Naughty
The next morning was New Year’s Eve, one of the most celebrated Russian holidays of the year. Vladimir and I made plans for me to meet Boris at nine-thirty a.m. at our usual spot. I told Dad I was going to spend the night with Kiki and headed to the club. I hadn’t seen Boris since he had dropped me off at the airport. So much had changed since then.
When I plopped down in the Caddy, I caught a glimpse of Boris’s expression; his eyes were locked and loaded on lie detector mode. Always on duty. I suspected he wanted to find out if I was pulling some weasel move on the boss.
I covered my mouth with my scarf to hide my telling grin. Even Dad noticed I had miraculously bounced back from my lingering illness when I’d come home the morning after.
“You had a nice weekend?” Boris asked.
I kept my gaze out the window. “Da.”
“Everything okay at home?” He tapped his rings on the steering wheel. “Got some sunshine? You have a healthy glow—matches the one boss has.”
I snuck a sideways glance at him.
“Over your contraception problem?”
“Mm-hm. Wasn’t an issue.”
He blinked in confusion. “Because?”
“Um—”
He had that murderous look in his eye. “You weaseled out of it?”
“Well, uh, remember the wagers we made the night we played poker?”
The veins popped.
I twisted my ponytail around my hand. “His note said ‘anything,’ so I cashed it in on, you know…that.” I held out my hand and continued. “He respects my decision. Does he look unhappy to you?”
My keeper was ready to blow. “You’re a lucky girl, Carter. If you pulled that bullshit on me I would’ve—”
“It’s not bullshit. Vladimir knows my heart.”
His knuckles were white. He didn’t speak to me the rest of the way home. When we got to the house, I jumped out of the Cadillac like it had a bomb strapped underneath it. I ran inside and crashed into my sexy boyfriend’s waiting arms.
He lifted me up.
I wrapped my legs around his body.
He sat me down on the kitchen counter.
We made out like we had guns to our heads.
Boris walked in the door, grumbling in Russian.
“Did you miss me, Vladimir?” I asked.
“No.” He flashed his crooked smile.
I shoved him in the chest.
“I couldn’t breathe the whole time we were apart,” he recanted. “Isn’t that right, Boris?”
“Da. His lips were blue.” Boris shook his head, wanting nothing to do with our gooey love fest. “Thank heavens you came back to resuscitate him, Carter.”
“Let me make sure he’s okay.” I ran my fingers through his wavy hair and kissed him again, louder and sloppier that time. Vladimir liked it. He flung off my hat and scarf, unzipped my coat, and tossed it on the floor. “I think he’s okay now, Boris. I saved him.”
We laughed.
Boris mumbled in Russian and left the house.
Vladimir noticed what I was wearing and grinned. I had on a red, Christmas-themed t-shirt that I borrowed from Kiki with ‘naughty’ scrolled across the front in sparkle letters. It was too short, too tight, and I hadn’t bothered to wear a bra.
He licked his lips and lifted my shirt, but I stopped him from taking it off. From my perch on the counter, I had a perfect view of the white murderer van parked by the basketball court. “Not here.” I closed my hands around his. “Show me your bedroom.”
He scooped me up and swept me away. I had never been in there before—never even snuck a peek inside. I thought it would look like the rest of the house, decorated with a designer’s touch but not too personal. I was wrong. I spied a soccer ball on the floor, a collection of egg-shaped music boxes on the dresser, and photos of his family lined the walls.
Vladimir enjoyed seeing my reaction to the side of him I’d yet to know. A vintage photo of a handsome young man caught my eye. “That’s your papa? What’s his name?”
“Victor.”
“I see where you get your blue eyes. Do you have a picture of your mama?”
He carried me to the other side of the wall and stopped in front of a photo of a beautiful young woman holding an infant in her arms, and two little boys sat next to her on the front stoop of an apartment building.
“You’re the baby? And they’re your big brothers?” I slid my legs down and stood next to him. “It seems like you would be the oldest, you know, personality-wise.”
“Interesting observation. The oldest was Mischa and the middle boy was Alexei.”
I curled my finger around his belt loop. “Your mama was lovely. What’s her name?”
“Irina. According to my papa, she was the most beautiful woman in all of Ekaterinburg.” He smiled with a glint of sadness in his eyes.
“I’m sorry you lost them.” I wanted to ask how they all died, but I didn’t want to upset him.
He squeezed my hand and pointed to a picture of him, around age twelve, next to a robust dark-haired boy and a younger boy with a round belly. The youngest one had a stick in his hand, and the older boy held a cap gun aimed at a shirtless Vladimir who was flinging a rope at him like a lion tamer. At first I couldn’t figure out who they were. Then I spotted a much younger Boris in the background, looking pissed off at the antics of three young boys.
I covered my mouth to stifle my laughter as the scene of growing up Russian gangster-style played out in pictures. “No wonder Boris has zero patience. You guys destroyed him.” I pointed at Vladimir’s picture. “Hey, you were skinny, too.” I tickled his ribs.
“Of course, I was skin and bones. Look at my brothers. I had to fight for every scrap of food I got.”
