Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I wonder, briefly, if Igor bankrolled him. I never asked because it’s none of my business.
All this time, I’ve saved all my earnings, so when things have cooled down enough to return to Moscow, I could get myself set up somehow. Oh, I’d still work for the bratva. The only way out of the bratva is in a box, or so they say. But having my own business—sanctioned by the pakhan, of course—has been my goal.
Sasha just inherited something like sixty million when Igor died. I wonder if she could be talked into backing me on something like this?
But that’s a crazy thought. Why would I start a business venture in Los Angeles if I’m moving to Moscow?
Well, the why is pretty obvious.
I’m thinking with my dick.
But my mother’s alone in Russia. Friendless, isolated, depressed.
Because of what I did.
So giving any thought to not returning would make me even more heartless than everyone thinks I am.
Blyad’.
A text comes through on my phone from Kayla, and I put the car back in drive and swing in front of the building where she auditioned to pick her up.
There’s a calmness around her as she walks out that hits me square in the chest. It’s not the kind of hair-tossing confidence Sasha wields, but she looks grounded. Happy.
I get out to open the door for her, and she leans into me, lifting her face with a smile and big moon eyes. “You’re awfully nice to your slave,” she purrs.
“My slave earned it.” I brush her cheek with my thumb. “How’d it go?”
She exhales with a smile. “Really well. As good as it could have. I did a couple scenes for them, and one made me tear up. It was perfect, honestly. Thanks for the pep talk before I went in. It really helped.”
“You don’t need pep talks, little flower. You already have it all. Believe that.”
She keeps leaning against me, her tits pressing soft against my ribs. My dick twitches against my zipper at the contact. I want to throw her over my shoulder, run back into that building and find some supply closet where I can fuck her brains out one last time before I go.
As if she’s reading my mind, she asks, “What time’s your flight?”
I shrug. “I already missed it. I’m sure I can find another one going out tonight.”
“Do you want me to take you to the airport?”
This is new, too. We’ve always just met at Black Light or the hotel. When it’s over, I take a cab or rideshare, and she drives away.
I know I should tell her no. That I’ll call a ride share. There’s something desperate and clingy about us needing to stay together until the last possible minute.
But the fact is, I do want these last few moments with her. Even after a solid forty-eight hours and more orgasms than I can count, it’s never enough. There’s something thoroughly addictive about Kayla that makes me want to change every plan I’ve ever made.
I brush my lips over hers. “Yeah. That would be nice. Thanks.”
8
Pavel
I get up from the red leather couch in the living room of the penthouse.
“Too much of a chick flick?” Story asks. She’s curled up in Oleg’s lap on the other end of the sofa. She picked the movie playing on the television—The Spy Who Dumped Me. Nikolai’s in the chair beside us.
“Nah. It’s fine.” Although it’s true, now that we have three women in the house, our television diet has changed significantly.
“It’s stupid,” Nikolai says, then holds his hands up when Oleg glares. “I just mean why would you torture someone that way? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re just sad you can’t wear a leotard while you question captives,” his twin, Dima counters. He’s at his makeshift desk—a table in the middle of the living room—because he likes to work where all the action is. Or because he can’t stop working. The guy would probably combust if he wasn’t sitting in front of a computer for at least twelve hours a day.
I haven’t seen Ravil, Lucy and the baby since dinner, and Maxim’s fucking Sasha’s brains out, based on the rhythmic sound of furniture banging against a wall in their room.
“I’ll probably be back,” I say. “I’m going to make a phone call.”
“I think the correct term is video-dom,” Nikolai wisecracks. “Show me your breasts, little slave,” he mimics.
One of these assholes overheard me once when I was talking to Kayla, and now I’m fair game.
“I’m calling my mother,” I growl and point at Nikolai. “I fucking dare you to make a joke with that.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t going to touch it.”
“You’d better not.”
Dima lifts his head and opens his mouth, but when I glower his way, he closes it again. “Yeah, me neither.”
“I’ll probably be back.” I walk out the front door of the suite and down the elevator hall to my bedroom, which doesn’t connect to the main penthouse. It suits me to have a little privacy, since I’m not the most social of the bunch.