Every day he had a driver take me to work. I made the driver drop me off a block away from the school, just in case. There was no point in having the other teachers see me roll up in a top-of-the-line Mercedes, complete with a uniformed driver. Every afternoon, precisely at my lunch break, a catered lunch would arrive from some high-end restaurant or other from around the city, followed by a text from Vaska demanding I eat real food. When I complained he was making me look bad to my coworkers who had to sit there with their sad ham and cheese sandwiches with wilted lettuce and watch while I ate sushi or steak or lobster, he responded by sending a catered lunch for the whole teaching staff every day. Needless to say, I was the most popular teacher on staff.
At night we played house—or at least Vaska’s version of house.
My cheeks burned as I remembered last night.
First, he’d cooked us an amazing dinner of roasted quail with baked apples in a red bilberry sauce, a specialty dish from the Bolshoi, one of his favorite restaurants in Moscow. I swore I could almost forgive that man anything while he cooked.
Often after returning home, he would change out of his expensive suit into a pair of jeans, or even better, a pair of gray sweatpants, and pad around barefoot and bare-chested as he cooked dinner. He quickly picked up on how sexy I thought his collection of watches was, so he often left the watch on. Swoon. Not to mention, the man had missed his calling. If he hadn’t turned to a life of crime, he certainly could have been a master chef.
I found myself enjoying sipping wine as I sat on a stool around the island each night watching him cook, while he encouraged me to chat about my day.
It was all just so normal.
You’d never guess I was practically there against my will.
Well, almost against my will.
Certainly at first against my will—but that was becoming less and less so with every passing day.
He would often turn and hold a spoon or fork up to my mouth for me to taste a sauce or a juicy bite of meat. Whenever he did that, the heat and promise in his gaze as I trailed my lips seductively along the tines of the fork made me want to melt straight into the floor.
Last night he turned decorating decisions into a game of strip tease, as we went through his decorator’s ideas to add more color and incorporate some of my belongings and style.
I’d walked slowly around the living room before stating emphatically, “The white sofa has to go.”
Vaska smirked as his gaze caressed my body from head to toe. “What’s it worth to you?”
I crossed my arms and smiled. “Nothing since you already ruined it with that big ass red wine stain.”
He shrugged and sent me a challenging look. “I can live with it.”
I narrowed my eyes. He knew damn well that stain was already driving me crazy. “What’s your offer?”
“Your shirt and bra.”
That would leave me in only my panties and socks since I had already bid away my slacks to get rid of the glass coffee table with the ostentatious thick gold trim. “No way! For a stained sofa? One sock.”
He shook his head. “Your shirt. Final offer.”
“Throw in this terrible white shag throw rug.”
“Deal.”
I peeled off my form-fitting black sweater with the sugar skull on the front. Just to tease him I adjusted the cups of my black satin bra with the pink polka dots.
Vaska crossed the room to me, but I quickly put the sofa between us. I pointed at the white canvas with the minuscule purple dot he was calling art, which hung in pride of place over the sofa, dominating the room. “This.” I made a slashing motion across my throat.
“Fine, but that framed poster of the weird blond vampire cannot go up in its place.”
I feigned shock. “You can’t expect me to give up my Spike poster.” I actually had no intention of hanging that on the wall, anyway. There was a difference between your school apartment and your adulting one. The primary difference being getting art that doesn’t come rolled up in a piece of cellophane. But Vaska didn’t need to know that.
He raised an eyebrow. “No photos or posters of other men, especially weird vampire ones.”
“Fine, but I’m going to need something in return.”
He smirked. “Name it.”
“Your jeans.” It was pretty much the only thing I could ask for since he didn’t have a shirt or socks on.
Without hesitation, his hands reached for the zipper of his jeans. After unfastening them, he pulled them off his hips and dropped the denim to the floor.
I covered my mouth as I laughed. “Oh, my God! You’re naked! Where are your boxers?”
He wriggled his eyebrows and stalked me around the sofa.
I laughed as I tried to outmaneuver him. “No fair. You’re cheating.”
His eyes widened as he tried to look innocent. “How is this cheating? You started with more clothes than me.”
I rounded the bamboo and white upholstery chair as I playfully taunted him over my shoulder. “Not my fault you don’t know how to play the game.”
Vaska lunged and caught me around the waist. I screamed and kicked out. He tossed me onto the sofa. The weight of his body followed, pinning me against the cushions. His hips pressed between my legs as his hard cock was wedged between our bodies.
He sank his teeth into the fabric of my bra and pretended to try to tear it before saying in a low, sinister voice, “You are under my control. Beg me for mercy.”
Loving the feel of his hard muscled body on top of mine, I played along with this change in the game. Thrusting my chin out, I declared emphatically, “Never!”
Vaska grinned as his fingers slipped into the waistband of my panties. “Then accept your punishment.”
He shifted his body till his face was between my legs. I shrieked and squirmed out of his embrace. I shimmied backwards and then flipped onto my stomach, preparing to launch myself off the sofa, but Vaska was too quick for me. He grabbed my panties and pulled them off my ass and down my thighs before tangling them around my ankles. I tried to kick out, but he flipped me onto my back and placed his enormous chest between my thighs. He tore the panties off me. Twirling them around his index finger, he winked. “I win. Now for my prize.”
“That’s not how you wi—” All protest died on my lips as his mouth fell on my pussy like a man starved. “Oh, my God!” My fingers delved into his hair as I lifted my hips off the sofa, pressing my body against his tongue.
“Ms. Fraser. Is the answer comic relief?”
I blinked. “What?”
One of my students from the back called out again, “Is the answer comic relief?”
I swallowed as I pressed my palms to my cheeks, trying to cool them down as I came crashing back to reality. Resisting the urge to fan myself, I nodded as I rose from my seat. Clearing my throat, I responded, “Yes, Matthew, partly. What other function could they serve in the scene in relation to Hamlet?”
Before anyone could respond, my classroom door was pushed violently open, crashing against the wall. Vaska appeared in the doorway. There was an audible gasp from the students. I couldn’t blame them. While still in one of his customary expensive suits, he had no tie on and several top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing some of his more salacious tattoos. With his suit jacket unbuttoned, you could clearly see his shoulder harness with the butt of a handgun tucked under his arm.