Chapter 9Phoebe
9
Phoebe
T he kitchen bustles with energy as I chop vegetables for the Cullen skink. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board fills the air, blending with the simmering of the pot on the stove. The aroma of leeks and potatoes wafts through my small apartment, reminding me of cozy evenings in Scotland.
My phone lights up, interrupting my cooking flow. It’s a message from Mikhail. He’s running late for our lunch date but promises to make it up to me. I frown, setting down the knife. Lately, he’s been so distracted. I push aside the thought and return to my prep work, not wanting to dwell on why that might be. Is he getting bored with me? No, I won’t think like that.
The doorbell rings just as I’m finishing up. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and hurry to answer it. Mikhail stands there as handsome as ever in his tailored suit, but something’s off. His usual confident smile seems strained.
“Hey,” I say, stepping aside to let him in. “Everything okay?”
He nods, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Of course. Just a busy morning at work.”
As he moves past me, I notice a small cut on his hand. “What happened there?”
Mikhail glances at his hand, as if just noticing the injury. “Oh, this? It’s nothing. I was trying to recreate your rumbledethumps last night. Turns out I’m not as skilled with a knife as you are.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You were cooking?”
He laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Attempting to, anyway. Let’s just say I won’t be quitting my day job anytime soon.”
Something about his explanation doesn’t sit right with me, but I push aside the doubt. Instead, I focus on the warmth in his gaze as he looks at me.
“Come on then,” I say, leading him to the kitchen. “Let me show you how it’s done properly.”
Mikhail follows, resting his hand lightly on the small of my back. The familiar touch sends a shiver through me.
“So, what’s on the menu today, Chef MacKenzie?” he asks, peering into the pot on the stove.
I grin, picking up my wooden spoon. “Cullen skink. Perfect for a chilly day like today. Want to help me finish it up?”
He hesitates, glancing at his injured hand. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I might do more harm than good.”
“Nonsense,” I say, handing him a spoon. “Here, just stir this while I chop the rest of the leeks.”
As we work side by side in my tiny kitchen, the tension I sensed earlier seems to melt away. Mikhail relaxes, his shoulders losing their rigid set. He even cracks a few jokes about his culinary ineptitude.
He leans against the counter as I add the final ingredients to the pot. “I could get used to this.”
I look up at him, heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his blue eyes. “Used to what?”
“This.” He gestures around the kitchen. “Cooking with you and spending quiet afternoons together. It’s... nice.”
I smile. “It is nice, isn’t it?”
Mikhail sets down his spoon and steps closer, cupping my cheek. “You have no idea how much I needed this today, Phoebe. Thank you.”
Before I can respond, he leans in and kisses me softly. I melt into him, forgetting all about my earlier doubts and concerns when it’s just us, the comforting aroma of home-cooked food surrounding us.
When we break apart, Mikhail’s smile is genuine, reaching his eyes this time. “When do we get to eat this mysterious skink of yours?”
I laugh, turning back to the stove. “It needs to simmer for a bit longer. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about your day? What’s got you so stressed?”
His expression clouds over for a moment before he schools it back into a neutral mask. “Oh, you know, just the usual business headaches. Nothing worth boring you with.”
I want to press further, to understand what’s really going on with him, but something in his tone stops me. Instead, I nod and change the subject. “How about I give you a sneak peek of my next cooking class while we wait? I’m thinking of introducing haggis to my unsuspecting students.”
Mikhail’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Haggis? Isn’t that the one with sheep organs?”
I grin mischievously. “Yes.”
As I launch into an enthusiastic description of my lesson plan, Mikhail listens attentively, his earlier tension seemingly forgotten. We laugh and joke, the warmth between us growing stronger with each passing moment.
Yet, even as I bask in the comfort of Mikhail’s presence, a small part of me can’t ignore that there’s more going on than he’s letting on. The cut on his hand, his distracted demeanor, and the vague answers about his work... It all adds up to something, but what?
I try not think about it, focusing instead on the man in front of me and the delicious meal we’re about to share. Whatever’s going on with Mikhail, I trust he’ll tell me when he’s ready. For now, I’ll savor this moment of domestic bliss, hoping it’s just the first of many to come.
