Billie and the Russian Beast - Theodora Taylor Page 0,19

Will you come?”

Will I? A curl of hunger for something more than sex with Cheslav suddenly erupts inside me. He’s so curious and mysterious. What would it be like to get to know him beyond this penthouse? To cheer for him and meet the brother he’s hoping to best?

This guy must have really done a number on me because I find myself pushing aside my no athletes policy to answer, “Sure.”

A smile spreads across his face. Then he presses his head into the glass beside my head as he starts moving inside of me again.

And it doesn’t take long.

No, it doesn’t take long at all until I’m falling apart. Again.

Chapter Ten

Cheslav wakes me up late on Wednesday morning, his lips pressing into my mouth and his heavy erection pressing into my thigh.

“Again?” I ask him, half groan, half laugh.

“I am hungry for both breakfast and you this morning,” he answers, before devouring my mouth.

Maybe this sexual hunger first thing in the morning is catching. Despite having done it like, four times yesterday, I kiss him back, just as hungrily.

At least for a little while. I draw in a sharp breath when he rolls me onto my back, still kissing me.

He immediately raises. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Sorry, I’m not in as good as shape as you,” I answer with a sheepish look. “I’m a little sore from using all sorts of muscles that haven’t ever been worked out this hard.”

I expect him to smirk, but his eyes widen with concern. “Do you want to stop?” he asks, his voice somber.

I blink up at him. “What? You’re giving me a choice?”

He shakes his head at me. “I have no want to hurt you, krasotka. You know this, da?”

Now I do….

My heart twinges with a soft emotion I don’t dare to name. And I find myself saying, “It’s okay. A little soreness is worth doing it again. With you.”

Not exactly my most poetic moment ever, but his whole face lights up.

Still, he handles me a lot more gently this morning than last night. He rubs at my most erotic zones, his touch soft and tender, until a gentle climax ripples through me.

Then, draping one of my legs over his muscular thigh, he pushes into my wetness while we both lie on our sides.

All thoughts of soreness disappear as we find our rhythm in this new position. And soon I come again, this time with him.

“Sleep a little more, krasotka. I will make us something to eat.”

“You know how to cook?” I murmur sleepily. I haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t delivered since I stepped foot in this place.

“I know how to make cereal and Greek yogurt. I can have Vlad order something if that is not enough.”

“That’s totally enough,” I answer, already dozing off. “Thank you.”

Somewhere in the distance, I hear him say, “No, thank you, krasotka. These days with you have been more than worth it.”

I fall back to sleep on a cloud but wake up to angry yelling.

After climbing out of bed, I think about finding a t-shirt or something else of Cheslav’s to wear. But there’s still almost a day left on the challenge.

So completely naked, I follow the angry noise to the sleek black wood and stainless-steel kitchen where Cheslav’s pacing back and forth on his phone. Apparently, he does have reception up here.

“What do you mean, paused? For how long? No! No! I do not accept this.”

Seeing me, he points to two bowls of cereal and two packages of Greek yogurt waiting for me on the kitchen’s island counter. I awkwardly go over and begin to eat while he finishes his conversation.

“Who decided this?” Cheslav demands of the person on the other side of the line. “The owners? You know what, it doesn’t matter. I do not accept it.”

Cheslav listens to the person’s answer, but only for a little bit. “It does not matter if I was not answering phone. Next time you make decision like this, you come to me. I will help you unmake it—no, do not give me excuses. Do not call me again until it is time to play.”

This time Cheslav doesn’t even give whoever he’s talking to a few seconds to answer. He jams his thumb into what I can only presume is the Call End button. Then he walks over to the counter, muttering in Russian.

“Bad news?” I ask.

“You won’t have to come to my game tomorrow night after all,” he answers with an irritated look. “Or meet my brother. The season