He shakes his head.
What… the F?
“Oleg, come inside,” I say it more like an order now. I mean, this guy’s into me. He’s going to give me what I need, right?
He shakes his head again then mimes drinking.
Aw, fuck.
Really?
“You won’t touch me because I’ve been drinking?”
He nods.
He’s that much of a gentleman?
“That’s… sweet.”
Really, really sweet.
“And annoying. Oleg, you can’t do this to me,” I reason, tugging fistfuls of his shirt. “That kiss just got me all hot and bothered. You can’t leave me all needy. It’s not fair.”
His brows go down again. Jaw clenches. He wipes his lower lip with his thumb, eyes dropping to my mouth. I can see him struggling. The guy who respects me versus the guy who doesn’t want to deny me. And also there’s the guy who’s going to have blue balls, himself. Because I felt his boner, and it was rock hard.
Like before, the moment he makes his decision, he surges into action. He crowds me backward, into my one-bedroom apartment, then kicks the door shut and locks it.
“Yes, Oleg.”
I drop my purse, throw off my jacket and lunge for his lips again. We kiss like it’s a contest to see who can devour the other one first. Still no tongue from him, though. Like he’s too much of a gentleman for that, too. He picks me up, his forearm under my ass, and I straddle his thick trunk with my legs. He turns in a circle to get his bearings and then correctly chooses the door to my bedroom, where he takes me and drops me in the center of the bed.
The moment I’m down, he tears at the hole in my fishnets—like wrecking them was a premeditated crime—and then drags his open mouth along my inner thigh until he meets the edge of the short-shorts I wore over the fishnets. There, he bites the fabric and tugs, the heat of his breath fanning over my core.
“Eager, huh?” I ask with a laugh. He grunts in reply. That sound… fuck, it makes my pussy melt.
I race to unbutton the shorts, shoving them down my hips. He takes over, yanking them down off my waist, along with the fishnets.
I giggle when he reaches my boots.
He makes a sound of discontent and rips at their ties. In a few seconds, I have them toed off, and I’m naked from the waist down.
Oleg grabs both my legs and pulls me down the bed. He’s an aggressive lover—so different from what I’d imagined he’d be like—but I love it. I mean, I’m way into it. He nips and kisses my core but for some reason, withholds the tongue. Maybe it grosses him out to lick down there.
Instead, he sweeps one of his large fingers inside his cheek to moisten it and then rubs my entrance.
I’m already wet from the way he’s handled me, and his finger slides right in.
I don’t usually like being finger-fucked. Digits are too small. And not soft enough. Too pokey.
But Oleg’s finger is huge. As big as a normal guy’s dick. And, oh, does he know how to use it. He thrusts in a couple times, then pushes a second one in and starts petting my inner wall.
My mouth drops open in pleasure when he finds what must be my G-spot. My thighs twitch and slam against his broad shoulders. He strokes and circles the bundle of nerves until I’m a quivering mess, then he starts finger-fucking me hard and fast.
“Oh God,” I pant, grabbing his free arm like I’m desperate to have something to hold on to while I’m on this wild ride.
He reaches under my tank top and shoves my bra cup down. I’m shocked when he pinches my nipple—hard. My hips jack off the bed in response, taking his fingers deeper.
I thrash my head on the bed, so close.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat and fucks me faster. His thumb coasts over my clit when he pumps his fingers in, and I go off like a firecracker—exploding into pleasure with my first orgasm from fingers alone.
“Oh my God!” I repeat, muscles still trembling and spasming.
Mind blown.
“That was crazy. So good.” I rub the bulge of his cock in his pants. “I’m definitely ready. That was the best foreplay of my life.”
But Oleg backs off the bed and shakes his head.
“Oh my God! Really?” I get up and follow him in my mostly naked state. “Why not? Because I’ve been drinking? I’ve sobered up.” It feels crazy to beg for sex. Not my usual scenario. Not by a long shot.
He walks out of my bedroom into the kitchen/living area. He opens the cabinets until he finds a glass, and then he fills it with water and hands it to me.
I let out a protesting scoff, but I accept it because it’s unbelievably… sweet. Is this guy for real?
The sweetness is so at odds with how rough he was in bed, and I find the combination intoxicating. Like sea salt with chocolate. You don’t think they go together until you try them, and then you wonder why everything isn’t sea salt-chocolate flavored. I want more of Oleg. All of him.
He looks at the glass of water then lifts his chin, crosses his arms over his chest.
“That bossy pose doesn’t work on me,” I tell him, fighting a smile. I want to be exasperated, but I can’t be. My Russian stalker is every bit as respectful and protective as I thought he would be.
I down the entire glass of water and set it on the counter. He cocks an eyebrow as if to say, “See?”
I roll my eyes. “Are we good? You want to come back to the bedroom?”
He shakes his head but moves toward me. My limbs loosen, his nearness turning me to jelly. But then he tosses me over his shoulder, slapping my bare ass as he carries me back to the bedroom.
“Ooh!” I giggle. “Spank me, Daddy.”
He stoops to pull down my covers then lays me down so carefully I want to cry. My ass tingles from the spank.
Who is this guy?
Why didn’t I bring him home sooner?
He pulls the covers back and tucks me in, then brushes the backs of his fingers along my cheek, staring down at me with the same intensity he watches my show. Like I’m the only human being in the entire world. When I’m on stage, it fuels my performance. But right now, it makes my heart thump harder. It’s too intimate. Slightly terrifying.
But then it’s over because he walks out. I know he can’t speak, but there’s no nod or wave. He just leaves. I hear the front door open and close. I’m certain, without checking, that he turned the lock on the handle before shutting it to make sure I’m safe.
I pull the covers closer and curl into my pillows. “Crazy Russian,” I whisper to myself, a smile on my lips. My entire body buzzes from our interlude.
I want more of him. A lot more. But I’m also already disappointed we broke the seal on our relationship because I know from experience, it won’t last long. I’m the type who doesn’t stick. I run as soon as things get serious. I don’t know. I get this anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I consider it my inner guidance for when it’s time to break things off. So I don’t end up destroyed by love the way my mom always was.
And still is.
This thing will play out in a matter of weeks, the way all my relationships do, and then it will be over. And then I’ll never be able to return to the pleasure of going to a gig where Oleg will be there watching. Basking in the heat of his gaze on me all night long.