Chapter 8
Kaya
The second Mikhail disappears into the bedroom, I notice the fill in the hole on the door. Instead of replacing the entire door, they’re gonna patch it up. I like the color of the wood, and it matches everything in this beautiful home I’m pretty sure Ivana decorated for me.
I dig my phone out of my purse, walk outside, and call her. It rings several times. I call again and again until she finally picks up, her voice sounding sleepy.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“It’s fine. How are you guys doing?”
Around this time last year, I met Ivana at a charity function, and we hit it off pretty fast, talking long into the night and getting drunk after everyone left.
Things slipped past our mouth filters, and she remembered, called me a few days later with a proposal.
We met again, and she encouraged me to set up a furniture place and funnel money there without my brother or father knowing.
It was supposed to be a bogus company, kind of like one of those the worldwide Mafias are running, but I fell in love with the idea and stuck with it, letting it become the real deal.
A few months back, when we plotted our mutual escapes, hers from this lifestyle and mine from my brother, who kept taking most of my profit citing old family rules that died in the fifth century, she came up with Mikhail.
She showed me pictures, assured me he’d treat me well, and asked I don’t judge him for being a little rough around the edges.
At first, I refused her idea. Who wanted to marry a Russian mobster that looked like he wanted to murder everyone in his path?
But when my brother started poking around, he got real close to the furniture company and the thousands I stashed there, Ivana moved in again.
This time, I agreed, and she asked that we play this smart, citing that if it were guys playing girls, we would never even have to have two conversations.
We’d move in for the kill, positioning ourselves for maximum protection.
Her ruthlessness didn’t suit me, but she’s a survivor, and damn it, so am I.
I couldn’t let my brother take my money.
We had to play him, make it look like it was his idea, and that he’d make more if he married me off. That last part was true.
I played the part, and now I’m done and ready to move on with my new life, which means actually have a relationship with my husband. If possible.
“He’s upset about the shots I did for Blake’s cologne. He’s only seen the ones from Rogue. What he’ll do when the commercials come out, I don’t know.”
“That’s expected. What’s upsetting him? Blake or your creative expression?”
I chuckle. “The creative expression. The almost nude one.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m surprised Blake isn’t bothering him.”
“Well, he did meet Blake at the gym.”
“And pounded him, of course. I’m sorry I missed that,” she says. Bile rises in my throat. The sight of Mikhail’s bloody and swollen face makes me nervous, and my belly rises when I get nervous. Ivana continues, “You’re gonna have to give up the almost nudes then.”
“But why should I?”
“Because he’s not gonna fold and you like him and you want this to work, and if you go back, your brother will take every penny you make, and I will have to return to work because Mikhail’s finances are gonna get fucked with no deal.”
“My inner feminist is upset.”
“Your inner feminist isn’t gonna take care of you and fuck you every night, is she?”
I laugh because Ivana gives me perspective. “How is my brother?”
“He poisoned me.”
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“I’m alive, so it’s fine.”
“You sound sick.”
“I am sick but that’s fine.”
“Oh, Ivana, why didn’t you call me earlier?”
“There’s nothing you can do. I’m riding it out. Listen, don’t tell anyone and do not tell Mikhail anything about anything.”
But I want to. “Got it.”
“No, you need to understand that if you tell him you’re broke ’cause your brother has been taking from you, he’ll come after your brother, which means all our assets are gonna be exposed, and I don’t mean just bank accounts and companies and stocks and that bunch of shit I gotta work on today and can’t, but also the people we have in South Africa and people your brother has in the US. Don’t set Mikhail off. Please.”
Damn. I’ve been a part of this kind of life since birth, but nobody ever included me in any of it.
I’d never heard anything like this before.
Assets? Jesus, who talks like this? We do.
We, my husband and I and the people with us.
“I won’t compromise the we,” I tell her, even though she doesn’t know what I’m saying.
“How do you like the house?” she asks, groaning.
“It’s gorgeous. Is there something I can get for you?”
“And the sex?” she asks, avoiding talking about herself.
Mikhail is a rough lover. Seductive, dominant, and giving, while taking control of me at the same time. I expected rough from him. I didn’t expect I’d enjoy it as much as I did or that I’d crave the kind of confidence he projects in the bedroom. “Yeah,” I say. “Oh yeah, it’s good.”
Ivana chuckles. “Has he proposed?”
Ouch. “No.”
“Do not sign until you have him on his knees. Gotta go be sick again. Bye.”
We hang up, and I slip back inside, running a palm over the smooth gray suede couch and fixing the decorative pillows.
On my way to the bedroom, the pink pen practically glares at me, telling me this marriage doesn’t even exist and Mikhail could walk away a free man anytime, maybe even tonight.
I approach the license and tap the pen against it, debating.
I want him. He seems to want me. Unlike Ivana, I haven’t lost faith that love will prevail even if I’m hiding the fact I know Ivana worked for me as much as she worked for him.
We girls have to stick together and help each other out, not tear each other down.
I’ll keep secrets for me and him and her.
Besides, everyone has secrets and even in a marriage, two people are allowed their own private thoughts, or risk losing themselves so completely, they’ll forget who they were in the first place.
