Chapter 11 Micah
ELEVEN
MICAH
The doors are all unlocked.
I discover that immediately after Ilya leaves, and I start to wander from room to room. It’s not like I think he’s hiding anything in plain sight, but on the off chance that there is something to find, I’d be remiss not to even try to look.
Even if I found something, though, it would probably be in Russian.
I give up after only a few minutes, returning to the living room.
The fish tank is the centerpiece of the room, taking up more space than even the TV.
I spot the same fish I had last time, small silver ones and the bigger one with its elegant tail.
This time, I notice a second one of the bigger fish, which must have been hiding before.
Everywhere I look, there’s a new detail for me to spot, from the way the branches connect to the rocks and how the entire hardscape leads the eye around the aquarium like a carefully composed artwork.
It’s peaceful to watch the fish swimming around within the confines of the tank, the subtle lighting illuminating them as they do. I watch, entranced, not sure how much time passes before I finally blink and step away.
I head for the couch to curl up in one corner, wishing Ilya hadn’t had to leave. It’s not like I’m not used to being alone; I am. Adam is gone for hours on end, and there’s nothing much to do beyond practicing my cello and cleaning up after him.
I bite my lip, thinking of the instrument that’s in the other room. I could play, but if Ilya returns while I’m playing and thinks it sounds horrible now…
It would crush me.
But I crave the feeling of playing, the sounds I can coax from the bow and strings, and I head into the guest room instead of continuing to feel sorry for myself.
There, I’m able to find something familiar in unfamiliar surroundings. My hands are shaking as I sit down in the chair in the corner of the room and run the bow across the strings.
I start to play, but I can only hear Adam’s voice ringing in my ears, and I stop as the first several notes carry through the room. Ilya was lying to me, probably to get into my pants. Should I give him the chance to flatter me again?
I sigh, hoping it doesn’t sound like caterwauling, and begin to play again. At first, it’s hesitant and I can tell that I’m disconnected from it, but as the moments pass, I get more absorbed in my playing.
It comes easily then, and I play and play, venting some of my frustrations and sadness through the instrument.
When I finally stop, I’m breathing hard, and I close my eyes. I feel better, refreshed, and I carefully put the cello back into its case. I wonder if Adam knows that we broke into the house to get my cello and wallet. He hasn’t texted or called me, so I don’t think he has.
Or maybe he’s just waiting to confront me.
I check my phone. It’s late, and I contemplate going to bed. Instead, I leave the room, heading for the kitchen. I stop in my tracks when I see Ilya sitting on the couch, and my cheeks heat up.
“Oh,” I say dumbly. “Hi. You should’ve… You should’ve interrupted me. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Ilya shakes his head. “No. It was beautiful. I was glad to hear it.”
Was it really? Or is he only saying that?
“Thanks,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I was just going to get some water. Is that okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ilya gets up. “Here, I’ll get it for you.” He laughs quietly. “Or a different drink. Do you enjoy vodka? I have a Russian vodka, better than what Americans drink.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to. I can get it.” I follow him as he goes into the kitchen. “I’m not really a big drinker, but thank you.”
I only drink wine when Adam gets it because he expects me to.
Ilya fills up a glass of water and hands it to me. I clutch it with both hands, unsure of what to make of this gesture.
“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” Ilya says.
I tense up.
Does he know why I’m here?
Has he figured out that I lied to him?
“It’s personal though. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand.” Ilya sits down at the kitchen island. “You said you like the flogger. How do you like it?”
The question is both terrifying and a relief, all at once, and I take a sip of my water to give myself time to think.
“I don’t know how to describe it,” I admit.
“But there’s a place where it stops going from shards of pain to pleasure, and there’s another point where I just…
drift.” I smile wistfully. It’s been a while since I’ve reached that place.
“Subspace, I guess. Everything feels so good, and it’s an escape from everything else.
” I fiddle with my glass. “I guess the whole experience is an escape from thinking, if only for a little while.”
Ilya nods, and I have the strange feeling that he’s really paying attention to every word.
When I talk to Adam, it doesn’t feel like he’s listening at all.
“I went to the BDSM club,” Ilya says. “I watched a man spank another man. And he used a paddle. Then my friend showed me how to use flogger.”
I blink at him. “You did?” I ask. “Why?”
