9. Nona
NONA
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that I’ve been around.
I wasn’t lying when I told Alex that I’ve had only a couple of boyfriends.
I think it’s kind of the way it goes when your father is a Pakhan and the whole school knows it.
Boys tend not to want the added burden of being the guy fucking the daughter of a Russian Mob boss, so I’ve never blamed any of them for avoiding me in high school.
By my senior year, I finally lost my virginity to a sweet boy who also happened to be a running back on the school football team.
He took me to prom and then, as if it were a ritual obligation, to a hotel after the dance.
I wish I could say that the sex was memorable, but other than the fact that I lost my virginity, it just wasn’t.
He rutted on top of me until he came, then rolled over and went to sleep.
And me? It wasn’t fireworks or even anything that I could brag to my friends about.
I was just glad that I finally got the annoyance of being a virgin out of the way.
Then there was George. I met him one fall during my second year in college.
George was an engineering student with his whole life ahead of him and no idea of my familial connections.
For a little while, I liked the anonymity that I had when I was with him.
When we were together, I was just another girl on campus and that was enough for him.
We didn’t date long, just a year, if that, and in retrospect, I’m glad it never went further.
I don’t think I could have ever taken him home to Papa.
George was just too good a person to accept the life that I come from.
Sex with him was a step up from what it had been that first time, but only in the sense that he stayed awake to cuddle after.
Lying under him, staring up at the ceiling, I used to wonder if I were to fall asleep, would he even notice?
It was almost like I didn’t have to be there for it to happen.
Needless to say, that relationship went cold before the winter semester started.
I’m not putting those relationships down.
Both experiences were nice, pleasant enough for me to have sex with them more than once.
Nowhere near exciting enough to occupy my mind the way it did everyone else, though.
If I’m entirely honest, when it came to sex, I just didn’t really know what the big deal was…
Until now. I’m lying in bed, my ass and my pussy throbbing from the beating they took last night.
I’ve never been fucked like that. I’ve never felt like that before.
Alex took control and had his way with me just how he wanted it, which, honestly, I expected.
The strange thing was that at no time was I not part of the experience.
Every slight, every eyeroll, every time I called him something other than ‘my king’ was acknowledged and promptly punished.
And in turn, every positive response to him was lavishly rewarded.
He wasn’t going to get off unless I was as present as he was, and how could I not be?
He had my attention from the first slap on my ass.
I’m replaying it in my mind as I lie here.
It was frightening at first… but then it wasn’t.
Every aggressive grab, slap, and growl just got me hotter and hotter.
Even thinking about his voice rumbling in my ear as he came that last time is starting to get me wet again.
But the third time, he seemed to know every way possible to touch me.
It was like he spent the whole night getting to know my body.
I stretch out in his huge bed, wishing he were here.
I don’t know if he would oblige me again if I asked.
Just because he did in the heat of the moment does not mean he would again in the morning.
At the end of the day, we are still kind of strangers.
And sex notwithstanding, I don’t think he likes me very much.
Last night, as fun as it was, was just a signing of the contract.
How silly he must think I am. He certainly treats me like I’m just some bimbo with nothing of substance to offer.
Just ride me hard and put me away wet. Leave me on the bed and maybe if he’s horny later, he’ll come back to me.
Maybe. I wish I were more angry about that.
But what right do I have to be angry about it?
It’s not like this is a real marriage or even a real relationship.
I’ll be surprised if he pays me much attention at all unless there are others around.
I sit up as the afternoon light comes in through the blackout curtains.
I can faintly hear the sound of birds singing outside the window, but only faintly.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
The aches from last night sting a little more as I adjust my position.
I’m going to end up feeling it all day, I bet.
Wonder if he’ll care if I just decide to stay in bed, and if I’m still here when he comes back, will he put up a pillow fort between us?
Or will he tell me to find my own room somewhere in this house?
I guess I’ll find that out later. Right now, I’ve got to get real about why I’m really here in the first place. Papa’s counting on me to do my part, and I’m not going to let him down.
First things first, though. A shower. I get up and walk to the bathroom, feeling the phantom of Alex’s cock between my legs with every step.
I’ll never say it out loud, but I kind of hope that this feeling lasts all day.
Whatever happens, I don’t want to forget about last night. Not for as long as I live.
The house is pretty quiet. I’m pretty sure he’s still not here.
Otherwise, it just feels… empty. The first place I went was the kitchen for a little breakfast. That almost netted nothing.
Alexandr’s cupboards and fridges are so bare that there’s a decent layer of dust on the shelves.
It makes me wonder how long he’s been single.
I did find some bagels, so I treated myself to one and took it with me as I explored the rest of the house.
This place is odd in construction. It’s like a double-wide brownstone in the sense that I can almost see where other parts of the house were once other entirely separate living spaces.
Every room seems to be industrial-sized to make up for the knocked-down walls that used to be someone else’s living room or bathroom.
But it’s beautiful. Someone spent a lot of time decorating with wallpaper that has little flecks of gold in the little leaf patterns, coupled with modern white couches that match the plush carpet in the living room.
And the rest of the rooms have the same kind of pristine quality. Like no one’s ever been in them…
Except for some of the rooms in the back.
