The Russian Billionaire

“Yes, I’m finished,” I mumble, hoping I haven’t blown it. It’s all gone so wrong.

He lifts a finger and a waiter rushes over. “My usual table?”

“Yes, Mr. Tsarnov,” the man says obsequiously, as he bows and leads the way. Clearly, Mr. Tsarnov is a heavy tipper.

Konstantin stands as I do, and I see that he is very much taller than me. At least a foot and I’m wearing high heels. We walk towards the restaurant. I can smell his aftershave. Woody and expensive. And I can feel the raw power coming from his body.

We are seated at a table screened off from everyone else. I can see now what Catherine meant when she said he guarded his privacy jealously.

The next few minutes are filled with ordering our food. I am too nervous to eat, but I order a starter and a main course. Then the waiters leave and we are alone once more and my mind goes blank. All the subjects that Catherine had told me would be of interest to him are gone from my mind.

“Tell me about you,” he invites suddenly.

The relief is palpable. “What would you like to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything you want to tell a date that is going nowhere.”

I smile. “Well, since this relationship is going nowhere, I guess I don’t have to pretend or impress and I can tell you the things I’d never dream of telling a real date.”

“Yes, the lure of the one-night stand,” he drawls.

“Do you think we’ll end up in bed?”

His eyes glitter with interest. “Do you want to?”

“Maybe. Depends on how our… date goes.”

An unfathomable expression crosses his face. “What needs to happen for you to end up in my bed?”

The words I never intended to utter tumble out of me. “Make me laugh. Make me understand I’m not going to feel like a slut in the morning.”

He frowns. “Why would you feel like a slut in the morning?”

“I don’t know. The only time I ever had a one-night stand I felt terrible. I left before he woke up because I couldn’t bear it if he was indifferent.”

He leans forward, his expression intense and curious, as if I am a species that is completely alien to him, and he’s really trying hard to understand me. “Why would you care what he thinks?”

His question makes me forget to be a seductive nymph and I answer honestly. “I don’t know and can’t explain why, but it could be my conservative background. I can never just let my hair down, my brain is always thinking in the background. One of my friends once slept with a celebrity. She told me it was great, really fun. In the morning, they had breakfast in bed, she took selfies with him, and then she left. She has no regrets at all. In fact, she even considers it one of those events she will remember with pleasure and fondness when she is an old grandmother. Me, I can never do that. I don’t like the idea of being a notch on someone’s bedpost. I guess, you have hundreds of women lining up to have sex with you, huh? You have fun with them, then never give them a second thought.”

“That’s right. I tend to go for women like your friend. They are under no illusions. They take their pleasure and they leave.” He leans back. “Whenever I make the mistake of picking women like you, it is always messy.”

Shit! Why is it every avenue I go down takes me to a dead end? I look deep into his eyes, and whisper, “Perhaps tonight I want to be a woman who is under no illusions.”

His eyes narrow with speculation. “Why?”

After a few false starts, I suddenly see the light at the end of the tunnel. If I play my cards right I can end up in his house as another one-night stand, then pretend to change my mind because of strongly held principles once I’ve switched the painting. It doesn’t feel good, but it would hardly be the end of the world for him. A guy like him must have a black book full of names.

I shrug gently and smile seductively. “Because everything about you is wrong for me, and that surely must make you the perfect kind of guy to have a one-night stand with.”

Konstantin

Now I know for sure something is up. I play along partly because I’m curious as to where this is going, and partly because I can’t help myself. The longer I spend with her, the more I want to fuck her. I watch as she cuts a tiny piece of salmon and slips it into her irresistible mouth.

“How did you come to be part of the auction?”

She looks down at her plate and swallows hard, as if it’s not the smallest piece of salmon one could possible imagine putting into one’s mouth, but a whole fucking frog.