“Ah, what about the little guy? You didn’t fight with him, did you?”
Vladimir touched his brother’s image through the glass. “Never. Pasha has the heart of a saint. Anybody who said a cross word or laid a hand on him had to deal with me.” His finger slid across the picture, and tapped the big boy’s image. “This one, on the other hand,” he shook his head, “Yuri and I would go to war over a stick of bubble gum.”
As I examined the picture more closely, I noticed the youngest boy had tears in his bugged-out eyes, the oldest of Boris’s brood had a ripped shirt, and Vladimir had a welt across his side like he’d been whipped with a belt. I wrapped my arms across my body. “Boris took care of you after you lost your parents?”
“In his own way he looked after me.” He kissed me on top of the head. “Everything we experience happens for a reason, like us. I traveled halfway around the world to help a young woman. And she is the one who saved me.” He kissed my lips. “I thank God every day for bringing us together. You are my world.”
If I had to describe to my shrink how our relationship evolved, dysfunctional would be the politest possible description of our love affair. But despite the messed-up stuff, where we were at that moment was a magical place. He loved me, and I loved him. What did it matter how black and blue, broken, and busted-up the road was that brought us together?
“We have all day and night. How do you want to pass the time, angel?”
“I have a present for you,” I said. “I was going to give it to you tonight, in the Russian tradition, but it can’t wait. I’ll be right back.”
I retrieved his gift from my purse and hurried back to the bedroom. I placed it in his hands, and he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me down on his lap. Then he untied the bow and ripped off the paper.
“Oh, Carter.”
It was a two-sided frame hinged down the middle. On the left half was a picture of me cuddling my toy poodle twins in my arms. On the right half, I placed a selfie of the real poodles and me. I printed a caption under the photos that read:
My dreams came true when I met you.
Love, Carter.
Vladimir’s eyes were bright and wet. “This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.” He kissed me and then set the picture on his nightstand. The reality was, in order to leave the house we would have to unwind ourselves from each other’s arms—and that wasn’t going to happen.
“I have a gift for you, too, but you must wait,” he teased. He leaned me back on the bed and slid off my ‘naughty’ shirt.
I unbuttoned his shirt and tried to take it off, but he kept his arms stiff. I had only seen the front of his body, never his back. He was self-conscious about something. Maybe he had a stab wound or a gruesome scar or something unsettling like a tattoo of Stalin he didn’t want me to see. I slid off his pants and finally saw his bare legs in the light of day. He had star tats on his knees.
The meaning: I bow down to no one.
He laid on top of me and kissed my breasts, slid off my jeans, and rubbed me between my legs. I’d pledged not to lose my virginity until my wedding night, but my will power was dissolving. Sticking to my virtues when I was single was easy, but thwarting the advances of my incredibly sexy Russian would require a completely different game plan.
To hell with virtue! The devil chided.
I couldn’t agree more. I rolled over and straddled my man—underwear still on—and rubbed against his erection while my blonde locks rained over his face. It was a powerful feeling knowing Vladimir could have any woman he wanted—and he chose me. I ran my fingers along the muscles of his abdomen and admired the results of his early morning workouts. “What does this say?” I drew an imaginary line with my finger around a Russian phrase inked on his side.
He spoke in Russian, but didn’t translate.
I shoved him in the chest. “What does it say in English?”
“It says, ‘My girlfriend asks too many questions.’ ”
I kissed the devil on his chest. “Why did you get this ugly guy?”
He exaggerated a long drawn out groan. “When will this interrogation end?”
I pinned his wrists and held him down. “It will end when I say it ends.”
“Is that so?” He smiled seductively, turned on by my inner dominatrix.
I squeezed his wrists. “Mm-hm. You’re my prisoner now.”
“Well then, I’ll have to escape.” He sat up, flipped me on my back, and had me pinned underneath him before I even knew what happened. I yelped, and we were both laughing so hard we could barely catch our breath. The weight of his strong body was a total turn on. “Now you’re my prisoner.” Vladimir kissed my cheeks, my neck, my breasts…
He cruised down my body and teased me in Russian. He slid off my panties, spread my legs, slipped his tongue inside me, and swirled and sucked my sweet spot. My arousal was coming on fast and I swiveled my hips, syncing up with his rhythm. The intensity grew, and I panted and groaned my satisfaction as he nuzzled my sex and savored my release.
He inhaled my scent and rubbed his cheeks against my delicate skin, then cuddled up next to me. “You are more important to me than anything else in the world.”
I curled beside him and nestled my face in the crook of his neck. “When are you going back to Russia?”
His body tensed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“When?”
“In a few days.”
Days? I rolled off him and dug my thumbnails into the tops of my fingers to calm myself down, but the tears were coming despite my effort to stop the drama. “So, what was the plan? You were going to send me a postcard?”
“No, angel. Let’s not ruin our perfect day. We’ll talk about it later.” He cupped my chin in his hands and kissed me on the lips. I wanted to shove him off the bed, but instead, I gave in and kissed him back. I was in shock, and at the same time humiliated about how much he meant to me, and how insignificant I was to him.
Boris was right. I am Stupid Girl.