Her Russian Savior

“No. My apartment is right across the street.”

“Perfect. I will see you home. Now go and finish up.” I watch as she cleans, locks, and shuts everything down. She comes and stands in front of me, hands and feet fidgeting. She is so tiny compared to me. I want to pick her up and carry her everywhere. I want to protect her and shield her from what I don’t know. “Are you all set, baby?”

“Yes,” she says. I open the door and watch as she locks it and walks side by side. No words are spoken on this short two-minute walk, but the tension is thick and sweet. By the time we make it to her door, I could snap it in two. I am so tight.

“Do you work tomorrow?” I growl out as I lean down toward her face, her back to the door.

“No.” She licks her lips, and her eyes rise to mine. I recognize the lust in her eyes because I am feeling it right now.

“Not now, my princess. Soon.” She looks at me, startled at my ability to read her, and when her cheeks redden, my cock jumps. “Inside before I fuck you in this hallway, baby. I will be here to pick you up at seven, baby. I pat her ass.” She squeaks and jumps inside. Once I hear her locks pop, I walk away.

This is going to be the longest night yet.

Chapter Two

Nikole

Did I really agree to go out with him? Did the gorgeous man even give me a chance to think? No, but I think that's just a Russian man's way. He's so much taller than I am. My pussy flooded when he looked at me like he wanted to eat me.

How am I going to make it to seven tomorrow night? I turn on Amazon Prime for background noise while I put on my pajamas. I take off the dark brown wig I've been wearing as a weird attempt at a disguise and throw it away. I'm done with that. I feed my cat, Mr. Fred, who was already named by the shelter when I rescued him. Ugh, honestly, a date couldn't have come at a better time. Working at the Jorgensen's jewelry store has woken up something in me that I know wouldn't have been nurtured otherwise, I think as I grab my sketch pad and shuffle over to the shabby multicolored couch. Thank God the place came furnished, though, and beggars can't be choosers. With Fleabag on in the background, the diamond solitaire ring that's been on my mind all day comes out on paper. I want to design wedding ring sets. Right now, it's just a hobby. I have no idea how I'd even get into something like that anyway.

I'm a night owl, so I stay up all night watching TV and drawing, finally going to bed around eight in the morning. When my alarm goes off at five in the evening, I don't immediately remember why until I remember him. Mr. Babichev. Did I really not get his first name yesterday? Did I tell him mine? God, the lust really got in the way of conversation. I get out of bed and make a cup of tea before heading into the bathroom for a hot shower. I shave everything and pamper myself because you never know. I take my time getting ready, getting dressed at the last minute, so I don't end up covered in cat hair.

Promptly at seven, he rings the doorbell. I pull the door open and find him standing there in a dark suit with a red tie.

Hello, Nikole." Okay, he got my name. That's good. "Blonde?"

"Yeah. Long story. This is me," I say, giving him a slow twirl.

"Breathtaking," he says, making me blush.

"So this is awkward. I didn't catch your name yesterday," I say.

"Anatoli," he states simply. I murmur it back to him. "Shall we go? We have reservations." I step outside, lock the door, and take his offered arm.

Instead of getting into a car, we continue down Main Street on foot until we get to UTGARD. I've always wanted to eat here ever since I saw it on Savannah Echol's TV show but thought it was too fancy to eat in alone.

Over dinner, which is delicious, we talk about mother Russia and how much he misses it. I have to admit that while everyone in this little Norwegian town is so welcoming, it's nice to converse in Russian again. I've never been, but one day I'd like to see the home of my ancestors. Thankfully we steer clear of personal history and just enjoy ourselves.

We linger over creme brulee and coffee, neither of us wanting the night to end.

"Come home with me," he says, making me giddy inside.

"I'd like that," I say. He gestures for the check so fast I can't help giggling. There's something I can't explain going on between us, and I want more of it. He pays the bill, and once again, we are out on Main Street. This time we get into a two-door sports car with doors that open up instead of out. We speed down the street, and maybe two miles up the road, we pull up to a secluded cabin. "I bet this is brutal in the winter," I say as he puts the car in park.