I don’t know how to feel about the admission. Should I be jealous, or upset? I don’t feel either of those things. He isn’t mine, after all, and it’s touching that he’d be considerate enough not to try it when he could hurt me.
“Because you said you liked it.” Ilya laughs again, and I realize now that he’s nervous. This confident, dominant Russian mobster is nervous because of… me?
I don’t know what to make of this, but it’s endearing — which is not a word I’d ever have associated with someone like him. It’s accurate, though. He’s been so sweet with me, which I know has to be a departure from his day-to-day interactions.
I like it, though.
I like how it makes me feel.
“Did you like it?” I ask him, my mouth feeling dry. I take another sip of water, but it doesn’t help.
Ilya nods. “It was strange. I thought I would feel violent, like my father. I thought it would remind me of…” He looks down at his hands. “But it was controlled. The man I practiced on liked what I did.”
I want to go to him, to comfort him, but I don’t know how to do that. I lick my lips, then reply, “I’ve never been to a club like that.” Adam had introduced me to BDSM, and everything I’ve learned has come from him.
“Oh.” Ilya scratches his beard. After a few more seconds of silence, he says, “I bought a flogger while I was there.”
“Oh,” I echo, feeling even more baffled. “You did that for me?”
Now I really don’t know what to make of it all.
“My friend sent me websites too.” Ilya chuckles again. “I’m learning many new words. But I would like very much to learn them with you. I don’t care what strangers like. I want to do things you like.”
I’ve never done my own research into BDSM. I’ve always trusted what Adam has told me. I wonder what Ilya’s learning that I haven’t. “I… would like that too,” I tell him, my voice sounding strangely hoarse.
I’m terrified by the fact that it’s true.
I do want to learn these things with him, with someone I know will respect me when I say I’m not in the mood or that I don’t want to try something else.
I internally wince at my thought. Adam does care. He gets overzealous, that’s all.
Ilya extends his hand out to me, and I set the glass of water on the counter before I take it and let him pull me closer. He runs a hand over my jaw and smiles, his eyes so gentle.
“I kept imagining it was you,” Ilya says. “I liked the idea of hearing your voice like that. Of watching you tremble for me.”
I want that, too.
I wrap my arms around him, pressing in close to his body. “I like you a lot,” I say softly.
It’s going to kill me to betray him.
Assuming I even get anything useful out of him any time soon. If I don’t, do I get to stay in this dream forever?
“I like you a lot too,” Ilya answers.
He kisses me, and I open my mouth for him.
Like last time, he doesn’t instantly ravage me. He takes his time, running his tongue along my lips, gently nibbling, petting my hair as our breaths mingle.
I close my eyes, enjoying the way it feels to have his fingers running through my hair.
It makes me feel cherished, and special, and wanted.
It emboldens me to run my hands down his back, and I touch him with care.
He doesn’t pull away or snap at me, and we linger there, in that kiss, for so long I forget what the world outside of us looks like.
I forget about my task, about Adam. I only have room in my thoughts for Ilya.
When we break the kiss, I’m breathless and dazed.
Then Ilya scowls. He reaches up to wipe at the corner of my eye. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. I hadn’t even realized I’d started to cry. “It’s so much, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not bad tears.” I tilt my head up, beseeching him for another kiss. I want to kiss him like this will be the last I ever have.
Just in case.
Ilya gives me the kiss I want, and I get even closer to him. I get a leg over his thigh—
And I stumble, off-balance from the strange position.
I tense in anticipation of a reprimand.
Ilya only laughs. “Maybe my kitchen is not best place for this. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
I nod, though my heart is still pounding against my ribs as I wait for some sort of negative reaction.
Nothing comes of it. Instead, he takes my hand and starts to lead me out of the kitchen.
“Wait,” I say. “I need to put the glass away.”
I don’t want him to get angry at me later for having left any sort of a mess in there.
“It can wait,” Ilya responds. He squeezes my hand. “We have other things to do now.”
My anxiety still makes it difficult for me to let him coax me out of the kitchen, but I have to believe that it’s really okay.
I have to trust him in this, in a way he shouldn’t trust me at all.
Once we get into the bedroom, I pause, unsure of what to do. Adam would be grabbing me by now, dragging me to the bed, but Ilya isn’t that forceful with me.