Billie and the Russian Beast - 50 Loving States, South Carolina - Quarantales

Cheslav sneers. And I rub my arm self-consciously. He probably thinks I’m an idiot for complaining about coming in second to a professional football player.

“I know what you’re thinking. Dance and football are two totally different trajectories. And only a spoiled brat would feel resentful that her passion wasn’t valued as highly as her brother’s. I love my mother. She did the best she could as a single woman raising two kids on a security guard’s salary. I shouldn’t be upset.”

Cheslav scrunches his brow and hurt flashes across his face. “That is not what I was thinking at all, krasotka. I am only admiring you. You had hard life, and your family did not properly appreciate you. But you stay generous and kind. Even to awful Russian blackmailer like me.”

My cheeks warm, remembering how I called him that before I stormed out of his penthouse. And I find myself telling him the truth. “I don’t think you’re so awful now. This time together has been…nice. A lot nicer than I expected.”

“I agree, krasotka.” His eyes darken. “And as soon as our thirty days’ trial is done, I will be even nicer to you. All night long.”

Sex, the elephant in the room that neither of us has brought up. Until now.

Forget my cheeks, my whole face is burning up.

“So what did you and Vladimir do for fun back in Russia if not puzzles and board games?” I ask him, determined to change the subject.

“Last century, we Rustanovs maybe not so good family. We are very successful criminals until Alexei, the head of our family, decided to take our organization in different direction. Clean direction or how-you-say-it…legitimate direction.”

Whoa, maybe Cynda had it right after all…. “So you’re saying the Rustanovs were basically mafia until your cousin decided you guys needed to go legitimate?”

“Yes,” he answers with a nod. “My guard Vlad is leftover from the old Rustanov family. He has been with me since we were boys, understand? Kind of like half-nanny, half-bodyguard. Before I was born, the Rustanovs were only partly in legitimate business world, and we had many enemies. Now we are all in, and we still have many enemies. However, we retaliate with things like forced mergers and hostile takeovers, not enforcers. And the boy children born of my generation are given two choices: business or hockey. Fortunately, my brother and I liked hockey very much, and we were, like many Rustanovs, very good at it.”

I nod my head. “That is fortunate, but what does that have to do with what you did for fun when you were kids?”

“Hockey was all we did for fun,” he answers. “Also, my father taught me to play chess as he believed it sharpened the athlete’s mind. And of course to gamble, which is why I always bet big, not little. But other than that, hockey was our only fun. All we were allowed to do.”

“And now, your hockey career is almost over.” My heart cracks with the realization, “So you’re only just now learning to have fun.”

He pauses at my words. Then reaches across the puzzle and takes my hand. “I am sorry about pushing you away that morning I found out hockey season was on pause. It felt like you were trying to take my puck. So I played defense. But now I understand you were trying to assist me to goal.”

This guy and his metaphors.

I look at him. And he looks at me.

And I can’t tell you who lunged first, but we collide into a kiss on top of the dining room table.

Chapter Eighteen

I know what I said when I agreed to quarantine with Cheslav. I know what I insisted. But here I am with pieces of Baby Yoda digging into my back while I watch Cheslav toss my flip flops before yanking down my joggers and panties.

However, he doesn’t fall on top of me after I’m naked enough to do the do. He just stands there, his eyes raking over my body.

This would normally make me feel all kinds of beautiful, but right now…

“Cheslav…” I say, my voice aching with need.

“Give me moment, krasotka,” he answers. “Let me enjoy this.”

He takes his cock out and strokes himself with his eyes glued to my naked pussy. “I like seeing how your pussy becomes wet just by my looking at it. This tells me you have wanted me like I want you.”

His tone is casual and lazy. Like we have all the time in the world to talk. Technically, we do. But I have no patience for this conversation. Desperate need claws at me. Makes me whine, “Don’t tease me.”

“Who is tease here? Accountant krasotka who says I cannot have her. Or poor Russian hockey player who was made to wait so long?”

“Me!” I answer, not caring what I said before. “Definitely me!”