Chapter 17
BANE
“I’m starving,” I say as I wiggle in the passenger seat, letting Georgiy drive us down the highway. We’re both fresh and clean, murder and blood sadly behind us, and my bruised lips from his kisses are currently smacking together nonstop.
I can still feel him against me. The way he bit me. The way his tongue slid against mine.
It’s making me hard just thinking about it.
“Stop making that noise,” Georgiy bites out from the driver’s seat.
“I can still taste you. I’m savoring it.”
He peers at me, and his lips twitch. “Very well.”
“It is very well. I would like to kiss you again. If you’d let me.”
“I’ll let you. When I’m ready.”
“Oh, so it’s going to be a surprise.” I rub my hands together and then rub my cock for good measure. It perks up at the sensation right before Georgiy drags my hand away from my crotch and links his fingers with mine.
This may be even better than a kiss.
It might just be the best ever.
“Stop touching yourself. We’re getting dinner and I don’t need you horny in a restaurant.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with being horny in a restaurant?” I gasp and then squeeze his hand a few times. “I could suck your dick under the table.”
“No. You won’t.”
“I mean, I could be really quiet.”
“Bane, you won’t suck my dick in the restaurant. The floor is dirty.”
“So?”
He sighs and then goes silent, his mind mulling over my offer, I’m sure.
“Behave until we get to the airplane, and then I’ll consider our options.”
That makes me wiggle even more. So much so that he has to press his hand to my thigh to get me to stop.
It doesn’t work. I wiggle in excitement all the way to the small restaurant he’s plugged into his GPS. I don’t know why he is insisting on this place. I don’t think Georgiy has ever been to Alabama, but he told me there’s no negotiating.
And I honestly don’t care.
I just want to eat a raw steak and then suck on his dick some more.
Maybe eat his ass for dessert, if he’d let me.
I giggle, and he peers over at me as he parks.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m imagining you letting me put my tongue up your ass.”
He turns the car off. “That will never happen.”
“You also told me you’d never touch me unless you were taking me apart, and look at us now. You kissed me.” I smack my lips again, and Georgiy grabs onto my chin, making me stop.
“I have. And now I wear your ring.”
“You do,” I breathe.
He meets my stare for a second. It’s charged and intense. He likes it. He likes me.
Mine. All mine.
“Come. Let’s eat. I can hear your stomach rumbling.”
It responds with a loud roar, and I hop out of the car, following Georgiy toward the entrance. I glance at the sign: Russian Supers.
Oh, is he taking me to a Russian restaurant? The only Russian food I’ve eaten was when I snuck around Mikhail’s house. It was delicious.
We step inside, and the first thing I see is the gold panels on the ceiling, before my eyes go to the red and blue chairs. The walls are rustic stone, and at the far end of the room is a wooden bar. For a place in rural Alabama, this place is quite busy.
“Are you going to feed me food from the motherland?”
He huffs. “Yes. I think it’s only fair.”
I bob my head as a hostess seats us. Apparently, he called ahead. I don’t know when he had the time, but he managed it. Of course he did.
“Right this way,” the woman says, her accent thick. Georgiy chats with her in Russian, and she smiles as she hands us the menus.
“What did you say?” I ask once she leaves.
“Just asking how long this place has been open.”
“And?”
“Five years. And it’s done well. There is a large Russian population here.”
“Who would have thought?”
“Da,” he says, his accent thickening. I love it when this happens. It makes me want to crawl toward him. Dirty floor or not. But he wouldn’t like that, so I don’t.
I just peruse the menu before he interrupts me. “If you’d like, I can order for us.”
“Oh. Yes. Do that. I want to try it all.”
“Any preferences?”
“No. I eat anything. Even ass.”
I waggle my eyebrows, and he shakes his head, moving his gaze back to the menu.
The server comes up, a handsome man who speaks to Georgiy in Russian and looks at him a little too long. Honestly, it makes me want to scoop out his eyeballs, but I know Georgiy is mine. He proudly wears my ring and he kissed me.
He doesn’t let just anyone do that.
“I ordered a few rounds of drinks and an appetizer,” he tells me.
“Good. I’m starving and could use a little alcohol. Could make me go really wild.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “You’re already wild, a feral thing.”
I grin, my chest puffing up. “I am very feral.”
The server brings two crystal glasses, both filled with clear liquid.
“Vodka,” Georgiy says, picking one up and holding it out. I’m meant to cheers him, to tap my glass against his. So I do, the clink settling somewhere in my balls. Then I watch as he pours it back, and I do the same, the liquid burning as it goes down.
“Whew, that’s strong.”
