Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“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.
Knowing there’s at least one person in the crowd who is crazy about me.
Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.
Chapter 2
Oleg
I don’t have a way to get home. I could text one of the guys in my cell, but it’s almost four in the morning.
I could use a ride-sharing app, but it would mean interacting with another person—something I loathe. I decide to walk. It’s only a few miles. It’s freezing out, but I’m from Russia. Cold doesn’t bother me, especially when I could use the temperature to cool down after what just happened.
Story’s vanilla-sweet scent still lingers on my shirt.
I zip my leather jacket and shove my hands in my pockets. My mind is still filled with images of Story getting off under my hands. It was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Like that first hit of a drug, I’m now utterly addicted. I don’t know how I’ll wait a full week to see her again. How I’ll settle for just watching now that I’ve touched her.
But I’m not stupid enough to think I can have Story.