Chapter 22 Bad Kotik
Bad Kotik
Considering what I went through to get ready and the cost of Vitali’s watch, I expected the restaurant, where ‘Moscow’ met, to be… different. Ironic that Vitali lectured me about ‘Western ideas’ before we arrived. This place had the distinct look of a mobster bar from a Chicago movie.
When he said they were Sergei’s bosses, I pictured men in suits being escorted by other men in suits, and renting out an entire establishment just to have dinner.
Instead, before me splayed a large table loaded with husky men in too-tight shirts proudly displaying brand names across their chests.
Most were of the balding age, and some boasted breasts that could rival mine on my best day.
I glanced at Vitali’s sharp outfit. He didn’t have to dress up, apparently, but still showed up the best-dressed in the room.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You keep eyeing me like that, Kotik, I might let you sit on my lap.”
I slowly breathed out, doing my best to ignore him.
The idea of his bringing me specifically to show me off was an exciting one in ways that made my core ache.
Katya Petrovna didn’t get shown off. She arrived places, had a mediocre time, got hit on a bit to boost her confidence, and went home feeling like a sack of rubles.
But beside him, I stood taller. My hips swayed wider. My red lipstick was glossier, brighter.
I was the Elena in the room, and I didn’t have to try, because I was on the arm of the only one who mattered. The pride in his eyes could feed me for the rest of my life.
I recognized a lot of the men, including Misha, who sat near the head of the table, being pawed at by Ana and unhappily glaring at the veal cutlets that were just far enough to be unreachable. The empty glasses before him said the attitude had been building for some time.
The ‘girls’ meant to be shown off were unknown to me, aside from Ana (but who would ever think to show her off?). They were beautiful.
I watched Vitali subtly as we approached to gauge just how many of them he recognized.
Amidst the laughter and lively conversation, it took forty-five minutes to make our way around the table and be introduced. I forgot their names almost immediately and hoped that no one would try to ask me questions.
Turned out, they weren’t too keen on asking any of the girls questions. The talks went on exclusively among the men.
When the server came around, Vitali ordered me a tea with no sugar and a Martell for himself. He lit a cigarette, notably holding it in the hand nearest the glass. A great excuse not to be seen drinking.
The table bent under the plates of food, vodka decanters, and men’s sweaty elbows. Vitali participated in the discussions, and still managed to fill my plate with a bite of every fancy appetizer that floated past us in gold-ringed hands.
We both skipped the oysters.
With no one keeping me engaged, my mind began to wander. Elena and I were usually in these situations together, and I could always count on her to keep me fun. But this was not a ‘fun’ situation, and neither Elena nor a glass of gin were there to keep me company.
There hadn’t been a word from her, and I could hardly blame her. I would be angry too if I was ignored for a man. She did not miss our phone calls regardless of how many were caught in her gravity. I needed to try harder, calling her house was no longer enough.
And this guilt entertained me as hours crawled by, fighting the glue that was my boredom.
Misha was the only other person I knew there, but he wasn’t skipping any shots, and even Ana chattering in his ear went widely ignored. I had no chance.
But it wasn’t his attention I wanted. Vitali was always so focused on me, no matter where we were, that having him be beside me and completely inaccessible was disappointing.
The night wasn’t supposed to be fun for me, and I had to accept that, but that didn’t check the spoiled attitude I’d developed over the passing months.
I took a big, unladylike bite of something greasy (and delicious) since no one was paying attention to me anyway. A droplet of fat spilled down my chin, and like the prize I was, I dabbed it with a napkin, which I proceeded to drop.
The revelation struck as I reached down to grab it off the floor, in the form of taut, black fabric stretched enticingly across Vitali’s thigh. I immediately knew how to test Mr. Composure. Mr. ‘How you treat something dangerous at your fingertips.’
He would be so mad… so mad at Kotik.
I bit my lip and straightened my posture, my arms relaxing at my sides. My left hand casually settled on his leg.
His muscles stiffened, but he seemingly paid it no mind, deep in conversation. So, I slid it higher, to where it bunched up tightly just under the belt.
This time, he glanced back with question, but I didn’t meet his eyes, instead leaning my chin on my other palm, fascinated with whatever the round man to my right was saying.
I pressed my fingers along the line of the belt, not touching anything that could be deemed obscene, but making my presence known—because he still couldn’t do surprises.
“What are you doing?” Vitali asked, looking at me.
The raised brow gave away his feigned sternness. I kept my hand in place.
“Provoking you.”
“I can see that. And why are you provoking me?”
“So you can ‘iron out my attitude…’” Brave, Katya. Dying for attention, Katya. Not raised in a civilized household, Katya.
He grinned as if to say ‘is that so?’
“I’d love nothing more, but I have to behave.” He took my hand, placing it in my lap. Then someone asked him a question, and just like that, I was all alone once more, but the thrill of what I’d done left me tingling.
Another half hour passed, and people began shifting and getting up.
