Chapter 6Phoebe
6
Phoebe
I stand at the front of the community center’s kitchen, twisting the hem of my apron. The eager faces of my first Scottish cooking class students stare back at me with excitement and curiosity. I’ve meticulously arranged workstations with traditional ingredients and left my grandmother’s recipes neatly printed on cards at each station.
“Welcome, everyone,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “I’m Phoebe MacKenzie, and today we’ll be making rumbledethumps, a traditional Scottish dish.”
I begin to explain the history of the dish just as the door swings open. I blink in astonishment as Mikhail walks in, a warm smile on his face. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, a far cry from his usual impeccable suits, but he still stands out.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, his deep voice carrying across the room. “I hope there’s still room for one more?”
I blink, momentarily stunned. “Of course,” I manage to say. “There’s an open station in the back.”
As he glances at the empty workstation, I notice the curious glances from the other students. He seems oblivious to the attention as he stares at me. “I wanted to understand your passion better,” he says quietly as he passes me. The simple statement sends tingles through my body.
With Mikhail’s unexpected presence, my nervousness melts away. I launch into the lesson with renewed enthusiasm, explaining the ingredients and their significance in Scottish cuisine. “Rumbledethumps is a hearty dish,” I say, holding up a potato. “It’s comfort food at its finest, made with simple ingredients that were readily available to Scottish farmers and crofters.”
As the class progresses, I move from station to station, offering guidance and sharing anecdotes. “My gran used to say a good rumbledethumps could warm you up faster than a dram of whisky on a cold Highland night,” I tell a group of giggling women.
When I reach Mikhail’s station, I’m charmed by his attempts at cooking. His usual grace and confidence are nowhere to be seen as he awkwardly peels potatoes, his brow creased in concentration.
“Having trouble there, Mr. Sokolov?” I tease, unable to keep the smile from my voice.
He looks up with a rueful grin. “I’m beginning to think I should stick to takeout. How do you make this look so easy?”
I laugh, stepping closer to demonstrate. “Here, like this,” I say, taking the peeler from his hand. Our fingers brush, and I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. “You want to use long, smooth strokes.”
I guide his hand, showing him the proper technique, and I’m acutely aware of his presence behind me. His chest is barely an inch from my back, and warmth radiates from him.
“Like this?” he asks, his breath tickling my ear.
I swallow hard, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yes, that’s perfect,” I say, sounding breathless even to my own ears.
I step away, clearing my throat. “Just keep practicing,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
I move on to the next station, but Mikhail’s gaze follows me. The intensity makes me burn everywhere. When it comes time to taste the finished dishes, I make my way around the room, sampling each student’s creation. Finally, I reach Mikhail’s station.
He stands back, looking worried when I take a bite. The moment the food touches my tongue, I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. The potatoes are undercooked, the cabbage is overcooked, and there’s far too much pepper.
Mikhail watches me intently, waiting for my verdict. “Well?” he asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
I swallow with difficulty, then force a smile. “It’s... unique,” I say diplomatically.
He narrows his eyes and takes a bite himself. His eyes widen, and he quickly reaches for his water glass. “ Bozhe moy ,” he mutters, grimacing. “That’s terrible.”
His reaction sends ripples of laughter through the class. To my surprise, he joins in, his deep chuckle resonating through the room. “I think I’ll stick to appreciating your cooking, Phoebe,” he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Clearly, I’m not cut out for this.”
I frown. “You can’t give up after one attempt.”
Despite the culinary disaster, he gamely tries another bite. “The dish may not be to my taste,” he says, addressing the class, “But Phoebe is an excellent teacher. My failure is entirely my own.”
His good-natured response and the way he’s charmed the other students make my affection for him grow even stronger. He easily chats with my other students, and I’m struck by how seamlessly he fits into this part of my life. He no longer stands out so dramatically, but it’s clear this isn’t really his environment either.
“Hey, everyone,” I say, clapping my hands to get their attention. “Let’s clean up, and then we’ll go over some tips for next time.”
As the students begin to tidy their workstations, Mikhail approaches me. “Thank you for letting me join your class,” he says softly. “I enjoyed seeing this side of you.”
A blush heats my cheeks. “Even though you didn’t enjoy the food?”
He laughs. “The company more than made up for it,” he says with meaning.
