21 |
21 |House on Mosfilmovskaya Apartments Moscow, Russia
Svetlana unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside, swiping her hand on the panel to the right of the door, activating the lights. She was happy, her troubles forgotten for the moment, memories of the two hours spent together with Yury bringing constant smiles to her face.
Except when he treated her like garbage.
What was it with men that they thought they could talk so horribly to their partners, especially during sex? He was much older than her, from a generation where women weren’t treated with as much respect. And the fact he was Russian didn’t help. She had dated some Westerners. Two Americans and a Brit. They treated her better than she had ever been treated, but those were always short-term relationships while they were on business in Moscow. They’d never take her back with them, and she didn’t want them to.
She loved Russia. It had its problems, but when you were rich, those problems were easily forgotten. And if you were pretty, and open-minded, finding someone rich to take care of you was easy enough.
Enter Yury Minkin.
They had met through friends, and had hit it off immediately. Her plying him with alcohol, and his failing marriage certainly helped. She had gone back to his hotel room the very first night, and by the end of it, she knew he was hers. This apartment was given to her, plus a generous allowance, and her sugar daddy had access to her whenever he wanted.
And once the press was silenced—through death threats, she assumed—he had hired her to be his executive assistant, a job she wasn’t very good at, but it gave him access to her whenever he needed some relief, relief she was happy to provide so long as he kept the troubled world that surrounded them at a distance.
Maybe you don’t love Russia as much as you think.
She tossed her jacket on the back of a chair and kicked her heels off. She headed for the shower, peeling her clothes off as she went, tossing them on the floor, leaving a trail of depravity for the maid to pick up the next morning. She turned on the shower, and was about to step inside, when the doorbell rang.
She cursed.
It had to be the insurance agent, or representative, or whatever he had called himself. She had left instructions at the front desk that he should be sent up immediately, and was now regretting it. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, debating on whether she should greet him naked. He was cute. Very cute. And she was horny. Sex with Yury was never very satisfying, though he did try. And she was happy to make him happy, though that didn’t satisfy the needs she had.
An insurance agent my age might be nice.
She frowned.
But what if it isn’t him?
She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, making certain the girls were on display, then headed for the door as it rang a second time. She opened and beamed a smile at the startled agent.
“I was hoping it was you.”
He smiled, extending a hand. She let go of the towel and shook it, the Egyptian cotton creation falling to the floor, revealing all.
His smile broadened, and he didn’t look away. “Let me help you with that.” He knelt, picked up the towel, then handed it to her.
She took it, but didn’t put it on. “Thank you.”
“May I come in?”
She stared at him coyly. “You can do whatever you want.”
He stepped inside and closed the door as she tossed the towel over her shoulder, strutting over to the wet bar. “Martini?”
“Absolutely.”
Shivers ran across her body from the chill in the apartment, and the anticipation of what might be. She prepared the drinks and noted that this time, rather than sitting in a chair, he had sat on the couch, his arm spread across the back. She bent over, giving him a show, and handed him his drink before sitting beside him, curling her legs up and turning to face him.
“I, umm, have to admit, I wasn’t expecting a greeting like this.”
She ran a finger down his chest as she took a sip. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
His head shook a little too quickly. “No, umm, not at all.”
What a sweetie!
He took a long drink. “So, did you see Mr. Minkin?”
“Let’s talk about that later.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “I have a shower running. Do you want to join me?”
He gulped. “Umm, sure, but, umm, how about we get our business out of the way first?”
She smiled. “Then I have you all night?”
He flushed. “As long as you want me.”
She snuggled closer, leaning in, a hair’s breadth separating their lips. “I might never let you go.”
“That sounds like something I could go for.” His voice was hoarse, desperate. He wanted her, and he wanted her bad, and there was no doubt the feeling was mutual, her entire body tingling with what wonders lay behind this impeccably dressed man. He cleared his throat, pulling away, though only a few inches. “So, your meeting. Did it happen?”
She frowned, her shoulders slumping as the mood was broken with thoughts of her aging sugar daddy. “Yes.”
“And did you ask him the questions?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Take off your shirt and I’ll tell you.”
“Hey, we agreed, business first.”
She pouted. “I just want to make sure I’m getting something worthwhile in trade.”
He sighed and stood, removing his suit jacket. She grabbed him by the tie and pulled him closer, removing it as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing pecs and abs to die for.
A body she had to have.
She grabbed his belt, yanking her prize closer.
“Wait, business first.”
She frowned. “Fine. He didn’t know her name. The meeting was arranged by her uncle. He knows his name but wouldn’t give it to me because it’s too dangerous. He wants to meet with you to discuss it. There, business done.” She grabbed him by the crotch. “Now let’s get down to business.”
“When will he meet me?”
“Soon.”
“At the prison?”
She shook her head as she concentrated on his zipper. “No, I don’t think so. He seemed to think he’d be getting out very soon.”
He grabbed her hand as she reached inside his pants. “What do you mean?”
She growled in frustration and stared up at him. “He said he’d never see the inside of a courtroom.” She yanked her hand away and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer. “So, are we done talking?”
He nodded. “Yes.” Then he stepped back. “I’m afraid I have to report back to my office. Can I take a raincheck on this?”
She stared up at him, dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me?”