“Eta pizda byla sozdana dlya trakha.”
The pressure expanding, the sound of his voice—it was all too much. The final push that sent me over the edge was him sliding his tongue over my clit and sucking. Heat erupted, traveling down my spine like flames and sizzling in my blood before quieting to a languid hum. My core pulsed around his fingers. My clit grew so sensitive I tried to weakly shove his head away, but he took his time before stopping.
I vibrated everywhere in the aftermath, a quiet taking over and plunging me into sated darkness. I didn’t know how much time passed before he lifted me and carried me to my room, but I did know I fell asleep before my head hit my pillow.
xanthophobia
(n.) fear of the color yellow
Darkness cast the room in shadow, though a golden sheen surrounded Mila’s sleeping form like a halo. The strange glow could be a trick of the light, but the night was a moonless one, meaning there wasn’t any fucking light. With a sense of annoyance, I realized I needed to get my vision checked.
My gaze narrowed as it swept down her body—from her cheek resting on a curtain of long blonde hair, to the shallow breaths escaping parted lips, to the rise and fall of her breasts, and the sliver of visible skin that trailed to her navel. The view was a painter’s wet dream; the girl too flawless to be real.
I wanted to slap her.
The thought was the only thing that explained the slight tremble in my hands. I slipped them in my pockets, unsure of the bizarre reaction considering my throat tightened in revulsion at the idea of actually following through with it. Though slapping some sense into Mila may benefit her. Maybe then she wouldn’t apologize to men who kidnapped and degraded her. Or fall asleep in their arms after they roughly took her virginity.
I shouldn’t have taken her so hard even believing she wasn’t a virgin. I especially shouldn’t have continued to fuck her after learning the truth, unable to find the will to stop right away. My conscience was having a party—with tea and biscuits and pathetic deflating balloons. It was uncomfortable as fuck. Especially because I could still taste her in my mouth, feel her fingers in my hair, and hear the sound of her breathy moans. All of it burrowed beneath my skin, settling something heavy in my chest. It felt like . . . cancer.
When she shivered in her sleep, I automatically stepped forward to cover her up but stopped myself, a frustrated, “Jesus Christ,” passing my lips.
Running a hand across my mouth, I recognized Mila was just as infectious as her mother was claimed to be. She was clearly having ill effects on my health. The shimmer my eyes painted on her skin suddenly became clear: it was a warning sign near a pool aglow with radioactive waste.
I needed to get rid of her.
The thought was a tug-of-war inside of me; a conflict that tightened my muscles, pulling and jerking each sinew taut. The fair part of me said Mila didn’t belong here. Though another part surfaced, telling me I took her virginity. She was mine.
The first woman to get me on my knees in over a decade was apparently this one, and all I regretted was the fact Mila could come at the drop of a hat. She tasted so good, I’d wanted to fuck her with my tongue for an hour minimum. The memory of it and how tight she was flooded heat into my chest; sent my blood boiling to the surface of my skin. An uncontrollable urge to slip between her thighs and wake her up with my mouth began to cloud my mind and judgement.
I turned and got the fuck out of there.
Shoulders tight, I headed downstairs to the library and poured a drink, then settled behind my desk. I swirled the vodka in the glass, staring at it thoughtfully, until I figured out a plan of action. Ignoring the multiple messages from Nadia, I texted Albert, whose presence I felt enter the room a moment later.
“Release Ivan,” I said in Russian, keeping my gaze on my drink. “He can hitchhike his way to Moscow naked.”
“The men won’t like it.”
Under any other circumstances, Ivan would be six feet deep. The day he took Alexei’s side was the day he was dead to me. I would have had control over Moscow years before I did if Ivan didn’t betray, fuck me over, and then disappear—to where I now knew was Miami. I’d relish putting a bullet in his head. Though a heavy weight sat on my chest over how things went down tonight and that I wasn’t sure I’d have stopped if Mila didn’t give in. I may be on a straight path to hell, but I’d never forced a woman before. I’d never lost all sense of control like that. It made me feel like the piece-of-shit clients my mother entertained. The only way I could think of to alleviate the feeling was to release Ivan—Mila’s friend/lover/whatever the fuck he was.
“Tell him to let Alexei know the deal is on for Saturday.”
Albert remained quiet for a second before replying, “I thought he wasn’t gonna bite.”
I didn’t say anything but I didn’t have to. Thankfully, Albert didn’t question it further.
“It’s Monday.”
I looked up to meet his gaze. “What are you, a news anchor? You gonna tell me what the weather is next?”
“I am just curious why you need the rest of the week to close the deal.”
My eyes hardened. “Because I can take as much goddamn time as I want.” And because I was compromising with both sides of the conflict inside of me the idea of letting Mila go invoked.
The fact she was a virgin fucked everything up. I didn’t have the patience to go slow and sweet and pretend the woman meant anything to me besides a good lay. Though the thought of someone else giving her that seared like acid in my veins.
Knowing I was the first to be inside of her made me feel slightly . . . selfish, like a kid on Christmas morning who didn’t want to share his new BB gun. And just as that gun would be forgotten a week later, so would the irritational greed I experienced concerning her. Then I would have my revenge and never again associate yellow with anything but tropical fruit.
“I was sure you would like to be the one to deal with Ivan.”
My grip tightened on the glass, a darkness flaring in my chest. All I’d been able to see since Kostya shoved the surveillance video in my face was Ivan’s hands on Mila. Most nauseating shit I ever saw. And infuriating. The sight coated my vision with a red mist, rage blistering in my blood. I forced myself to remain in Moscow until the flames cooled, but I guessed I should have stayed longer.
“Tell him I’ll kill him if I ever see his face again,” was all I said. I’d never spoken truer words, which was why I couldn’t look at him now without backing out on the decision I’d made to release him.
Without a word, Albert disappeared to carry out my order.
Now that was out of the way, I downed the vodka in my glass and focused on more important matters. Like what product would wash off the virgin blood still gripping my dick like a vise.
mamihlapinatapai
(n.) a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire
“Where is he?” I demanded.
Yulia sat in a rocking chair sewing a black doll dress. The shrewd glance she bestowed upon me behind antique spectacles made me feel like she knew all of the sinful happenings of the house—including last night’s. Beneath her stare, I shifted and bumped into a framed portrait of her that sat on the nightstand.