44. Viviana
Vacation Mikhail is officially my favorite Mikhail.
Which is really saying something. Normal Mikhail is tough to beat. The man knows how to wear a suit. And the gruff Bratva pakhan who is always in control and never shows weakness revs my engine just fine.
But shirtless on a beach with his tan muscles rippling in the sunlight and saltwater curling the ends of his hair?
That’s even better.
Curse the person or persons responsible for such trivial things as “public decency” and “indecent exposure” and the phrase “get a room.” Because I can’t look at Mikhail without wanting to lay him out, taste every inch of him, and then go back for seconds.
Mikhail is standing down by the water, his feet in the surf. He stretches one arm over his head, arching into the movement to stretch his back. Every inch of the man is perfect. Tan skin stretched over muscles I didn’t think existed anywhere except medical textbooks.
I’m tucked away under an umbrella with a sunhat on, but I’m feeling suddenly flushed.
Holy hell, this is torture.
“Come play with us, Mama!” Dante waves a plastic shovel frantically in the air.
“Yeah, Mama,” Mikhail echoes, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Come play.”
The two of them have been working on a “sand mansion” for the last half-hour while I’ve been pretending to read my book. Really, the book was just a ruse. I’ve been peering over the top of the pages to watch Mikhail father our child… like the debauched pervert I am.
That’s what most perverts are into, right? Good parenting. Wholesome values. Strong paternal role models. Sick, twisted stuff like that.
I heave myself out of my lounge chair and across the sand. Some manual labor will be a good distraction from the dirty thoughts swirling around my head.
An hour later, we put the finishing touches on the sand mansion’s in-ground swimming pool just as the tide comes in.
Dante’s lower lip is getting wobbly with fear, so I try to lighten the mood. “I hope they have flood insurance.”
He doesn’t know much about insurance and it’s not a great joke anyway, so I can see the tears welling in his eyes.
Then Mikhail roars, throws Dante over his shoulder, and sprints away from the shoreline, screaming about a tsunami. Dante erupts in giggles. When Mikhail plops him in the sand, he hops up and chases Mikhail back towards the water, the ruined sandcastle already a distant memory.
Oh, yeah—Vacation Mikhail is the best.
We walk back to Mikhail’s beach house—one of half a dozen different beach houses dotted around the globe, I’ve learned—and dinner is already on the table. It’s fried pork and red beans with coconut rice on the side. Apparently, Mikhail keeps a local chef on retainer, so we’ve been eating nothing but the best since we arrived two days ago.
Even Dante digs right in. “This is my favorite food,” he announces around a mouthful.
“You’ve said that about every meal since we got here,” Mikhail points out with a laugh.
“Because they’ve all been my favorite.”
“I want to move here for that alone,” I whisper, jabbing a finger at Dante’s almost-clean plate. “He has never eaten so well.”
Neither have I. Clearly, keeping my hands off of Vacation Mikhail requires a lot of energy. I’ve been doing nothing but eating and relaxing since we got here, but I still end every day absolutely exhausted.
After dinner, Mikhail offers to read books to Dante. I climb into our bed wearing a skimpy baby blue nightie to wait for him. I even light a sea breeze candle next to the bed for ambience.
The next thing I know, I’m waking up to bird calls and sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Nooo!” I roll over and groan into my mountain of pillows.
My nightie is twisted around my body and I can feel some drool crusted on my lip. Not exactly the mood I was hoping to set.
“Not what I expected to hear from a woman who went to sleep early and slept in an extra hour this morning.”
I peek over at Mikhail. He’s sitting on the attached balcony with the doors wide open, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, wearing a button-down shirt with the top four buttons undone. The view of his hard-as-rock torso is not doing anything to ease my annoyance with myself.
“I wasn’t supposed to go to sleep early,” I complain. I try and fail to smooth down my bedhead as I sit up. “I had… plans.”
Last night, I would have dropped to my knees in front of Mikhail and let him touch the back of my throat. I was prepared to be a seductive vixen. We were going to defile every inch of this bedroom.
In the early light of morning, saying any of that feels embarrassing.