A few days later, the rich aroma of smoked haddock fills the kitchen as I stir the simmering pot of Cullen skink. My students huddle around their workstations, chopping leeks and potatoes with varying degrees of skill. I scan the room, gaze landing on Mikhail. He’s bent over his cutting board, brow gathered in concentration as he dices an onion with surprising precision.
“Remember to keep your fingers tucked under,” I call out, demonstrating the proper technique. “We want tasty soup, not finger soup.”
A few chuckles ripple through the class. Mikhail looks up, flashing me a grin that makes my heart skip. He’s come a long way from his initial disgust at rumbledethumps.
I move between the stations, offering guidance and encouragement. When I reach Mikhail, I pause, admiring his neat pile of vegetables.
“Not bad for a beginner,” I say, nudging his shoulder playfully.
He raises an eyebrow. “I had an excellent teacher. Plus, I may have practiced a bit at home after lunch the other day.”
The image of Mikhail in his penthouse kitchen, painstakingly chopping vegetables, brings a smile to my face. “Is that so? I thought you were just naturally talented.”
“Oh, I am,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief, “But even natural talent benefits from a bit of... polishing.”
Our gazes lock, and for a second, the busy kitchen fades away. Then a student calls out a question, breaking the spell.
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “Let’s get those vegetables into the pot, shall we?”
As the class progresses, Mikhail is fully engaged in every step. He listens intently, asks thoughtful questions, and even helps a fellow student struggling with her roux. It’s a far cry from his initial skepticism about Scottish cuisine.
Finally, it’s time to taste our creations. We ladle the steaming soup into bowls, the creamy broth dotted with tender chunks of fish and vegetables. The anticipation in the room is palpable as everyone takes their first spoonful.
Mikhail’s eyes widen as he tastes his soup. “This is incredible,” he says, genuine surprise coloring his voice. “It’s not as good as the one you made me for lunch the other day, but it’s delicious.”
Pride swells in my chest even as some of my other students titter and look intrigued at his casual mention that I made him lunch.
He takes another spoonful, savoring it. “You’ve opened my eyes to a whole new world of flavors, Phoebe.”
As the class wraps up, he helps me clean the kitchen. We work in companionable silence, our hands brushing occasionally as we pass dishes back and forth. Each touch wakes my nerve endings, and I seek out these small moments of contact.
As he dries a pot, he says, “I think I might be developing a taste for Scottish food.”
I laugh, handing him another dish. “Does this mean I can finally introduce you to traditional haggis without fear of revolt?”
He mock-shudders. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Baby steps, remember?”
Our laughter mingles in the now-quiet kitchen. As Mikhail meticulously wipes down the counters, warmth fills me. It’s more than just attraction or the thrill of a new relationship. It’s the joy of sharing something I love with someone who genuinely wants to understand and appreciate it. “Thank you,” I say softly.
Mikhail looks up, a question in his eyes. “For what?”
“For this.” I gesture around the kitchen. “For making an effort to learn about something that’s important to me. It means a lot.”
He sets down the cleaning cloth and moves closer, placing his hand on my waist. “Anything that matters to you matters to me. I want to know every part of you, including your Scottish heritage.”
The sincerity in his voice makes me inhale sharply. I lean into him, savoring the warmth of his body against mine. “Even the parts that involve sheep organs in intestine casings?”
He chuckles. “Even those parts. Though I might need a bit more convincing on that front.”
I tilt up my head, meeting his gaze. “I’m sure I can come up with some persuasive arguments.”
His eyes darken, and he leans down, lips hovering just above mine. “I look forward to hearing them.”
As our lips meet in a slow, deep kiss, I melt into him. The lingering scent of smoked haddock and herbs surrounds us, a reminder that we’re in a public space. When we finally part, both slightly breathless, he rests his forehead against mine.
He asks with a trace of playfulness, “What’s next on the Scottish cuisine adventure?”
I grin, already mentally planning our next culinary exploration. “How do you feel about tablet?”
“Tablet? Like an iPad?”
“Not quite.” I laugh. “It’s a kind of sweet. Imagine fudge, but even more indulgent.”
Mikhail’s eyebrows rise with interest. “That sounds promising. When can we try it?”
“How about this weekend? You can come over, and I’ll show you how to make it.”
