  I know the ramifications firsthand and I’ll do anything I can to stop it.

  I get to work on a proper, proprietary firewall and not more than an hour later I’ve got it installed.

  Now for the password.

  There can be only one. Amanda2019AndMore***

  The system is secured, so now I go back and work on a few hacks, trying to take my mind off this woman if not for just a few minutes. This work requires intense focus, but all I can focus on is her.

  I move between screens and at one point lock myself out. I copy and paste the password in, and it unlocks, but then I hit paste again by accident and the system scans the database.

  There are ten Amanda’s that have been here at the orphanage, but my eye is immediately drawn to the first one.

  Amanda Andrews.

  She’s cute as a button and even though I barely slept last night, and my mind is probably playing tricks on me, I swear it looks like Amanda my neighbor.

  My Amanda.

  I hover over her picture and the cursor changes to a little hand, letting me know it’s a hyperlink.

  There’s more information about this girl.

  I stand up from my seat and exhale, not even realizing I was holding my breath for I don’t know how long.

  I reach down and touch my toes and then stretch up and touch the ceiling. What’s up with the eight-foot ceilings in this place?

  The quick movements have blood flowing through my body, but as usual since I first laid eyes on her the other night it’s congregating at my cock.

  I look back at that screen and see that little girl with a look of sorrow on her face. There’s something about the way she worries in that picture that reminds me of how she was worrying yesterday.

  It has to be her. It is her.

  And I have to know more.

  I step over the back of my chair and sit down, tapping the mouse and her file opens.

  It is her. Fuck.

  My eyes race across the lines as I read about her stay.

  Exemplary student. Extremely motivated. Highly motivated by revenge and revenge seeking.

  Revenge seeking? A child.

  My eyes move across the screen at lightning speed until they come to a screeching halt. I back up over the last sentence.

  Parent’s murdered while child present and witnessed. Responding officer says child was in shock, but ultimately able to give a statement of masked murderer, who child described as a juvenile. Child has suppressed some memories of the incident, but during initial weeks in the orphanage the child was heard repeating a name many nights in her sleep, but had no recollection of doing so, nor any idea of the relevance or significance of the name while awake. It appears child heard something during the attack, but the shock experienced has altered the timing and ability to recall it when awake. Name the child keeps repeating is--

  “Vasily!” a voice rings out and I flinch hard, instinctively clicking on the escape key which closes the screen, as my chair sliding away from the keyboard. “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on ya there,” the woman says, playfully punching me in the shoulder.

  I want to tell her to get lost, but I have to be polite. Plus it’s not like she’s a bad person, even though she did enter a secure area without knocking. At least it’s supposed to be secure like any corporate type IT office. I make a mental note to buy proper locks for my door.

  “We’re all having a meet and greet for some new kids who just arrived. Come on. I’ll show ya.”

  I want to get back to that report. I want to see who that fucker was who flipped my woman’s world upside down and make him pay. If he was a juvenile there’s even a chance he’s out now. He may be out of jail, or juvenile lockup or wherever they put him, but no one who does something like this is ever out of my reach. And this all assumes they caught him. Maybe the bastard is on the run. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to attempt to avenge what happened to her, although justice or avenging won’t bring back what this poor child needed most all those years ago.

  I know. I know what it’s like.

  “You ready?” the too friendly woman says.

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks for coming to get me.”

  I stand and this woman tries to take my forearm as if to guide me there. I flex and move my arm away firmly so she’ll know she has no right to touch me.

  I’ve kissed Amanda and as far as I’m concerned that makes her mine and me hers. I don’t believe in this dating around nonsense. As a matter of fact I don’t believe in dating at all, except in the sense of always keeping your relationship fresh, but even that doesn’t register with me.

  If you find the right woman, and I know I have, then you won’t need to make any effort at all, because making her happy and seeing that smile on her face will come naturally. It will be effortless.

  I want to be her hero…always.

  And my first chance just might be tracking this guy down and bringing him to justice…the Russian way.

  I don’t want her to live her life knowing this guy got away with it. I know I couldn’t, and I don’t.

  Because my parents were killed too.

  CHAPTER 7

  Amanda

  The reality of F.B.I. work set in today. “Hurry up and wait,” just like I’ve heard them say in the Marines.

  It’s a rush to get everything, collect data, get where you’re going…rush, rush, rush. But when you arrive you’re often very early and find yourself sitting around.

  That was me all day today.

  The harder part is I’m not being given much information on Vasily, so it’s not like I can make headway in the case against him, because I don’t even know what the case is.

&nb
sp; I did follow him this morning with my binoculars when he left. He went across the street to the orphanage, which of course made me a bit uneasy.

  It’s hard not to remember all the time I spent there growing up. Although those people treated me beyond fair, it’s still an orphanage, and not where someone would want to be.

  Especially not me.

  But it is what it is and that drives me these days.