“Well, now, we have plans this morning.” Mikhail throws a white robe on the end of the bed. “My masseuse is here.”
“Your masseuse?”
“I make an appointment with her every time I stay here.” He unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall to the floor. Then, with no warning whatsoever, he drops his shorts as well. “Since Stella will be out with Dante all morning touring my animal sanctuary, I asked for a couple’s massage.”
I would gawk at the fact that he has his own animal sanctuary, but I’ve swallowed my tongue.
Mikhail doesn’t seem to notice as he pads naked to the closet, his firm ass flexing with every step. But when he pulls on his robe and turns back to me, he looks too smug to be completely innocent. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
When I get downstairs, I’m wound tight. I’m sure Mikhail’s masseuse is amazing, but this isn’t the kind of tension a couple’s massage is going to fix.
A woman I assume is the masseuse, given her clean, neutral uniform and soothing smile, is in the hallway outside of the downstairs guest room. She has a towel draped over one arm and a glass container of oil in the other.
“Good morning, Mrs. Novikov.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard my new name. I like it.
“Your husband is getting situated on the table,” she tells me. “You can go on in and join him. Once you’re both ready, I’ll come in and?—”
“Actually,” I interrupt, unsure of what’s going to come out of my mouth even as I’m speaking. “How much would I have to pay you to just… leave?”
She frowns. “I’m sorry?”
No, I’m sorry. I’m so horny I’ve lost my mind.
“I want to cancel the massage and I’ll pay you to quietly leave. Right now.”
She stares at me for a few more seconds, her expression blank. Then it hits her. I watch it happen. A blush spreads across her face and she swallows nervously, trying to hide her smile. “Would you like me to leave the oil?”
“That would be great.” I sheepishly take the bottle from her.
I wait until she is out of the house and well beyond earshot before I slip into the room.
Two massage tables are set up in the center of the room. The lights are dimmed and a few candles flicker in the corners. There’s a diffuser pumping some kind of essential oil into the air, but all I can smell is Mikhail. Mint and cedar.
Maybe it has something to do with how much of him is exposed. He’s face-down on the table and naked except for a small towel laying over his ass. He doesn’t move a muscle as I close the door.
My heart is thundering in my chest. I’ve been with Mikhail enough times that this shouldn’t be nerve-wracking, but it absolutely is.
Every time we’ve had sex before, it’s been almost by accident. One thing leads to another and suddenly, we’re fucking.
It’s a no harm, no foul situation. Completely out of my hands, more often than not.
But this is a choice I’m making. A risk I’m taking.
I try not to think too much about the deeper meaning as I drop my robe on the floor and stand next to the massage table. I pour oil into the deep ridges along his spine and spread it over his skin with trembling fingers.
Mikhail readjusts slightly, taking a deep breath. His ribs expand, his shoulders flexing. Then he settles… and I get to work.
I knead the tension out of his shoulders and his lower back with smooth circles, digging my fingers into his golden skin and bands of muscle. I have no idea if this is good for him, but it’s beyond great for me.
Eventually, I shift down to his legs and work the heel of my hand up the backs of his thighs and over his calves. I’ve never found a man’s calves attractive before, but I think I’ve discovered a new fetish.
Once I’ve finished with all the exposed parts of him, I shift to the final frontier.
Slowly, I slip the towel off of his ass.
Mikhail tenses. I know because I can see it. The muscles of his lower back pull taut and a single dimple forms in each cheek. I can’t resist pressing my thumb there.
“Where is my wife?” he asks, still lying face-down.
Some possessive part of my brain lights up at that. He thinks another woman is touching his ass and he asks about me. One gold star for Mikhail.
I don’t answer. My throat is closed tight with nerves.
So I slip my hand over his hip and curl it around to the front of him.
Before I even have a chance of touching anything, Mikhail snatches my hand away by the wrist and sits up. He’s been receiving a relaxing massage for the last fifteen minutes, but there’s nothing relaxed about his face now. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are narrowed. He looks like a bull ready to charge.
Then he sees me and it clears.
“Viviana.” He sits up and pulls me between his legs. His eyes slip over my naked body. “You’re not Paulina.”