He nods, pulling me closer. “It’s a date. Though I have to warn you, if it’s as good as this soup, you might have created a monster.”
As we finish cleaning up, stealing glances and touches along the way, I’m looking forward to our next culinary adventure. There’s something magical about sharing my passion with Mikhail, watching him embrace it with such enthusiasm. It makes me wonder what other surprises he might have in store and what other sides of himself he’s yet to reveal.
When we finish, he asks, “Do you want to come back to my place for…dessert?”
I eagerly nod and follow him out to his waiting SUV. Vlad ferries us across the city as we hold hands and giggle while talking softly like a couple of teenagers on a first date. I’m awash with anticipation when we finally reach his building.
The elevator ride to Mikhail’s penthouse is charged with tension. We stand close, not quite touching, but I can feel the heat radiating from him. The soft ding announces our arrival, and he leads me out with a gentle hand on the small of my back.
As soon as we step inside and the door clicks shut behind us, he spins me around. His eyes blaze with desire as he cups my face in his hands. Without a word, he pulls me into a deep, passionate kiss that steals my breath away.
I melt into him, gripping his shirt to steady myself. His lips are insistent, demanding, and I respond with equal fervor. We stumble backward, neither willing to break the kiss. My back hits the wall, and he presses against me, his body hard and unyielding. His hands roam down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
“Phoebe,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice husky with desire. “You drive me crazy.”
I pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. The raw need I see there matches my own. “Then do something about it,” I say with sass.
A low growl escapes him, and suddenly, I’m in his arms. He lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bedroom, his lips never leaving mine.
We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing. His touch is reverent as his fingers trace every curve and dip of my body like he’s committing it to memory. I arch into him, craving more.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure for what I’m asking.
Mikhail understands. He always does. He kisses me deeply, exploring my mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. At the same time, he tugs up my dress to my waist, teasing me by stroking the elastic of my panties.
I squirm beneath him, desperate for more contact. He chuckles softly, breaking the kiss to trail hot, wet kisses along my jawline and down my neck. “Tell me what you want, lyschka .”
“You. Inside me.” It comes out as a plea, but I don’t care. I need him, and I’m not afraid to admit it.
Mikhail obliges, slipping his hand under the fabric of my panties to cup my pussy. I gasp as he brushes against my aching clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me. He teases me mercilessly, alternating between feather-light touches and firm pressure.
I writhe beneath him, lost in a haze of bliss while staring into his eyes, unable to look away as he works me to a fever pitch. He watches me intently, gauging my reactions and adjusting his movements accordingly.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, he slips two fingers inside me, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot. I cry out, grinding against his palm as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. Suddenly, he withdraws his hand, leaving me panting and frustrated. Before I can protest, he yanks down my panties and spreads my legs wide. I watch in anticipation as he undoes his belt and frees his cock from his pants.
He wastes no time in lining himself up with my entrance and pushing inside me. I moan as he fills me, stretching me deliciously. He pauses once he’s fully sheathed, giving me a moment to adjust to his size.
“You feel amazing.” His voice is strained, and he looks like he’s struggling to maintain control.
I rock my hips, urging him to move. “So do you. Now fuck me.”
He doesn’t need any further encouragement. He starts thrusting, setting a fast, relentless pace. I cling to him, matching his rhythm as best I can. I’m half-aware that his pants are around his ankles, and his shirt is still on but unbuttoned. My dress is hanging around my waist, unbuttoned to reveal my breasts and open bra, and it’s ridiculous to be so caught up in this moment.
Something is whispering in the back of my mind, but I can’t focus well enough to coax it into a complete thought. Instead, I cling to Mikhail and squeeze my pussy around his cock, moaning at how well he fills me.
“Fuck. You’re so tight.” He grits his teeth, sweat beading on his brow. “I’m not going to last long.”
“Me either.” I gasp, already feeling the familiar coil of tension building in my pussy. “Don’t stop.”
He picks up the pace, slamming into me with renewed vigor. Each thrust sends me spiraling higher and higher until I finally reach the peak. I scream his name as I come, shuddering with the force of my release.
Mikhail follows closely behind, burying his face in my neck as he empties himself inside me, and that’s when the whisper at the back of my mind suddenly turns to a full shout.
