Hurting me? Another text immediately follows. And no sex with other people.
No one else, I text back. For either of us. I send it then send another missive. I will only hurt you in ways you like.
The phone is silent for a moment, then she texts, When do we start?
Now I finally indulge in fisting my greedy cock. Giving it a hard tug, I close my eyes and let a thousand dirty scenarios involving Chelle run through my mind.
Then I remember I have the poker game tomorrow.
Damn.
But it’s okay, I have all month with her.
I’ll have a key to my place delivered to your office. I want you naked in my bed when I get home from my game tomorrow night. Understood?
Oh my God, she texts back, and a laugh rockets out of my throat. I pump my fist over my cock and close my eyes, thinking about Chelle, naked, here. When I come, I’m still smiling.
9
Chelle
The next morning I’m practically giddy. It’s not about my arrangement with Nikolai—definitely not that. It’s that I scored the deal with the skateboarders, and they want me to be their publicist not Janette.
Okay, maybe it’s both.
I should be terrified about the Nikolai thing.
I literally did make a deal with the devil.
But I can’t find it in me to be afraid. Nikolai just isn’t that scary to me. I mean, logically, he is. I know what he did to Zane was violent. But it’s possible it wasn’t merciless. He seems to operate by a code or set of rules, and I don’t think they involve hurting me or selling me to sex traffickers.
I’m not entirely sure what those rules are though.
Even though I’m operating on four hours of sleep, I take an extra long time in the shower, shaving everywhere and thinking about all the things that might happen tonight.
I will definitely be getting laid. I climb out of the shower and smear my mango-ginger butter lotion everywhere, then put on my sexiest matching bra and panties—the black lacy ones. Of course, Nikolai probably won’t even see them because I’m supposed to be naked when he gets home. And another of course—I have time after work to do this stuff. I don’t have to do it now.
But I want to.
“Echo,” I shout into the kitchen. “Play Flo Rida’s ‘Low’.”
I guess I’m feeling sexy. It was my favorite high school party song. When it comes on, I’m lured to the kitchen still in just my bra and panties to hear it full-blast. I stand in front of the Echo like it’s my dance partner and slide my hands down my body, singing at the top of my lungs, slapping my booty and dropping into a squat at the appropriate times.
When “Low” is over, I ask Echo to play Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream,” and I bebop to my bedroom to get dressed while singing like I’m thirteen.
I call Shanna on the way to work, even though I know she’s still asleep. I can’t help it. I have to leave a message on her voice mail. Somehow, I think she’d be proud of me.
“Well, I’m taking your advice. I’m finally having some gratuitous sex. Which is kind of a stupid term. Like when is sex not necessary? Oh, I guess gratuitous also means free. Well, this sex isn’t free. It’s worth thirty thousand dollas.” Yes, I’m talking like a gangster. Or a thirteen-year-old. I’m being ridiculous, but it feels great.
I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
I guess Shanna really was right.
“Call me for the deets when you wake up,” I sing into the phone then end the call with a goofy smile on my face.
Yep, that’s right, bitches. Today is my day. I’ll be bargaining for a promotion at work, and I brokered a deal worth thirty grand to get my brother off the hook. A deal that includes me getting laid on the regular for thirty nights.
Do I sound like a dude right now? I sort of feel like a dude.
Who knew all I needed was a little no-strings-attached sex to feel this empowered?
Nikolai
I’m in love.
I rewind the video feed of Chelle dancing around the kitchen in her bra and panties five times with my dick in my hand.
She’s so. Damn. Hot.
And adorable.
And goofy. It’s the goofiness that really disarms me. I liked uptight firecracker Chelle a lot. But seeing her with her guard down? It gets under my skin.
Makes me desperate for her to reveal that side of herself to me. To let her hair down. To be vulnerable. To look so happy and carefree.
Was it landing the deal with Skate 32 that made her so chipper this morning? Or was it our deal?
I hadn’t found it in myself to regret the deal yet, and now I’m even more satisfied with my decision, even though I already know it won’t end well.
At least there will be plenty of orgasms along the way, right?
Chelle texts me at lunch time. I’m upstairs, sitting at the breakfast bar with Sasha and Maxim. What about my spin classes?
I smile. I am open to negotiation. You can earn privileges.
She writes back, Does that include going to the Red Room Wednesdays to see my BFF?
The memory of her getting hit on by that mudak makes me grind my teeth. No fucking chance. Not without me, anyway.
Are you buying?
Now she’s flirting. My smile returns. If I take you out, I’m buying. But you haven’t earned it yet.
Sasha snatches my phone from my hand.
“Hey!”
“You’re texting a woman!” she declares. “Is she the one from Rue’s last night?”
I hold my hand out. “Give me the phone, Sasha. It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Watch your mouth with my wife,” Maxim growls at me.
I ignore him because we both know she’s being a pain. Brat is Sasha’s middle name, but she’s hot as fuck and came with oil wells worth sixty million dollars, so Maxim doesn’t mind their arranged marriage thing.
She tries unsuccessfully to unlock my phone. “I saw, If I take you out, I’m buying,” she announces triumphantly. “So what’s the deal? Are you dating this woman? Hmm?”
“Yes, what is the deal?” Story appears from Oleg’s bedroom with my giant bratva brother behind her. “Last night was a strange scene. How did that even happen?”
I shake my head. I’m not as tempted to tell Story to mind her own fucking business because she’s too kind and also because Oleg would legit kill me.
Oleg outs me, though, signing, She is the sister of a guy who owes us money. Story interprets out loud because she knows sign language best although the rest of us get the jist of it now without her interpretation.
Sasha, who majored in theatre, gives an exaggerated gasp and claps a hand over her mouth. “Nikolai! Gospodi, did you take his sister as payment?”
Maxim grunts, and I realize they’re all staring at me waiting for my answer. Like they think it’s true.
The fact that it is pretty close to the truth burns me.
“Shut up. All of you. My arrangement with Chelle is none of your business.”
“Oh. My. God.” Sasha sounds delighted. “I can’t believe it. You did!”
“I thought we had a no sex as currency rule,” Maxim says mildly. Like he’s not going to sweat me for it, but he’s curious why I broke the rules. He’s right, of course. The thirty grand Zane owes isn’t mine to fuck with. It belongs to the bratva. I pay Adrian and Oleg out of it and a percentage always goes to Ravil.