Torrid (Sordid 2)

“You live in this big house by yourself?” I asked, hoping to switch subjects.

“My parents are dead.” His tone was cold. “My brother lives in Baltimore.” The sheets rustled as he moved further away from me. “Go to sleep.”

I was stunned, and rolled over to see if he was joking. “We’re not going to . . .?”

“Fuck? Not tonight.” A lazy smile smeared on his lips. “Try not to look so disappointed. You’ll have to wait a little longer, virgin.”

7

Vasilije

It was awkward as hell trying to fall asleep beside the naked girl in my bed. I rarely brought my hookups home, and if I did, we partied in one of the guest bedrooms. That way, I could bail afterward and escape down the hall. I didn’t share my bed.

But I enjoyed how uncomfortable I made Oksana and didn’t want to let up. She needed to stay on edge and always aware of me.

Her quiet breathing didn’t bother me because it had purpose, but she silently tapped her fingers against the sheet, drumming out a pattern of some kind. I could feel the vibrations through the mattress. I shot my hand out and covered hers. “Stop.”

Her warm fingers stilled beneath mine.

Well, fuck me, I was basically holding her hand. It felt weird and wrong, but I left my palm on top of hers because I always did the wrong thing. My hold of her made the tension between us skyrocket. After the blowjob, I’d been tired, yet now my dick was twitching, waking up and greedy for more. The plan was to draw it out, but maybe I’d fuck her tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to watch her face as I buried my cock in her sweet pussy for the first time.

I drifted off into an uneasy sleep, keeping my hand latched onto hers.

?

My eyelids popped open. It was still dark outside. I glanced at the clock—it was two in the morning. I was a light sleeper, but the rain had stopped, so that hadn’t been what woke me up. I homed in on the sounds around, just as I remembered how I’d fallen asleep with a girl in my bed. A Russian one.

The sheets beside me were empty.

I jolted up, wheeling around. Oksana had put on my black robe, and she stood at my dresser with her back to me. It sounded like she was cautiously opening the top drawer.

Shit! I was off the bed and flew at her, slamming into her body with enough force to knock the gun from her grip. Down we went, her screaming in fear, and between the tangle of black fabric and her hands, I couldn’t see my gun.

Instead of a safety snapping off or a magazine being jammed in place, there was a sound of . . . paper ripping? I fell on top of her and fought for her wrists, strangling each one above her head and pinning them to the carpet. Her wild eyes stared up at me as I straddled her hips.

She’d been trying to kill me, even after I’d made it clear what would happen if she was successful. Was she that fucking stupid? Where was the gun she’d gone for in the drawer? I scanned around, and when I saw the notebook laying awkwardly on the carpet, my rage evaporated. Oh.

I slid my hands away slowly, releasing her.

Oksana’s head turned and she stared at the tented notebook surrounded with torn pages.

Her face crumbled and turned into a pure nightmare. Tears welled in her eyes. After everything she’d been through tonight, witnessing murder and then all I’d done . . . this was what made her cry? A few torn pages? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have sisters or a mother, and the only time women cried around me was when I was dumping their ass, and neither one of us wanted me to stick around.

I climbed off her, grabbed the lapels of the robe, and hauled her to sit up. “It’s okay,” I heard myself saying. “I’ve got tape. We can fix it.”

She shrank away from me, wrapping the plush fabric tighter around her body, and wiped the tears away from beneath her eyes. Whatever sadness she had disappeared pretty damn quick, and was replaced with a guarded expression. Like she was embarrassed and ready to defend herself if I made a comment about her crying.

“I wasn’t going for your gun,” she said.

“I get that now.” I picked up the notebook and the torn pages, and I could feel her searing gaze on me as I closed the pages inside and stood. She acted like I had no right to touch her stupid book. “What the fuck is this?”

“Music,” she said. “My songs.”

I must not have been fully awake as I held out the book to her. “Fine. You’ll go downstairs and play one for me.”