“It’s Russian. Of course it’s strong.”
“Just like you.” I think about what he’s told me, the way he was tortured. The strips of skin that were taken off him. He came back from it. Slightly bent, but strong.
It’s what drew me to him.
We’re more alike than he realizes. Or maybe he does know, and that’s why he likes me, why he wears my ring.
“Yes, just like me.”
He wets his lips, and I stare over at them, wanting to press my mouth to his once more. But I know I have to wait. So I distract myself, eager to know more about him.
“Were you born there?” I ask him, and he nods.
“Yes. I came here when I was sixteen.”
He’s opening up, answering questions I never expected him to. “Why?”
“For a more stable life. The economy wasn’t good in Russia, and America had more opportunities for us.”
“And who’s us?” I ask, the vodka sitting heavily in my stomach. I don’t normally drink, so it’s making me slightly buzzed.
“My babushka, dedushka, and me.”
“Tell me about them.”
He runs a hand across his jaw and then begins.
“My babushka was a hard woman. She lived a rough life, but she sacrificed a lot for me. She died when I was eighteen, and it was just me and my dedushka. He was—” He pauses and his hands flex on the table.
“He was hard on me. I think he expected me to do more with the life he gave me here in America.”
“And that’s why you became a surgeon?”
“Yes. There was no other choice. It’s a good thing I was good at it. I made him proud. I was exactly who he wanted me to be.”
“And were you exactly who you wanted to be?”
“I don’t know who I was meant to be, Bane. I still don’t know. But this is my life now, and I’ve accepted it.”
That makes my stomach clench. I want him to be happy. Maybe I can be that. Maybe I can be his happiness.
“And your parents?”
“They were murdered when I was young. Political reasons.”
“What political reasons?”
“My parents were academics. They spoke out too often and too loudly. It’s what got them arrested and executed.”
“Georgiy…I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is. I’m here now.”
“You are. You’re with me.”
“I am.”
He stares at me for a long time as an appetizer is set before us.
“Pierogi. Potatoes and cheese.”
“I love cheese.”
“If you didn’t like it, I wouldn’t trust you.”
“Same,” I say as I take a bite of one. “Oh, this is good.”
“Da, it is.”
“Is it your favorite?”
“Mhm.”
“Why?”
“It reminds me of my mother. She used to make these when I was growing up.”
“She had good taste.”
“She did.”
I watch as he takes a bite, his eyelids fluttering slightly. This is what he looked like when he was kissing me. Devouring me. Like his favorite food.
That gives me butterflies.
Another plate is set on our table.
“Cabbage salad,” he explains.
“Mm,” I say, dishing myself up and taking a bite. A tangy vinaigrette hits my taste buds, and I sit up a little straighter.
“I think I should have been Russian. You know, I love the food, and I bet I’d be a great drinker if I practiced enough.”
“You’re not nearly as grim and stoic as a Russian would be. You’re…soft.”
“Not that soft,” I bristle.
“No, not that soft.”
He grins at me and takes a small bite, his eyelashes fluttering once more.
“I bet you miss home,” I tell him, and his gaze meets mine.
“Which one?”
“Mikhail’s estate. Your house in the woods.”
“I do, but…” He meets my gaze. “You’ll come home with me.”
Those butterflies take flight, and I wiggle so much in my seat that I nearly topple out of it. Thankfully, the server distracts us with new drinks. Mineral water and an imported Russian beer.
“Drink, Bane of my existence. Stop wiggling so much.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Stop wiggling and you can suck my dick.”
“Right now?” I ask excitedly.
“After.”
That has my butt stilling, and I alternate between each drink. The mineral water makes me burp, and the beer makes me even more buzzed.
This is strong stuff.
I can’t wait for dinner to be over.
But at the same time, I want to savor every bite. This is a part of him—his home, his ancestry. I want to enjoy it. To know him better. He brought me here so I could experience him. Could understand him.
If only I could offer him the same thing.
But I can’t. The only things I know about myself are the memories that infiltrate my dreams and my first name. I know nothing else.
I know nothing.
That makes my eyes water slightly, and of course, Georgiy picks up on it.
His keen eyes miss nothing.
“You’re sad.”
“I just wish I knew my past, knew who I belonged to. I know nothing about where I come from.”
He reaches out and turns his palm over, and I let my fingers link with his.
“In Slavic mythology, the world was created out of darkness. But there was an egg, and when it cracked open, Svarog climbed out, and the debris created everything we have today.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re from the earth, Bane. You crawled out of the darkness and created the life you have now. I envy you.”
“Why?” I breathe.