No condom.
Oh, god. What have we done?
I lie there, stunned, as Mikhail collapses beside me. He pulls me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. I can hear his heart pounding, and his breathing is ragged. We stay like that for several minutes, neither of us speaking. Has he realized yet? Or is he still caught in the aftermath of that blazing need that overwhelmed all common sense and sanity?
I start mentally counting and let out a shaky breath moments later. I’m pretty regular, and I just finished my period three days ago, so it should be safe-ish, but still...
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sensing my distress.
I bite my lip, debating whether or not to tell him. Finally, I decide to be honest. “We didn’t use a condom.”
He stiffens and then relaxes again. “It’s okay. I’m clean. Are you on birth control?”
I shake my head. “No. I haven’t needed it since...” Since I broke up with my last ex two years ago.
Mikhail sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ll get tested tomorrow and make sure everything’s fine.”
“Great. I’ll stop by the pharmacy and grab a packet of morning-after pills, just in case.”
He looks troubled for a moment before nodding. “That would be the smart thing.” He rests his hand on my belly for a moment, giving a wistful sigh. “We should do the smart thing.”
I nod, even as I wonder what a baby created by us would look like. I can easily envision a future like that with Mikhail, except I’m not sure he’s being totally honest about his life.
“Phoebe, I—” He stops, seeming to struggle with what he wants to say.
I prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face. “What is it?”
He takes a deep breath as though marshalling his thoughts. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You make me want to be a better man.”
The intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. I open my mouth to respond, but he places a finger gently on my lips.
“Let me finish,” he says. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I can’t imagine my life without you in it anymore. You bring light into my world. You make me laugh, you challenge me...”
My heart swells with emotion. I want to tell him I feel the same way, that he’s become such an integral part of my life in such a short time, but something holds me back. A nagging doubt that I’ve been trying to ignore all evening resurfaces, seeming more pressing now that we’ve accidentally forgotten to use a condom.
Mikhail must sense my hesitation because his brow wrinkles slightly. “What’s wrong?”
I bite my lip, unsure how to voice my concerns without sounding accusatory. “I feel the same way about you, but sometimes, I’m sure you’re holding something back from me.”
His body tenses almost imperceptibly. If we weren’t lying so closely together, I might have missed it. “What do you mean?”
I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. “Sometimes you seem distracted, or you get these phone calls that make you tense up, and then there’s the way your security team hovers around us whenever we’re out. You said your business dealings can be complicated, but...”
Mikhail sits up too, wearing a frown. “Phoebe, I?—”
A sharp knock on the bedroom door interrupts him. His expression hardens instantly, all traces of the tender lover replaced by something colder and more distant. “What is it?” he calls out, his voice clipped.
The door opens slightly, and a man’s voice speaks in rapid Russian. I can’t understand the words, but the urgency in his tone is clear. Mikhail responds, sounding commanding.
He turns back to me, and his expression softens slightly. “I’m sorry, lyubimaya . There’s a business matter I must attend to immediately.”
I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. “Of course. I understand.”
He kisses me softly. “We’ll continue this conversation later, I promise. For now, make yourself comfortable. I shouldn’t be too long.”
With that, he rises and dresses quickly. I watch him transform from the passionate man I was just intimate with into the powerful businessman I first met. It is a startling change, and it leaves me feeling unsettled.
As the door closes behind him, I flop back onto the pillows with a sigh. The contrast between Mikhail’s moments of intense focus on me and his sudden distractions is puzzling. Rolling onto my side, I breathe in Mikhail’s scent lingering on the pillow. Whatever he’s hiding, I choose to believe in what we have. With time, I hope, he’ll open up to me completely.
It’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t address the other situation though, so I get dressed and slip out of his penthouse. I don’t know when he’ll be back, and I need to do all the mundane chores of life, like laundry, so I head home, stopping by the pharmacy on the way to grab morning-after pills. I don’t fully relax until I’ve taken them while standing by my kitchen sink a while later.
Then I text him to let him know I decided to go home but will see him tomorrow. It’s late before he replies, and I’ve already been asleep for a while.
I missed coming back to find you in my bed. It’s too cold without you now.
The message makes me smile as I sleepily key a reply before returning to sleep.