7
Vasilije
It was awkward as hell trying to fall asleep beside the naked girl in my bed. I rarely brought my hookups home, and if I did, we partied in one of the guest bedrooms. That way, I could bail afterward and escape down the hall. I didn’t share my bed.
But I enjoyed how uncomfortable I made Oksana and didn’t want to let up. She needed to stay on edge and always aware of me.
Her quiet breathing didn’t bother me because it had purpose, but she silently tapped her fingers against the sheet, drumming out a pattern of some kind. I could feel the vibrations through the mattress. I shot my hand out and covered hers. “Stop.”
Her warm fingers stilled beneath mine.
Well, fuck me, I was basically holding her hand. It felt weird and wrong, but I left my palm on top of hers because I always did the wrong thing. My hold of her made the tension between us skyrocket. After the blowjob, I’d been tired, yet now my dick was twitching, waking up and greedy for more. The plan was to draw it out, but maybe I’d fuck her tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to watch her face as I buried my cock in her sweet pussy for the first time.
I drifted off into an uneasy sleep, keeping my hand latched onto hers.
♪
My eyelids popped open. It was still dark outside. I glanced at the clock—it was two in the morning. I was a light sleeper, but the rain had stopped, so that hadn’t been what woke me up. I homed in on the sounds around, just as I remembered how I’d fallen asleep with a girl in my bed. A Russian one.
The sheets beside me were empty.
I jolted up, wheeling around. Oksana had put on my black robe, and she stood at my dresser with her back to me. It sounded like she was cautiously opening the top drawer.
Shit! I was off the bed and flew at her, slamming into her body with enough force to knock the gun from her grip. Down we went, her screaming in fear, and between the tangle of black fabric and her hands, I couldn’t see my gun.
Instead of a safety snapping off or a magazine being jammed in place, there was a sound of . . . paper ripping? I fell on top of her and fought for her wrists, strangling each one above her head and pinning them to the carpet. Her wild eyes stared up at me as I straddled her hips.
She’d been trying to kill me, even after I’d made it clear what would happen if she was successful. Was she that fucking stupid? Where was the gun she’d gone for in the drawer? I scanned around, and when I saw the notebook laying awkwardly on the carpet, my rage evaporated. Oh.
I slid my hands away slowly, releasing her.
Oksana’s head turned and she stared at the tented notebook surrounded with torn pages.
Her face crumbled and turned into a pure nightmare. Tears welled in her eyes. After everything she’d been through tonight, witnessing murder and then all I’d done . . . this was what made her cry? A few torn pages? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have sisters or a mother, and the only time women cried around me was when I was dumping their ass, and neither one of us wanted me to stick around.
I climbed off her, grabbed the lapels of the robe, and hauled her to sit up. “It’s okay,” I heard myself saying. “I’ve got tape. We can fix it.”
She shrank away from me, wrapping the plush fabric tighter around her body, and wiped the tears away from beneath her eyes. Whatever sadness she had disappeared pretty damn quick, and was replaced with a guarded expression. Like she was embarrassed and ready to defend herself if I made a comment about her crying.
“I wasn’t going for your gun,” she said.
“I get that now.” I picked up the notebook and the torn pages, and I could feel her searing gaze on me as I closed the pages inside and stood. She acted like I had no right to touch her stupid book. “What the fuck is this?”
“Music,” she said. “My songs.”
I must not have been fully awake as I held out the book to her. “Fine. You’ll go downstairs and play one for me.”
She looked at me like I’d just asked her to kill the Pope. “Now?”
Why the hell not? I’d had a surge of adrenaline when I thought she was going for my gun, and the effect hadn’t worn off yet. I was jittery. She acted like this music was priceless. I was curious if I’d see value in it like she did.
Her expression was pure disbelief, and I hardened mine in response. “Let’s go.”
Oksana snatched the book from me, grateful to have it back, and she climbed to her feet. I followed behind her when she trudged to the door.
The rain had ceased, but the clouds blotted out the moonlight, and we could barely see the shape of the black grand piano sitting beneath the window. I flipped on the entryway light when we reached the bottom of the stairs and blinked against the chandelier’s glow.
I gestured to the office. “There’s tape on the desk.”
She went in and I stood at the doorway, watching her bend over the desk and repair the pages. Her blonde hair looked white in contrast to my dark robe, and the sliver of skin between the lapels of the robe teased me. I could order her to take it off, but it was more fun if she accidentally flashed me.
When Oksana seemed satisfied with her work, she straightened from the desk and set her gaze on me. Her expression was hard to read. Was it fear? Excitement? Was she wanting an asshole as the audience for her music?
I glanced at the piano. The last person to play it had been my mother, who I had hardly any memories of. What would she think about this Russian girl laying her Russian fingers on the ivory keys?
I pushed the thought away. My mother had been dead for twenty years, and Oksana playing on it wasn’t going to change that, or my memory of Luka sitting on my mother’s lap while she played. She’d let him hit some of the keys while I’d pushed the pedals at her feet, demanding to be included in the song.