They weren’t leaving, those who took off their coats (not everyone did, and this time I understood why) didn’t put them back on.
Instead, small groups of them moved about, clapping each other on the back and promising to take trips to their respective dachas.
“Cigars by the bar,” Vitali whispered as he pushed his chair in. “It won’t be long. They’re talking about moving on to the next place after, we’ll leave then.”
I gave him a smile, and watched them go off—not too far, but far enough that I couldn’t hear the conversation.
The other girls chatted amongst themselves.
I thought of joining in, but their expressions made the divide between us clear.
I wasn’t one of the ‘Sergei’s girls’ and I wouldn’t be sleeping beside a hairy mountain of nighttime wheezes.
I was Vitali’s girl, and as far as they knew, I’d spend my night on silk sheets scented with sandalwood and sex where no one had to play ‘find the dick on the donkey.’
Only I knew that I’d be going to sleep alone in an apartment I shared with my mama and little brother. God, but I didn’t want to.
Vitali’s long, absent gaze met mine from across the room, but he didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t purposeful; maybe he wasn’t even aware of it, but his heavy-lidded eyes held all the hunger his restraint didn’t allow. They settled on the curve of my thigh.
Hunger, like mine.
I had not seen him in weeks, which gave me all that time to reflect on the door he opened to my fantasies. I did not lose my virginity to him, but I did lose my innocence.
He had to behave. I didn’t.
I elongated my leg, tucking the other underneath the chair, making sure he had a clear view of the way my dress shifted across my lap. He tilted his head and answered a man next to him without looking away from me.
Was that a snag in my nylons? I’d best check.
My fingers grazed the shimmery opaque fabric, and I bent, slowly running them all the way up from my ankle. My hair fell over my shoulders, and I arched my back, peeking in his direction. He was lightly shaking his head, a grin curling the side of his mouth. He took a drag of his cigarette.
And didn’t tell me to stop.
I scooted a little closer to the edge of the table and acted my way through smoothing the top of the short dress that so uncomfortably bunched up around my curves. How unfortunate it’d ridden up so high.
The tip of the cigarette glowed. He didn’t move.
I slowly uncrossed my knees… and paused.
Two of the Moscow men were watching me. One said something to the other and nodded. A bidding war for cattle stock to be taken home that night.
Vitali saw my hesitation and followed my gaze, then returned to me with a curious expression.
What they can never have.
I breathed deep, trying to keep my nerves from showing.
Katya didn’t like this situation. But Vitali’s Kotik did.
My heart raced. Feminine voices and the clinking of glasses at my back amplified my sense of being exposed. Thrilling, uninhibiting.
I kept my eyes locked with his as my knees parted, but only far enough to give him a glimpse of where the seam met the fold of my inner thigh. Then, crossed them once more, this time at the ankle, and dragged my hand slowly up and up, until it rested at the hem of my dress, over my panties.
Oh God—his expression. The look of a man dying of thirst in the desert taking a whiff of aged red wine.
My core tightened and I exhaled, lightly pressing the dress with two fingers as I dragged them down from my navel.
He glanced at my admirers, but I didn’t. At that moment, it seemed important that my eyes remain on him. Only him.
The dress was short—so short. I’d only have to push it up a little to run fingers between my legs.
I couldn’t believe it. The sobering notion (as if I’d had anything to drink but tea) occurred to me that there were two old, gross men, leering and discussing me, and I was prepared to go further because he was watching, and he was proud. His gaze made me wet, and the rest didn’t matter.
I arched my back, my chest pushed out and the gold laying heavy around my neck. I slowly reached.
Vitali’s hold on the cigarette slackened, and eyebrow twitched upward as I clenched my hand between my thighs, massaging two fingers against myself through the fabric.
From the first time I met him when I uselessly tried to learn poker, the one thing I knew how to read were his silent commands. And the hesitancy on his face was exquisite, right up until he gave the subtle nod. I parted my knees again, slower this time, so he could see the outline of my fingers.
My heart raced. He took a drag.
But I had no chance to go further (and could I?) because the cigar group broke apart.
Vitali’s steps were frighteningly fast. He didn’t say a word, just held my coat for me so I could slide it on, placed a hand at the back of my neck (affection or disguising as affection?
The hard grip made it difficult to tell), and led me outside.
It wasn’t until we were at the car that he spun me around, pinning me against the Mercedes door.
“The way you crossed your legs. You knew they were watching you, Kotik. You wanted to show them what’s mine, didn’t you?
” His breathy words were hardly above a whisper, but the low bass of his voice made the volume impossible to control.
The hand on the back of my neck slightly shook, fingers tense and fighting his emotion.
“Really surprised me. Made me very happy. I think you deserve a reward.”
* * *
About Russia:
dachas – country houses and gardens located outside the city, usually on a small plot of land. In the Soviet era, they were provided to citizen so they could grow food. Many still belong to the families and are used as summer houses or weekend getaways