“I hope that’s okay.”
My breasts are heavy and aching. I can feel my heartbeat between my legs.
He pinches my pointed nipple between two fingers and presses a kiss to my jawbone. “It’s more than okay.”
“Good.”
My hands are slick with oil and I wrap one around his quickly-hardening cock. I stroke him as I drop to my knees and then take him in my mouth. The oil tastes like mint, which makes me wonder what all Paulina uses it for. How often is this kind of thing happening for her?
“Fuck.” Mikhail leans back on his hands, his legs spread to make room for me. “This is the best massage I’ve ever had.”
I run my tongue along the underside of him, licking and stroking until his hips are bucking for more.
So I give it to him.
I slide down his shaft until my nose is pressed to his stomach. Until I can feel him twitch in my throat. Mikhail curls his fingers in the back of my hair, holding me there. “Goddamn, this mouth. Viv… this mouth.”
I come up for air and take him again, soaking up every moan and muscle twitch and curse word.
I didn’t realize until this very second how much I want to show Mikhail that I appreciate him. I could write a letter or buy him an edible arrangement, but we’ve never been good with words.
Thisis what we’re good at.
Thisis how we communicate.
As I swallow him down again and again, I hope he understands what I’m saying.
Mikhail fucks my mouth, his hands firm on either side of my face. I’m fine finishing him like this. I want to give him whatever he wants. But he pulls me off of him, panting.
I stand up. “How do you want me?”
He roughly palms my breast. His eyes are black. “Careful asking a question like that, Viviana.”
I bite my lower lip and repeat, “How do you want me?”
He grips my chin and pulls my lips to his for a quick kiss. “You’re the masseuse. You tell me.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, but I fight to look more confident than I feel.
I lay him on his back and crawl onto the table, stroking my fingers over his oiled-up skin. I massage his pecs and his abs, trickling my fingers over every single ridge and valley. When I follow the trail of golden hair beneath his stomach, his cock twitches.
I wrap my hand around him, making long, even strokes. “You hold a lot of tension here. I can help with that.”
I straddle him backwards and slowly lower down onto him.
“You’re perfect.” He grabs my ass and thrusts into me, sinking in the rest of the way. “Fucking perfect.”
The words pierce straight through my already-flimsy armor.
I thought I wanted to show Mikhail I appreciate everything he’s done for me. I thought I was in lust with Vacation Mikhail and fucking him would clear my head. But I think this goes deeper than that.
Mikhail presses on my lower back and leans me forward, groaning as we find a new angle.
“I’m so fucking deep in you,” he growls.
You have no idea.
I fall onto all fours and Mikhail quickly resituates and enters me from behind. He forces me down onto the massage table until my cheek is squished against the cushion. He drives into me harder and harder and I’m grateful.
When he’s fucking me like this, I can’t think about anything except taking him.
Then, suddenly, Mikhail slides out of me and flips me onto my back. I feel exposed in every way imaginable. Like all he has to do is look down and see the thoughts running through my head.
This isn’t a business deal.
I want everything you can give.
I’m weak and pathetic and I fell for you, even though I swore I never would.
He hooks my legs over his shoulders and enters me slowly, watching my face to see how I react to every stroke.
Tears well in the backs of my eyes, but I blink them back.
I am not going to cry during sex. I am not going to cry during sex.
He circles his thumb around my clit. There’s no rush to his movements. He is content to take his time, but I feel like I’m cooking over an open flame. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to say something stupid. I’m going to tell him I love him.
I clench every muscle I have, squeezing him. He groans, an eyebrow arching. Then he smirks. “Do it again.”
I tighten around him and his mouth falls open. He tips his head back and I can see his pulse pounding in his throat.
“You’re so tight.” His thumb picks up pace and now the spasms are beyond my control. My pussy flutters around him.
I paw at his chest. “I’m close.”
His jaw is clenched with the effort not to finish first. “Come around me, Viviana. I want to feel you. I want?—”
His words are lost to a roar as my orgasm tears me wide open, taking Mikhail down with me.
But as I cry out, tears pricking the corners of my eyes, I can’t help but wonder what Mikhail wants.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s me.