I pass by what looks like a game room, a den, and what looks like basic storage.
All three rooms are a mess in that way that screams single man, with random dirty glasses on the end tables and the arms of the couches, little bits of trash on the carpet and sitting in chairs.
He really needs a maid to come through here every so often. I hope he’s not expecting me to do any of that.
I reach the parlor and the scent of it immediately draws me in. It smells heavily of him, leather and sweet sandalwood everywhere I step. It’s like somehow, the room is drenched in him.
Must be where he spends a lot of his time.
I stand in the center of the room and look around slowly.
Books with bookmarks sticking out of them sit on the coffee table by the fireplace, the liquor cabinet door is slightly ajar, and of course, there’s a single dirty glass on the bar.
Like every room I’ve seen except the living room, this one is very lived in.
I’m getting a little caught up in the little signs of him all around the room.
The worn edges of the bar, where I imagine he’s used the corners to open bottles of beer from time to time, the heavy wood of the bookcase and the armoire in the far corner that seems both out of place and completely part of the decor.
It takes me a moment to remember the real reason I’m wandering around in the first place.
The tour was nice, but I didn’t marry this man just to enjoy the view.
I start paying more attention to things that look like they might be of interest to Papa. Since I’m pretty sure Alex spends more than a little time in this room, there has got to be something in here that I can bring back to my father.
Next to the large armoire against the north wall is a writing desk that looks like it’s got to be about a hundred years old.
It’s all varnished wood with decorative curves on the corners.
I sit down at the desk and start looking through the drawers.
Utility bills, a bank statement—one that clearly screams shell account—pens, paper clips…
My hand pauses over a photo. The edges are bent and wrinkled like it’s been here for years.
I pick it up and take a closer look at it.
It’s a photo of Alex when he was younger, standing next to his brother with a beautiful woman sitting on a chair between them.
Alex and his brother look about the same as they do now, only a little more baby-faced.
His brother’s hair is shaved at the sides and long on top and his chin is bare of his thick, dark beard.
His hair is brighter, almost a dark red, but he’s still got those large, muscular arms. If not for the sparkling green of his eyes, I might not have recognized him at all.
Alex looks like he’s fresh out of high school, nearly. His hair is dark and shiny black. It’s longer than it is now, almost down to his shoulders. Like Rikki, he doesn’t have a beard, but there are the beginnings of one darkening his jawline. He smiles, bright blue eyes shining in the sunlight.
And then I look at the woman. She’s older, maybe in her forties, and very pregnant.
She’s got long, dark red hair, pale skin, and eyes that are as blue as the summer sky.
She smiles at the camera with a lazy, almost sleepy expression.
As pregnant as she looks, I imagine she must be very tired.
I imagine that’s why she’s sitting instead of standing with the other two men.
Her eyes are a beautiful color. Just like Alex’s…
and his sister’s. Oh, my. This must be his mother.
And the baby she’s pregnant with has to be Yeva.
I can’t imagine how strange it must have been for her to have two adult sons moving through the world and then one day to find out that you’re about to start all the way over again with another baby.
Maybe what I’m seeing isn’t exhaustion. She’s probably miserable.
I find myself staring at this picture. Alex is leaning into his mother, an easy smile on his face as he rests a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly, I’m aching for him to smile at me that way.
Is that strange? We haven’t known each other very long and the man I’m acquainted with is very clearly a different one from the one who’s standing in this photo.
This man has to be around my age in this photo.
Both he and his brother. It makes me wonder what he was like back then.
If we’d met when he was a young man, would I feel differently about him?
I put the photo back. Whoever Alex was as a young man, that’s not who he is now. I’ve got to deal with the ruthless son of a Pakhan. And at the moment, I have to help my father take down his brotherhood.
I start looking through some of the other drawers. So far, nothing of any consequence…
Hmm. There’s a Post-It note here, stuck to the back of a blank envelope.
It’s got one word on it. Garcia? Underneath the name is a date and time.
A few weeks from now, around midnight. I search the drawer above this one and grab a pen and a scrap of paper, writing the information down.
I don’t know who Garcia is, why there’s a question about him, or what significance the time and date are, but, honestly, it’s not really for me to know.
It does, however, look important enough for Papa to interpret.
I hear the front door open and close. The sound of talking and footsteps. Oh, shit. I need to get out of here.
I close the drawer and rush to the door, only to hear the voices coming closer. I freeze, looking around the room desperately. If he catches me coming out of here…
I spot the armoire on the other side of the room and sprint over to it.
I open the door and see that there are several suit jackets hanging inside.
All of them smell thickly of Alex. It’s a strange place to keep his jackets, but I don’t have time to question it.
I jump into the armoire and close it behind me.
I’m instantly bathed in his scent as I push myself between the jackets until my back hits the wall.
A second later, I hear the door to the parlor open and Alex’s voice rings out. Another voice speaks to him. One of his men, no doubt. I hold my breath and pray he doesn’t notice anything out of place or pick up any sign that I’m here. Maybe their conversation will be short and they’ll leave soon.
I just really, really hope he doesn’t find me in here.