Her Russian Brute: 50 Loving States, Idaho (9 page)

“Are you sure you’re fine, sir? Maybe you should let me take a look at that wound...”

“I am fine,” he insisted, voice brooking no argument. “But I
am
hungry.”

Hannah looked like she wanted to say something more, but at the last second, she demurred. “Yes, of course, sir. I’ll go whip something up. Right away.”

Presumably Hannah brought them both dinner, but Sola remained in her room, nothing but the sound of opera streaming out of it to let him know she was still there.

He thought about knocking on her door, asking her…

That’s where his mind stuttered. What exactly did he want to ask her about? The fact that they’d had sex last night and she’d yet to come out of her room to—do what, exactly? Acknowledge it? Kiss him? Reassure him, like he was a weak, insecure man? He thought of all the good girls he’d claimed, tentatively asking, as he sat on the edges of their beds, if they would see him again. If this was more than a one-night stand.

He’d had a standard response for questions like that back then: “We had fun tonight. We will see about tomorrow.” Even though he’d already known the answer to their timid questions.
Da
, this was definitely a one-night stand. There were too many girls in this world in need of fucking to end up stuck with just one.

That had been his reasoning back then, but now…

Now… it felt like he’d give anything to have Sola come out of her room and tell him last night had meant something to her. That what they’d done together had not only taken over her body, but also her heart. Even if only a little.

That she felt the same way he did. That she couldn’t stop thinking about what they’d done together, how well they’d fit together, moved together…he wanted to hear her say what happened last night had felt like a miracle to her, too.

But she never left her room. And he’d ended up right back in the pool that evening. Swimming off his frustration. Followed by another session of tossing and turning in his bed. Trying to convince himself not to beat off to the memory of her, since apparently it really had only been a one-night stand.

He’d almost given up on ever falling asleep again, when his door opened.

“Hi, my feet are cold,” Sola said in the doorway. “Can we have sex?”

The answer to that was yes. Of course.

He welcomed her back into his bed, throwing off the covers as she climbed on top of his body. All the while wondering what a monster like him had done to deserve a miracle like her.

S
ix days
after the night of the wolf attack, Sola woke up just like she’d been waking up every morning since that harrowing experience…happy, with a sore pussy, and wearing her glasses.

The happiness she had no explanation for. She was in the same situation she’d been in since she’d arrived at this house, but now she didn’t even have The Thirsty Wolf
to distract her. She was way too scared to leave the house at night after getting attacked by that wolf. And it wasn’t like she could always count on being saved by her Russian captor.

Which brought her to the issue of the soreness. She’d obviously been sleep masturbating. Again. And though she’d had no proof that this latest round of masturbation had been brought on by the man who’d accused her of watching him six nights ago, she knew he had to be the reason she kept waking with her sex and breasts throbbing and sore. Because of him, she must have spent most of the night with one hand deep in her pussy, and the other groping her own breasts.

And it wasn’t the first time this had happened. Scott had once angrily shaken her awake in the middle of the night after her loud moans woke him from a deep sleep. She’d obviously been pleasuring herself after a less than satisfying session with him.

It had been a pretty messed up way to have your boyfriend find out you have a sleep disorder. And she’d had to think fast to come up with a plausible excuse. She told him she’d wanted him again, and hadn’t realized what she was doing. She pointed out that if she hadn’t been in a state of animated sleep, instead of putting on her glasses and pleasuring herself, she would have just reached over and asked him to have sex with her again.

Well, maybe…

Truthfully, as appealing as Scott was on paper—perfect face, perfect smile, perfect body—he left a lot to be desired in the bedroom. It was always missionary-style with no talking whatsoever. He didn’t believe in oral, and he only fingered her until she got wet enough for him to slip inside.

He had a pretty low sex drive anyway, often treating sex like something he needed to check off his to do list. Like: fifteen bicep curls, fifteen push-ups, fifteen minutes of sex with Sola. Afterwards, he’d usually turn on the TV and watch a movie—like there, that’s over with, now let’s reward ourselves for a job well done!

Scott had some different notions about sex. That they shouldn’t do it too much until they got married, because it really should be reserved for what nature intended: making babies. But he was also a man, he’d explained to her when he first introduced the subject of her taking birth control so they could take their formerly chaste—at his insistence—relationship to the next level. And he already knew she was the girl for him—even if they’d both given their virginity to others in what he’d called the “indiscretions of youth.”

So they’d begun a sexual relationship consisting of conventional sex with a little fingering to warm her up. It rarely ended in an orgasm for Sola unless she was super horny, but she’d accepted the situation for what it was. Mostly because she’d only been in her very early twenties when they’d first met. She’d been young and naïve and completely stunned that a pro football player would choose her, lowly Marisol Carillo, to be his girlfriend. Also, as they say: cold pizza is better than no pizza.

