The Russian's Christmas Present

“Yes. Dead serious. Ten thousand dollars for one evening. All you have to do is show up and bid on me until you win…I’ll give you the money for the bidding. Just make sure you win.”

“A bachelor auction?” She scratches her cheek on a squinted eye and she’s fucking stunning. Pink cheeks, long ice blonde hair sweeping over her forehead and dark eyes that have me lost already, except she’s so fucking young. Too young for a fuck like me.

“Yes. It’s for charity and I’m doing it for my grandfather.” I shake my head, the need to explain my mother and my family more than I want to get into right now.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek as I try to push the thought away of mounting her sweet pussy on my face as she juices into my mouth. Grinding and moaning as I dig my fingertips into her round ass cheeks.

“You want to pay me to have a date with you? Isn’t that illegal?”

“Nyet.” I grunt out. Something primitive is taking over as I speak with her. “No, not unless I pay you to fuck me. Or, you pay me…either way.” The vulgarity makes her startle, but I finish. “Never mind, just win the date and you get paid.”

I will fuck you, somehow, someday, is what I want to add, but from the trepidation on her face I get myself under some control.

Mauricio and Irina, I love them, but they care too much about everyone. As soon as they sent Bria back to get me my espresso/vodka combo, they were going on about how she’s saving up to go to design school while taking care of her not-so-disabled, disabled father, how she lives on Pines Avenue, which is more than just a low rent area.

It’s dangerous.

It pissed me the fuck off, hearing that her own father, was not treating her like a damn princess.

They went on, good old gated community gossip, and told me there was talk about a few of the girls from my former high school that were going to be at the auction. One of them hell-bent on making sure she won the bid for me. One in particular I’d rather stick needles under my fingernails than spend a second on a date with her. Charity or not.

The way Bria is chewing on her lip is driving me crazy, but there’s one thing my father taught me about business and making deals. At some point in the negotiations, everything is on the table and there will be an uncomfortable silence.

The first one to talk, loses.

Except in this instance, as long as she agrees to my proposal, we’re both going to win.

I’ve never wanted like someone like this. It’s insanity and Christmas magic all at the same time.

“Okay.” She finally mouths ad I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for ten years. “Formal? Or, what should I wear? I mean, I have formal. I have pretty much everything. I know you couldn’t know, but I’m a clothing designer, I have plenty of formal dresses, or evening wear, or…” She rambles on for another minute or more and I feel like I live a lifetimes inside each word. Her sweet, lilty voice plays me like Yo-Yo Ma and I love that she is comfortable enough to talk until she’s breathless.

I want to make her breathless in so many ways.

When she finally comes up for air, I strain against the smile that pulls at my lips but when she presses her fingers to her forehead on a sigh, looking at me with a flush of embarrassment, I just want to kiss her so fucking bad.

“I tend to ramble. Sorry.”

“No, never be sorry for talking. I loved every word. You should talk all the time.”

She swallows hard, blinking a few times, and I look at her neck as a fantasy flashes in my head of my red teeth marks and the sight of my hands bound there as she stares up at me, my cock buried deep in her tight cunt as she gasps…

“So?” She’s giving me a strange look and I realize I was lost in my thoughts and missed something.

“Sorry, I was listening but—”

“Formal or just evening wear?”

“Either. Whichever makes you more comfortable.”

“Where is this event?”

I give her the address and time, and realize I don’t want to wait until tomorrow evening to see her again. I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow evening to see her again. Which both confuses and frustrates me.

I think about how Irina was chiding me about not being married and how I never had a good answer.

Now I know.

It’s not something you can describe. This feeling I have around this girl I’ve known less than thirty minutes. Fuck, I don’t even know if she has a boyfriend. A husband.