The Russian's Christmas Present

“It’s telling me I never have to look again. You’re mine, and no one will take you from me. You’re mine to love. Mine to take care of. Mine to use. Just mine.”

Her hips rise to meet my movements and our fucking turns to love making. In perfect unison, we shift together like we have become one person, and I’ve never felt happier in my life.

She falls off into another orgasm and I am right there with her. I’ll never get enough of her, and if my grandfather was right, she’ll never get enough of me either.

Thank you, Santa. This is the Christmas gift I’ve always wanted.

Chapter 11

Bria

“You promise?” I look at Martel, who is squeezing the steering wheel on his truck so tight I’m afraid he’s going to rip it right off the column. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

He grunts on a half-hearted nod.

“Okay then.” I lean over and kiss the side of his face, his scratchy beard tickling my lips as he steps out of the truck and comes around to my side to open my door and help me step down. “I just don’t want to leave things so messy.”

We are in the driveway of my father’s house, and I’m hoping it’s just him right now. I know Alice isn’t there. I messaged her last night, before her shift at the club ended, and told her some of what had happened. At first her messages back to me were full of concern, that I shouldn’t be staying there in that house where nobody respected my boundaries, and I should come down to the club, that I’d be safe in the dressing room until she was done.

Well, when I told her I wasn’t at home anyway, and not to worry, and explained what had happened with Martel, she was relieved. She said that since I wasn’t going to be there anyway, she’d just drop in, get some things and head over to her sister’s place.

After we get things settled here, Martel wants to head to his parents’ place, which has me nervous as well. Even though he keeps saying there’s nothing to worry about, I’m not so sure.

I give a soft knock on the front door as we come inside. I called my father this morning, but he didn’t answer. I left him a message saying we were coming by to try to make peace, even as Martel stood in the background fuming.

I’m not so much scared about what might happen. That my father or his friends might try to start something again with Martel. I’m afraid if they do, if any of them looks at me cross-eyed, this time they could end up dead.

When we walk in, Martel is in front of me, looking around, but the house is silent. The living room is still a mess and the blood stains on the rug have darkened to a deep, purplish brown.

“Dad?” I call out as we step farther into the house, but there’s no answer.

I look at Martel and shrug as he leads down the hall and I look into the kitchen to see the broken back door shoved into the frame, with a chair propped under the knob to keep it closed.

I hear the rush of blood in my ears as I exhale and walk down the hall toward my bedroom.

Martel puts his arm out in front of me with his finger to his lips just as I hear the sound of someone talking and the thump and thud of noises coming from my room.

My heartbeat races as Martel steps forward, pushing me back, just as the door knob of my bedroom clicks and a black plastic garbage bag flies out the opening, hitting the opposite wall and coming to rest in the middle of the hallway.

“Dad.” I call out, my blood pressure rising as I start to get the gist of what’s going on.

He pops his head out from the room, glaring. “I’m getting your stuff packed. You can get it and get out.”

Martel snaps his tongue on his teeth as I see his hands turn to fists at his sides, but I reach out and touch his shoulder, trying to keep him in check.

“Dad, I’m sorry about last night, but—” I start, but Martel cuts me off.

“She’s not fucking sorry and neither am I,” he barks, and for a second my father’s face twists in anger, but just as quickly he retreats into the bedroom.

Martel is in the doorway, looking around, and I can see his body tense. As I step behind him, I clench my teeth and there’s a clutch in my chest.

The Christmas decorations Alice and I had up are in a pile on the floor. My closet is open, with everything strewn on the bed and half shoved into bags.

“What?” My father barks at Martel. “You going to play tough guy with me now? You going to beat me down now? I’ll call the fucking cops like I should have last night…”