Before I can respond, one of the other students calls out a question, and I have to turn away. I answer their query about proper potato storage, and he remains behind me, a constant, soothing presence.
As the class winds down, and students begin to leave, Mikhail lingers. He helps me clean up, his movements efficient despite his earlier clumsiness in the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to stay,” I say as we wipe down the last counter.
He shrugs, smiling. “I wanted to,” he says simply.
I wipe my hands on a dish towel, stealing glances at Mikhail as he finishes drying the last of the pots. The kitchen is spotless now, but a crackling energy fills the air between us. My skin prickles with awareness of his every movement.
“I think we’re done here,” I say, my voice coming out huskier than I intended.
Mikhail turns to me with obvious desire smoldering in his blue orbs. “Are we?”
The double meaning in his words is unmistakable. My heart pounds as he takes a step closer, closing the distance between us. I can smell his cologne, a heady mix of citrus and something uniquely him.
“Phoebe,” he murmurs, his accent thicker than usual. “I don’t think I can pretend anymore.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Pretend what?”
He cups my cheek, and his touch sends sparks through my body. “That I don’t want you. That I haven’t wanted you since the moment I saw you.”
I press against his touch, unable to resist. “Mikhail, I?—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, his lips crashing against mine with a passion that leaves me breathless. I respond immediately, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him with a soft moan.
We break apart, both panting. Mikhail rests his forehead against mine. “Come home with me,” he says, his voice rough with desire.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He takes my hand, leading me out of the community center and to his waiting car. The ride to his penthouse is a blur of heated glances and barely restrained touches.
As soon as we’re inside his apartment, Mikhail pulls me to him again. This time, our kiss is slower and deeper, but no less passionate. He touches me all over, leaving trails of fire in the wake of his fingers. I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He breaks away long enough to unbutton his shirt, revealing a chiseled chest and abs that make my mouth water. I run my hands over his bare skin, reveling in the way he shivers under my touch.
I frown at a section of scarring on his right rib-cage. “What happened here?”
“An old injury,” he says dismissively. “It’s nothing.”
I want to ask more, because it looks how a gunshot wound might, I imagine, but he kisses me again while he works to undo the buttons on my blouse. He slides it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and I completely forget about anything else. Breaking the kiss, he steps back and lets his gaze rake over my exposed skin, making me flush with desire.
Mikhail bends down slightly to trail kisses along my neck and collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure through my body. I tip my head back as he moves lower, brushing his lips against the swell of my breasts. He reaches behind me to unhook my bra, freeing my aching nipples to his touch.
He closes his mouth around one nipple, sucking gently, while cupping my other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure. I moan softly, arching into him and wanting more. “Please, Mikhail...”
He releases my nipple for a moment, looking up at me with a wicked grin. “Please what?”
I can’t bring myself to say the words, so instead, I reach for his belt buckle, fumbling with the clasp. He chuckles, batting my hands away and unfastening it himself. As he pushes down his pants and boxers, I gasp at the sight of his thick, erect cock. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever seen before, standing proudly against his toned stomach.
My heart pounds as he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his clothes. He’s completely naked now, his muscular body on full display. I want nothing more than to explore every inch of him, but he has other ideas.
He picks me up easily, carrying me to the bedroom and laying me down on the bed. He strips off my remaining clothes, leaving me bare beneath him before joining me on the bed. His weight presses me into the mattress as he kisses me deeply while running his hands up and down my sides.
“So lovely, lyschka ,” he says.
“What does that mean?” I ask breathlessly.
“It means ‘little fox’ in Russian,” he says, nipping at my earlobe. “Because your hair is the same color of a fox in the autumn.”
I laugh, but the sound turns into a moan as he begins kissing his way down my body. He pauses at my breasts, teasing each nipple until they’re hard peaks before continuing his descent. When he reaches my belly button, he swirls his tongue around it, making me squirm with pleasure.
“Do you like to be teased?” he asks before licking around my navel but not going lower. “How do you feel about edging, Phoebe?”
I pause. “I... I don’t know. I’m not even sure what it is.”
He grins up at me from between my legs. “It’s when I bring you close to orgasm over and over again without letting you come. It intensifies the experience when you finally do come.”
The thought of being denied release makes me nervous, but the idea also sends a thrill through me. “Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s try it.”