I sign the paper and instantly feel like a burden has lifted off my chest. My brother can’t touch me. Nobody can because my husband is gonna kill for me, and that’s what he offers: protection, safety. Alone, I’m not able to secure those things for myself, not in this kind of lifestyle.
God knows I’ve tried running, moving to different states, even considered a name change so my brother wouldn’t find me to control what I do and how I do it.
There were also those times when he would slide a hand down the opening of my dress in the back, and I felt like he would cross the line and that creeped me out. I knew I needed to get away from him.
In the bedroom, I find Mikhail propped up on a pillow, one strong, tattooed arm under his head, sheets covering only his groin so my eyes immediately slide from his face down his hard abs and strong muscular thighs.
I memorize his tattoos. The lion on the chest, some sort of crest on the thigh, and as I round the bed and sit beside him, I read one under his rib cage.
The villain is her hero.
I trace it with a fingertip. “What’s that mean?” I ask.
Pretending to ignore me, he watches TV. He’s a grouch tonight, though he can pretend to be mad all he likes when I see the tent rising between his legs. The great thing about being a woman is that men don’t know when we’re aroused. Guys have it harder in that department.
“It means what it says,” Mikhail says, adamant about watching TV and being a grump.
Smiling, I kneel between his legs and block the TV. He’s giving me a bored look with his one good eye as if he’s got it all under control, when really, his dick is mine, and we both know it.
There’s something empowering about being able to make this man succumb to his urges when he’s trying not to.
I slide my hand under the sheets and grab his hard length.
When I hear his groan, I get a sense of victory, and I bend to take him into my mouth, tasting precum as the tip touches my tongue.
I suck him hard, hollowing my cheeks and moving my head up and down, just waiting for the moment he’ll fist my hair and move me anyway he pleases.
He doesn’t disappoint. Mikhail grabs a fistful of my hair and strokes my cheek with his other hand, tapping it a bit as if he’s slapping but not quite, so I don’t know if I’m turned on or not and it puts me on edge but also makes me hot, and makes me want to suck him harder, though there’s very little I can do when he’s guiding my head and choking me on his length.
Tears accumulate in my eyes as he won’t let up, buried all the way to block my airway. I look up and tap his thigh. He smirks, lets me breathe a little, then forces my mouth back to work on him.
I grab his heavy balls and weigh them in my palm, then start sucking on those too while pumping him with my hand. When I think he might cum, I stop and climb atop him, align my opening, and sit on top of him.
Mikhail is long and large and fills me so completely that I sigh as I move over him, feeling how his length rubs against my spot and the way his fingers move over my clit, flicking it to get me off.
I lean my palm on his hard chest and move only my hips, which makes his length hit the back side of my channel too.
I love how his hand lands on my ass. He spanks me, then spreads my cheeks to rub my little hole.
He flips us over.
I yelp at the sudden change.
He spreads my legs and kneels between them, runs a hand over my pussy, slaps it.
I yelp, then groan as he sticks fingers inside me and pumps.
I’m thinking he’s gonna get me off, but he takes them out and coats his dick.
Scooting closer, he lifts my hips and arranges me closer so when the head of his cock hits my back hole, I know what Mikhail wants.
Briefly, he pauses before he enters there, watching me maybe for protest, maybe for permission, and I wiggle, telling him without words I want this.
His cock feels massive as it probes and stretches my small hole, and I grip the sheets.
“Relax the muscles,” he says, voice hoarse and horny. He rubs my thighs as he slowly pushes inside, and I sigh as the big tip passes the entrance and the length of him is in.
Mikhail moves in and out of my ass, one hand rubbing my thigh, the other working my clit.
It all starts out slow and gentle, but as he moves in and out of me, he picks up the pace, his jaw tightening, his muscles straining.
I bet he’s holding back, trying not to go too fast or too hard.
I can appreciate that. I love him for that.
He falls over me and cups my face, still moving inside me. I feel my orgasm building. I kiss the corner of his lips, needing that bit of intimacy I crave from him besides sex.
He surprises me and kisses my nose, cheeks, each eye, forehead while moving faster inside me.
It’s both slow and fast, affectionate and hard, and I’m confused, torn between wanting him to fuck me harder and wanting him to hold me, and he’s so complicated and interesting, and I grab his shoulders, holding on to them as he whispers in my ear, “I own you.”
I cum, my body bending, pussy empty yet coming anyway. It’s one of the best orgasms I’d ever had, made better when I feel a jet of his cum shoot up inside me.
He collapses over me, and for a while, I know nothing besides the scent of him. He smells like strength and dominance and man, and if he has to own me completely to give me what I need from him, then that’s good for both of us. “Yes, you do.”
He props himself up on his elbows and withdraws from me. I feel the tickle of his cum and think about the fine sheets. “I’m thinking about the sheets right now,” I say.
“Hm?”
“The sheets are gonna get stained.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
He flips onto his back and scoops me with him. I rest my cheek on his chest.
“Watch the History channel with me,” he says.
“Why history?”
“Because if I know what happened in the past, I can forecast the future. It tends to repeat itself, just not in the exact same way. You like history?”
“I don’t like or dislike it.”
“You’ll learn to like it.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
“Are we on the same page for the modeling thing?” he asks.
“We are.” I look up at him, wondering if he’ll note I used we the way he wanted me to.
“We’re good, then,” he says. “I can sleep now.”