Nikolai’s chuckle carries on the wind, and I pull up beside him. He leads me to the sidewalk that runs along the lake shore. During the day, it’s usually packed with people, but at this time of night, there’s no one out here. We have the whole walkway to ourselves. The clouds part, revealing a bright white moon that creates a long, continuous reflection on the water.
As my anxiety over hitting someone or falling in the dark ebbs, the perfection of it all seeps in. The wind on my face and in my hair. Nikolai’s laughter. The sensation of speed, the beauty of the lake.
My body turns on. There’s nothing sexual about it, but physical pleasure overtakes me, just the same. I grind over the bicycle seat like it’s my vibrator, increasing the sensations.
“You were right,” I call to Nikolai, laughter in my voice.
He throws me a smile. “You’re having fun?”
“So much.”
It’s true. I can’t think of when I’ve felt so free. So joyous. I never let myself go. I have to control every aspect of my life, right down to when and how I could have sex with Nikolai.
This bike ride? It’s freedom.
Freedom from constraint. From my crazy mind trying to make everything work out perfect and tie up with a bow, which it never does.
Nikolai is showing me something so much bigger than a bike ride along the lake. Something about living.
About love.
Wait, no. No, no, no. I’m not in love.
I can’t fall in love.
Yet, even as my mind protests, my body’s sailing free. Exalting in the sensations of the joyous bike ride.
In partnership with the man riding beside me.
Gratitude flows to him for bringing me out here. Showing me this. Making me come out of the safety of my controls and limitations.
I grind down on the seat again, letting myself turn completely untethered. Masturbating on a bike seat in the moonlight.
I come. Not a big orgasm. More like a little ripple, but it feels like a symbol of success. I let go and nothing terrible happened. There was actually a reward.
15
Nikolai
After morning sex and Chelle’s champagne brunch Sunday, I feel like a king.
No, more like I’ve been reborn. For the last four years, my bratva cell was my entire world. Ravil was the most benevolent dictator—all-seeing, generous, inclusive. Living all together on the top floor of this building was everything to me.
When things changed, I lost my way. My identity. What to live for.
Now, with this place, with Chelle running around naked doing my bidding, I feel like life restarted.
“Come here, Freckles.” I slide out and turn one of the barstools at the breakfast bar around. “Climb up here.” I pat it.
She comes over, her nipples beaded up and perky. I grasp her waist and lift her onto the bar stool.
“Good girl.”
Her gaze is both interested and wary. She trusts me, though. More and more. And I fucking love the way that trust feels.
I’d been lost before she came here. Empty. Feeling like I had no real purpose in life. Now I’ve found it. It’s turning Chelle on. Earning her trust. Watching her bloom like the most exotic, delicate flower.
I pick up a length of rope and wrap it around her calves, binding them to the legs of the barstool, so her knees are open, the sweet pink heart of her sex exposed to me. She squirms on the seat.
I catch her gaze. “Turned on?”
She nods.
“That’s too bad because I’m going to make you wait for it today. Do not disobey me and come without permission this time, or there will be serious consequences.”
“I don’t really think I can help it,” she complains.
“Then, by all means, test me,” I dare and watch her throat bob as she swallows.
She looks beautiful, her chestnut hair tumbling across her shoulders, her face flushed, pretty lips parted. Her tongue darts out to lick them, and I have to rearrange my package.
I wind the rope around her ribs and waist, binding her to the seat back, but leaving her breasts free for me to play with. “Give me your wrists,” I command from behind her. She hesitates, then holds her arms behind her for me to grasp and behind together.
I walk around to the front of her and survey my work.
It’s fucking deadly.
I mean, she’s so hot the apartment is in danger of combusting.
I pull out my phone to snap a picture, and she freaks out.
“Hard limit!” she yelps immediately, jerking at the bonds. “No photos. I mean it, Nikolai.”
“Okay, Freckles.” I toss my phone on the counter to calm her down. “I would never share it, is that what you’re afraid of?”
“Hard limit,” is all she can say, but the depth of her reaction makes me think there’s more to it.
“Hm.” I saunter toward her and put a knuckle under her chin to lift it. “What happened?”