He dips his head lower, his tongue tracing a path along the inside of my thigh. I shiver with anticipation as he gets closer to my aching pussy, but he bypasses it entirely, moving to my other leg. He repeats this process several times, driving me wild with need.
Finally, when I think I can’t take any more, he flicks his tongue across my clit. The sensation is electric, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I cry out, arching my hips toward him, desperate for more.
He obliges, swirling his tongue around my sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth. I writhe beneath him, clutching at the sheets as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. Just when I think I’m about to tumble over, he pulls back, leaving me teetering on the brink.
“No.” I cry out, frustrated by the sudden loss of contact.
Mikhail chuckles, his breath hot against my skin. “Patience, lyschka . This is edging. Keep an open mind.”
He resumes his ministrations, bringing me to the brink once more only to deny me release yet again. I whimper in frustration, but he doesn’t relent. Instead, he continues his torturous assault on my senses, pushing me higher and higher until I’m practically delirious with need.
Once again, when I’m on the brink, he pauses to ask, “Have you been to Scotland recently?”
I let out a frustrated whine. “I can’t... you can’t expect me to have a conversation right now.”
“I suppose not.” Leisurely, he shifts position so he’s cupping my pussy. He starts lightly rubbing my clit while squeezing my labia. It’s enough to stimulate but not make me come. “But I still want to talk to you, Phoebe.”
“About what?” I manage to gasp out.
“Anything,” he says, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. “Everything. What do you like? What do you dislike? How did you get started with dog walking?”
“You... want to talk about that now?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes. Tell me something interesting about yourself, Phoebe. Every nugget of information gets you closer to orgasm.”
I wrack my brain for something to tell him to keep him talking and touching me. “Um, okay. My favorite color is green. Like the forest. Or emeralds.”
“Interesting,” he murmurs, sliding a finger inside me. “I like red. Like blood. Or roses.”
I groan as he begins to move his finger in and out, slowly stretching me. “My favorite food is pizza. Any kind of pizza.”
“Not one of your exotic Scottish dishes?” He seems genuinely surprised as his finger curls inside me, hitting a spot that makes me see stars.
“No. Pizza.” I pant as he adds another finger, increasing the pressure. “What about you?”
“Borscht,” he says immediately. “Beets are good for you. They help prevent cancer.”
“Really?” I ask, momentarily distracted from the sensations coursing through my body.
“Maybe. Maybe not? Either way, they taste good.” He laughs, then lowers his head to lick my clit again.
I moan, losing myself in the pleasure he’s giving me. His fingers and tongue work in tandem, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. Finally, when I think I can’t take anymore, he lifts his head. “One more question.”
I shake my head. “No. I want to come. Now.”
He laughs. “My question is simply this. Do you know how good your pussy tastes, and how much I’m looking forward to savoring your cream on my tongue?” With that, he lowers his head again, bringing his mouth to my pussy.
His tongue slides between my folds, seeking out my clit. When he finds it, he sucks it into his mouth, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. I scream his name, fisting my hands in the sheets as I ride the wave of ecstasy. I’ve had lovers and orgasms with other men, but none of them have ever put me through the ringer like this or brought me such pleasure.
While I’m coming down from my high, he’s crawling up my body, kissing me deeply. I can taste myself on his lips, salty and sweet. He breaks the kiss, gazing down at me with lust-filled eyes. “You’re beautiful when you come, lyschka . So fucking sexy.”
I blush, unable to form a coherent response. He smiles, brushing a curl away from my face. “Are you ready for more?”
I nod eagerly, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside me. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom from the drawer, and I take it from him, eager to explore his cock before it goes inside me.
I tear open the package and roll the latex sheath onto his thick shaft, marveling at its size. I stroke it a few times, enjoying the way it pulses in my hand. Mikhail groans, thrusting into my grip. “Careful. You don’t want to make me cum too soon.”
I grin up at him, feeling bold. “Maybe I do.”
He shakes his head, gently removing my hand from his cock. “Not tonight. Tonight, I want to be inside your dripping pussy when I cum.”
With that, he positions himself between my legs, guiding his cock to my entrance. I spread my thighs wider, welcoming him into my body. He pushes into me slowly, letting me adjust to his size. Even after all the teasing, he’s still big enough to stretch me almost to the point of pain.
Mikhail claims me one inch at a time, starting first with the tip, which he pushes inside me and stays still. I arch my hips, and he gives me a stern look. “There’s no need to rush.”