We went to the piano. I stood beside it, and Oksana’s voice was soft and warm as she pulled out the bench. “I hope it sounds as beautiful as it looks.”
She folded the music on the shelf like it was delicate. It was unnecessary. The piano was nothing more than a museum piece. My father tried to sell it once. I’d told him not to, but he hadn’t given in to my demand until Luka sided with me. I’d thought the piano made my father sad, not recognizing at the time it was more likely guilt. Every time he looked at it, was he reminded of how he’d had my mother killed?
Oksana set her open notebook on the piano and sat on the bench with her back stiff and straight. Below the belt, the robe fell open and exposed one of her long legs clear up to the thigh, like she was wearing a dress with a slit up the side.
Her fingers were set on the keys. She drew in a deep breath—
“What’s it called?” I interrupted before she could even start.
“Temperance.”
What the fuck? I already hated it, but then she began to play and confirmed my judgement. The melody was obnoxious. It was up tempo and . . . fuck, I couldn’t think of the right word. Jaunty? Yeah. It was jaunty as fuck, and I added it to my list of unnecessary noises. “Stop.”
Her hands froze and the room went silent.
She turned slowly to look at me, gauging my reaction, and her lips twisted down in a frown. “When was the last time this was tuned?”
“Don’t blame the piano. Play something else, Oksana. Something better.”
She was more offended I hadn’t liked her shitty song than when I’d shoved my dick in her mouth. This girl was something else entirely. She turned the pages and settled on a new song. Her fingers moved over the keys, sharp and attacking.
“Wow,” I said flatly. “What’s this awful one called? Let me guess. Abstinence?”
She inhaled so sharply, it was like I’d slapped her. Her fingers retreated from the keys, my words visibly stinging. A lesser guy would have been cut down by her vicious glare, but the blow glanced off me. When she tried to stand, I put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her back down to sit, and her ass thumped on the bench.
“Don’t play happy music in my house,” I threatened. “It doesn’t belong here, and certainly not coming from my mother’s piano.”
Oksana stared at the book before her, considering what to do. Finally, she paged through it and selected a song in the middle of her scribblings. Her shoulders lifted as she took a breath and she pushed back the oversized sleeves of the robe. Her fingers crept back to the keys.
The song was quiet, slow, and eerie. My gaze followed every gentle movement of her hands as they worked up and down the piano, producing the hypnotic rhythm. I didn’t listen to classical music. My phone was full of rock and rap music. I liked driving bass, hooks, and aggressive lyrics. Yet, this song, I didn’t hate. Maybe she was right and the piano was out of tune, but its discord added to the unsettling music.
The chilling song seeped into the dark space around us. I hadn’t turned on the light in the room, and it had to be hard for her to read her notes, but she probably knew it well enough, and I was glad I hadn’t bothered with a lamp. This music wasn’t made for the light.
Her brow furrowed as she peered at the book, and her chest rose and fell like she was out of breath. Why did it look like playing this song was draining her? It was fucking beautiful. My heart thudded a little faster, even as I stood like a statue beside the piano.
She flipped the page and kept playing.
Who knew black and white keys could make something so evil and perfect? I pulled my mouth into a twisted smile. The song was so different from the other shit she’d tried to play. The piano chords were still vibrating with the last note of the song when I spoke. Curiosity overrode my intent to be patronizing. “What’s that one called?”
Oksana had gone back to not looking at me. She stared vacantly at her hands still resting on the keys, acting like she was recovering from trauma. “It doesn’t have a name.”
“You should call it, like, The Villain or something.” Shit, was I high? How good was the weed in that joint I’d smoked hours ago? “It sounds like a bad motherfucker’s theme song.”
She winced as if she’d swallowed broken glass.
“What?” I demanded.
She opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her for several heartbeats. “I’ve never played it for anyone.”
Dark satisfaction bubbled in my veins. Another first I’d taken from her. Maybe it could be my theme song. “Play it again.”
“You liked it?” Her voice was coated in horror.
I paced behind her and gathered her long hair in my hands, coiling it into a rope, and leaned down so my lips were beside the shell of her ear. “Again.”
She shivered and reached forward, turning back to the previous page in the book.
When she started over, I trailed the tip of my nose up the long slope of her neck, following it with the edge of my tongue. She sipped air through her parted lips, and swallowed thickly. Was it hard for her to keep playing as I sucked on her neck? Her hands didn’t falter when I sat beside her on the bench, facing the other direction. She’d focus on the music, while I focused on her.
“Don’t stop,” I said, placing a hand on the exposed skin of her heaving chest, and slipped my fingers beneath the edge of the robe. I explored further, watching her as my fingertips found and circled the hard knot of her nipple.
The song was darker this time. Unapologetic. Was it the practice or my distraction? I pushed the side of the robe open, baring her naked breast. The sight of me pinching her pink nipple and rolling it between my fingers gave me a surge of lust.
I wanted to fuck her. No, I needed to.
Right here on this bench.