To Sola, who’d never had a serious boyfriend before Scott, it hadn’t seemed like too much to put up with. And though sex with him could be frustrating at times, she could usually hold out until he fell asleep at which point she would sneak into her bathroom with the battery operated boyfriend she kept hidden there in a drawer. Or if she were staying at his place, she’d tide herself over with a glass or two of wine to ensure a deep, undisturbed sleep. But the night she woke Scott with her moaning, she’d fallen asleep in front of the TV before she remembered to have her nightcap.

And that mistake resulted in the second biggest argument she and Scott ever had
.
No
, she thought, remembering their last and final fight with a wince.
Make that the third biggest
.

Anitra had seen right through him from the very beginning. “I don’t care what everyone else says,” she said after that one disastrous dinner. “You deserve a hell of a lot better.”

Back then, she’d just folded her arms and said something vague. She loved her best friend, but sometimes Anitra just didn’t get Sola’s situation. For girls like Anitra, there was no pressure to find someone to marry as quickly as possible. For girls like Sola, not so much. Unlike Anitra, Sola was a Dream Act student, and as life-changing as that program had been for her, it wasn’t a direct path to citizenship. Scott had been her single best chance to gain legal status until his behavior became so intolerable, she just couldn’t see a future with him.

Of course Sola wasn’t a complete snake. She really had thought she loved Scott, and had hoped to spend the rest of her life with him. Becoming a legal citizen was only a perk of what she imagined would be a wonderful future as his wife. But then the hair episode had gone down and she’d been so happy not seeing him last semester. Eventually, she’d come to see the writing on the wall as far as their relationship was concerned…and she just couldn’t bring herself to use someone she disliked more and more each day for citizenship. So she felt she was doing what was best for both of them when she tried to break up with him.

But that was when Scott, the perfect All-American football player, had shown her his true colors. And Sola might be undocumented, but she knew she deserved better than that. Better than Scott. Better than her captor, who was obviously only looking for someone to replace the hookers who could no longer drive up to the house thanks to the snow.

Yet here she was, waking up happy and relaxed after a night spent fingering herself over a guy who, wolf punch notwithstanding, had made it clear he was a total dick from the moment she’d first met him, at the door
of a cell he was keeping her mentor and friend locked up in
.

So why was she thinking about him that morning in bed? And later, when she took a shower? Wondering what it would be like to have him, instead of her hand, between her legs. Wondering what it would be like to run her palms over his chiseled body as she rode him—

Seriously, what is wrong with me?!
she asked herself, cranking the shower spray nozzle to the right to cool the water temperature.

First order of business—a cold shower to clear her mind of sex she shouldn’t be wanting with Ivan, even if he had punched out a wolf for her. And then breakfast.

The shower was easy. Breakfast, not so much. It was the week leading up to Christmas, and Gregory and Hannah had requested the entire week off, wanting to spend the holidays with their grown children and grandkids in town. Sola completely understood why the couple would prefer to spend the holidays with their extended family rather than their grumpy Russian employer and the woman he’d taken prisoner.

But it meant she was on her own for breakfast. This wouldn’t have been so bad, except it also meant she actually had to leave her room after avoiding Ivan and her body’s reaction to him for six days straight.

It was just a peck on the cheek, she’d been reminding herself since the night of the wolf attack…but her body clearly hadn’t gotten the message. She felt a zap of sexual energy go through her at only one touch from him, and she’d been waking up feeling sore and happy ever since.

Sola crept down the back stairs and inwardly cheered as she dashed past the entryway with the Ivan-free armchair under the front stairs. She rushed into the kitchen, seriously hoping he’d stay wherever he was hiding until she finished making breakfast. Something simple and super American, since she doubted Hannah had so much as a black bean in her pantry—

She stopped short, just inside the kitchen door, when she found Ivan inside said pantry, rooting around it, like a bear going after honey.

“Do not run away, I need you,” he called out, when she started to quietly back toward the door.

She stopped short again. “Oh, I wasn’t running away, exactly,” she lied.

Ivan only narrowed his eyes at her over his shoulder, making it clear he didn’t believe her.

“You will stop avoiding me now and help me find the cinnamon.”

Curiosity brought her further into the kitchen in spite of herself.

“Well, most people would put cinnamon on a spice rack, not in the pantry…”

She walked over to the large Viking stove and pulled down a big container of cinnamon from the collection of spices nestled in the heat-proof rack above the stove.