“Yes, there is,” I insist. “I want you inside me.”
He grins. “And so you shall have me.”
He eases in another inch, then stops again. I groan in frustration, but he ignores me. “I’ll always give you what you need and never more than you can take, Phoebe.”
I sigh, relaxing into the mattress as he continues his slow invasion of my body. By the time he’s fully sheathed inside me, I’m trembling with desire. He feels incredible, filling me completely. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“Any discomfort?” he asks before pressing a tender kiss to my forehead.
I shake my head. “I’m not a virgin.”
He scowls. “I know, and it pains me to think of others...” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I simply want to ensure I never hurt you.”
I smile up at him, touched by his concern. “You won’t. Please, Mikhail, fuck me.”
He growls deep in his throat, a sound that sends shivers of anticipation through my body. Then he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back into me. My words seem to have shattered his iron-clad self-control because he sets a punishing pace, pounding into me with wild abandon.
He grips my hips tightly, holding me in place as he slams into me over and over again. I cling to him, meeting each thrust with equal fervor. Our bodies move together in perfect harmony, as if we were made for each other. The head of his cock hits my sensitive spots perfectly, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me with every stroke.
The tension builds within me, coiling tighter and tighter until I can barely stand it. I cry out, begging him to let me come. He responds by reaching between us to rub my clit with his thumb. That’s all it takes to send me spiraling over the edge, and I let go with a breathless cry.
My orgasm triggers his own, and he buries his face in my neck, muffling his shout of release. His cock throbs inside me, pulsing with his climax. We cling to each other, riding out the storm of our shared passion.
When it’s over, he rolls off me, disposing of the condom before gathering me into his arms. I snuggle against him, sated and content.
We lay tangled together afterward, our bodies cooling in the aftermath of our passion. Mikhail traces lazy patterns on my skin, sending little shivers through me.
“That was...” I trail off, unable to find the right words.
Mikhail chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Incredible? Mind-blowing? Life-changing?”
I laugh, snuggling closer to him. “All of the above.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, tightening his arms around me. “I didn’t plan for this to happen tonight,, but I’m glad it did.”
I prop myself up on an elbow, looking down at him. “Really? You didn’t come to my cooking class with the intention of seducing me?”
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “If that was my plan, I would have made sure to actually cook something edible.”
We both laugh at that. As our laughter fades, I’m struck by the intensity of my feelings for this man. It’s terrifying how quickly he’s become important to me.
“Mikhail,” I say, my voice serious now. “What is this? Between us, I mean.”
He sits up, pulling me with him so we’re face to face. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Phoebe, but I hope you know that for me, this isn’t just a fling. I don’t often enter into something like this, especially not with a younger woman. If I do, it means it’s important, that I care about you.”
My heart swells at his words. “I care about you too. It scares me a little, how much. It’s like I know you, but I don’t yet. I’m scared to get hurt.”
Mikhail cups my face in his hands. “Don’t be scared, okay? I will protect your precious heart.”
I nod, leaning in to kiss him softly. As the kiss deepens, I feel desire stirring in me again. Mikhail seems to sense it too, because he pulls me closer, his hands starting to roam once more. We make love again, slower this time, savoring each touch and caress. Afterward, we lie facing each other, our legs intertwined. Mikhail strokes my hair, a tender gesture that makes my heart ache with affection.
“Stay the night,” he murmurs, his eyes already heavy with sleep as Masha tentatively creeps in, alerting me to the partially open door for the first time since we stepped into the room.
I snuggle closer, resting my head on his chest. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” I pat the bed, and Masha rushes to jump up and join us. Then I freeze. “You aren’t one of those people, are you?”
He frowns sleepily. “What people?”
“Who won’t let your dog in your bed?”
He laughs. “Does Masha look like this is the first time she’s slept here?” As he asks, the dog arranges herself against his back, laying her head on his hip.
I giggle at how relaxed she appears. “I guess not. Good thing, because that’s a total deal breaker.”
“I shall endeavor to never break any of our deals, lyschka .” He kisses my temple and is soon snoring, at least several decibels lower than Masha.
I drift off to sleep, wrapped in Mikhail’s arms, ruminating on how quickly my life has changed. A couple of weeks ago, he was just the mysterious owner of the dog I walked. Now, he’s become someone I can’t imagine my life without.