Annie, one of the cocktail waitresses, brings me a beer without my asking.
Story slips into one of her original songs and then another. Their performance is flawless, and yet I see the wear of the week on her. She doesn’t smile or bounce as much. She’s just smooth and professional.
And then she sees me. Her gaze lands on me and sticks, but she doesn’t falter singing the words or strumming her chords.
She expected me.
So she read my letter.
She finishes her song and paces the front of the stage. “Hey. I’ve been working on a new song, do you want to hear it?”
I clap my hands as the crowd cheers.
“It’s about this guy. You probably know him. He usually sits right there.” She points at my table where some other assholes are sitting tonight.
I go still.
“I let him into my life recently, and it was good. Really good. But sometimes we run from things in our life that are good. Because having them would give us something worth losing, you know?”
She shoots a pained look my way, and people turn to see who she’s looking at.
There he is. That’s the guy she climbs, I hear the regulars saying.
“But the real heroes are the ones who keep showing up. Even when you push them away. And that’s what Oleg does for me. He’s as solid as they come. And this song is for him.”
Story puts the microphone in the stand and positions herself in front of it, legs wide.
I know you from a distance / I haven’t had a taste.
Didn’t want to let you / cuz I only like the chase.
You are in my sphere / I am in your ear,
Then you take me home, but you won’t come in.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing,
But when I’m with you / when I’m with you-ou.
I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything at all.
I’m up against the wall / your hands tangle in my clothes
I’m kissing, I’m biting, I’m rocked down to my toes
When you show up, you show up strong.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing,
But when I’m with you / when I’m with you-ou.
I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything at all.
Set the house on fire, burn it to the ground.
The cities fall, wreckage all around
When you show up, you show up strong
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing,
but I’m with you / when I’m with you-ou,
I don’t need anything at all.
And I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what we’re doing.
But I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything, but you.
I don’t know when I moved, but when the song ends, I’m standing in front of the stage staring up at my little swallow, drawn like a magnet to her presence. Story slips the guitar strap over her head.
“I don’t need anything, but you.” She sings the last song acapella. And then she drops off the front of the stage into my arms in a honeymoon carry.
The crowd cheers like mad.
Flynn scrambles to turn on his mic as I walk with Story to the back of the room. “That was Story Taylor. I’m Flynn, and we are the Storytellers. We’ll be back after a little break, folks. Thanks for coming out.”
I hum softly—the sound I make only for her. The way I call her name. She tucks her face into my neck and hums back.
“Thanks for coming for me,” she murmurs.
Always, I want to say. I settle for humming some more.
“Does that mean always?” She reads my mind.
I nod and turn to kiss the top of her head. In the back corner, I tip her to her feet and crowd my body against hers, shielding her from view from the rest of the bar. I point at her chest, then at mine.
Her smile flickers. There’s still sadness around her. “I belong to you?”
I nod then reverse the order.
“You belong to me.”
I nod again.
“Can I move in with you?”
A smile surprises my inexpressive face with its sudden appearance.
“Damn.” She reaches up to place her palm against my cheek. “You are so handsome when you smile.”
My smile widens.
“I’m sorry. I got scared.”
I shake my head and point at myself, then give the sign for sorry.
“I know you’re sorry. You never meant to hurt me. You were trying to take care of me.”
I nod.
“I can’t promise I won’t freak out again.”
I shake my head. I won’t let you, I want to say. I point at my chest, then shake my head as I point out the door.
“You won’t go?”
I nod.
“Never?”
I shake my head emphatically.
“You’re mine?”
There’s that smile again. My facial muscles will have to adjust to the new sensation.
“I love you.”
I move in slowly, savoring every precious moment as I sip from her lips, gently at first, then moving into a possessive, claiming kiss.
Story relaxes more and more, the tension and cloud around her ebbing away.
I crook my finger, backing up a few steps to pull out a chair. Story immediately crawls into my lap, where she belongs.
Chapter 17
Story
“Catch me if you can!” I squeal the minute we climb out of the elevator at the Kremlin after my show. I take off running toward the door that leads to the roof.
I hear Oleg’s soft chuckle right behind me, but he lets me pretend I’m getting away as I run up the stairs to the gorgeous rooftop pool. The air is freezing, and steam comes off the hot tub when I roll the cover up.
“Last one in is a rotten egg.” I take off my clothes, giggling.
Oleg doesn’t rush. He slowly strips, watching me with total absorption as I drop my coat, boots, tights, skirt, shirt, bra and panties onto the pebbled deck.
I jump in before I get cold and bob up and down, bouncing on my feet, making the water splash around my breasts as they dip in and out of the surface.
Oleg finishes undressing, looking like a stallion with a boner the size of my forearm. I splash him.
His eyes crinkle. He arches a brow and points a finger.
“Uh oh.” I smile. “Is Big Daddy going to spank me?”
Pretty please.
I found out his other pet name for me—shalun’ya—means bad girl or minx, which I love. He descends into the water, standing on the first step, then sitting on the pool deck. His brows flick as he reaches for me.
Oh God.
He is going to spank me. I get fluttery and excited and a tiny bit nervous, only because last time it hurt almost as much as it felt good.
He parts his knees and pulls me across one of them, tipping me over so my hands rest on the pool deck behind him.
I let out a quavering meep.
He hums softly then smacks my wet ass.
“Ow! Oh my God, that hurts.”
Another smack, served with a dark chuckle. I dance on my feet, thrilled. Horny. Smarting. He rubs my ass, then slides his fingers between my legs. I wriggle with the shock of sensation when his fingers brush my most sensitive bits. He delivers two more swift smacks then rubs some more.