“What do you need cinnamon for anyway?”

“To make breakfast. I found a recipe on that box for caramel apple pancakes,” he said, indicating a collection of ingredients he’d placed next to a box of Bisquick on the butcher block island.

“Yum! That sounds good,” she said, her stomach all but standing up and cheering as she walked to the island to set down the cinnamon.

But then she took a good look at the ingredients he’d already gathered and frowned. “The recipe called for vanilla ice cream?”

“Yes, it said vanilla.”

She picked up the box and chuckled. “Um, actually it just asks for plain old vanilla.”

“Yes, plain vanilla ice cream,” he said, coming to stand next to her at the counter. “I have everything I need now.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. “So…how many times have you actually cooked before?”

He frowned down at her and grabbed the box. “Never. But how hard can it be?”

See, he is SO arrogant
, she pointed out to her body, mentally reminding it why she should in no way be attracted to this guy.

But then he ducked his head and looked at her with an almost shy smile. “Also, after this week we have had together, I would like to cook for you.”

F-word. Her sex was basically screaming at her to jump his bones already. Just for saying he wanted to cook for her because she’d had a bad week.

Ugh! Stockholm Syndrome much
? she wondered.

Sola took the Bisquick box from him, and muttered, “Thanks, but as curious as I am about how vanilla ice cream pancakes would taste, I think it’s best if I take over from here.”

Which was how she ended up passing the next half hour under Ivan’s watchful gaze as she threw together a batch of caramel apple pancakes.

“You are right. This cooking is not as easy as I thought it would be,” he admitted when she set a stack of pancakes in front of him at the kitchen table before sitting across from him with a plate of her own.

“Well, no, it wouldn’t be if you’ve never, ever cooked before. How did that happen, exactly? Did your mom never let you into the kitchen? Or maybe you had servants?”

“Servants. And when I moved out to start fighting, I had people to take care of that for me. I’ve never had to cook for myself,” he admitted before putting the first forkful of pancakes in his mouth.

“So you’re a fighter?” she asked, curious despite her resolve to keep her distance. That would explain how he’d managed to K.O. the wolf.

He held up a finger and finished chewing before he answered, “Yes, I was a very successful fighter. I became the EFC world champion shortly before the accident.”

“EFC? That’s like where you kick box instead of regular boxing, right?”

A small smile lifted his lips. “Something like that. I am trained in a variety of martial arts, including jujitsu. But there is kick boxing involved sometimes, yes.”

“I’ve never watched any EFC fights before, but my dad loved boxing when I was a kid. Some of my earliest memories are of him holding me in his lap while he yelled at the TV.” A smile of remembrance lifted her own lips as she cut up her own pancakes. “I bet he would have liked watching you fight. Did you and your dad bond over boxing?”

“No.” His voice had gone considerably colder. “My father and I did not have that kind of relationship. He wanted me to be a businessman like the rest of the men in our family. He did not understand why I would want to do anything else with my life.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, the only nice thing about being an orphan is there was no one there to tell me how crazy I was when I decided to apply for art school.”

A long silence. Then: “I am an orphan now, too. My parents…died.”

She looked up from her pancakes then, and found him staring down at his plate, his posture one of deep sadness.

So, he knows how it feels to lose family,
she thought, sad they had this one thing in common.

“I’m so sorry about your loss,” she said. “As much as the students at art school complain about their parents, they’re lucky they don’t know what it’s like to not have anyone around trying to tell you how to live your life. That’s the sort of thing you don’t know you’ll miss until it’s gone.”

“No…” he agreed.

Quiet descended over the kitchen as they finished eating their pancakes. At least Ivan finished his pancakes. She found she didn’t quite have the appetite to finish hers.

“I do not like this sadness between us now,” he said when she stood up and took both of their plates over to the kitchen’s triple sink.

“Yeah,” she agreed, pushing the remains of her pancakes into the small middle sink. “Dead parents definitely don’t make good breakfast conversation.”

Behind her, she heard him stand up from the table. “We will talk of something else,” he decreed in his domineering way.

But she didn’t mind his tone so much, because she was more than ready to change the subject.

“Okay, what should we talk about?” she asked as she began washing the dishes.

“Hannah and Gregory will be gone all week,” he said.

It was a casual change of topic, but something about it made her nipples pebble in her bra, especially when he came to stand behind her.

What is wrong with me?
she wondered for at least the tenth time that morning. Sola felt like an open-ended nerve. Highly sensitized. Her body was going crazy just because he was standing near her, watching her wash their breakfast plates.

“You know what that means,
da
?” he asked her.

“That we’re going to have to figure out something to make for lunch and dinner, too?” she answered.