Chapter 5
Anton
Her scent invades me, it’s all I can smell when I wake up, and it’s fucking brilliant. Just as she was last night, even if it meant I had to shut up to taste her and to fuck her again. What a wild drug she fucking is.
“I can hear you thinking, stop it,” she grumbles into my arm as she sleeps. “Gosh, how are your thoughts so loud?” She moves to get away from me, but I pull her back then pin her beneath me. She doesn’t fight me, just smirks. “I need coffee,” she says.
“You need a breath mint,” I retort back, scrunching up my nose.
“Oh my God, you so did not say that. I’m meant to have sweet breath…” I blow into my hand to smell, “… no morning breath here. Gosh, you kill the buzz fast.” She wiggles underneath me, which in turn moves on my already hard cock. I could say it’s morning wood, but that would only be a half-truth.
“You want me to lie and tell you, you smell like fucking daisies?” I ask her, confused. She shakes her head. “I can see if you smell like daisies. There’s a particular area where I think you do.” I smirk while holding onto her hands, and then I drop lower as I drag my body down over on hers. She squirms, but she can’t do anything.
“Anton, Anton.”
My lips touch her, barely, and she squeezes her legs tight, locking my head between them. I have to remove my hands from hers to push myself free.
“Anton.” The voice is loud.
Looking back up, I see Samara’s expression and want to laugh.
“Mama, just wait,” I yell in Russian.
Samara pushes back and off me, scrambles off the bed and looks around for her clothes, which are downstairs.
“I have your lady’s clothes, Anton. Is she still in there?”
English, my mother chose to speak English. Fuck.
“Yes, leave them at the door.”
“Bring her down.” I hear her footsteps walking away, and when I turn, I see Samara with her hands covering her mouth and a freaked-out expression on her face.
She starts shaking her head rapidly. “I am not meeting your mother.”
“I have a better idea, let’s spend all day in bed while I fuck you until you can’t move.”
“Are you insane? Your mother is here.”
I shrug my shoulders. “She was here last night when I brought you home.”
Her hands drop to her sides, and she looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “This is your mother’s house?” I nod my head. “And you still live with your mother?” she asks, looking quite confused.
“Technically my father as well, but that piece of shit is always in Russia. My sister is here too, now that she’s no longer enrolled in boarding school.”
“Gosh, I don’t care… sneak me the fuck out of here now.” She pulls the sheet from the bed when she realizes she’s still naked and my eyes keep roaming.
“But I wanted to smell for daisies.”
“Anton, so help me God, I’ll bury you in the daisy bushes if you don’t get me out of here.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her—it’s her daisy bush I would love to be buried in.
“Not those ones, you perv, in the fucking ground.”
“I like it when you’re feisty with me,” I say, turning and opening the door to pick up her clothes, and that’s when I realize they are torn. Alyona walks out of her room, at that exact moment, with a few clothes in her hands and she walks them to me then smiles.
“Hi Sam,” she chimes, then walks off.
Closing the door, I hold both sets of clothes in my hand, the torn ones as well as Alyona’s.
“Why do you have two sets of clothes?” Samara walks up to me still holding the sheet in her hand in front of her as she reaches for hers, then realizes the same thing I did. She isn’t walking out in them. She looks up to me, her eyes have turned dark. They’re almost black as her anger builds, so I pass her the other set of clothing. She snatches them then walks away to my bathroom, slamming the door.
I guess that’s the end of my pussy patrol for the day.
Dressing and getting ready, I wait for her to walk back out. She opens the door slowly. She’s dressed in a dress that fits her way better than it ever did my sister. It makes me want to tear it off Sam again.
“Don’t even think about it, I need to go home.”
I nod my head then open the door, waving for her to go ahead first. When she walks past me, I can smell the toothpaste she used, and can’t help the smile that forms on my face.
That is until I hear my mother’s voice.
“Oh, wow, you’re just way too pretty to be with my Anton.” Her accent is thick, and Sam freezes where she is on the steps, as my mama stands at the bottom. There’s nowhere for her to run now.
“Mama.”
“You hush. How come you never bring women home? Who is this one?”
Sam turns to me with raised eyebrows and whispers to me, “You never bring anyone here?”
I shake my head and turn back to my mama, taking Sam’s hand as I walk down the steps and pulling her with me.
“No, you’re not going. I cooked. You come eat now. All-American breakfast for your American.” I look back to her to see Sam shaking her head at me as my mama walks off to the dining area.
Alyona decides to come bounding down the stairs at that very moment.
“You don’t want to be rude, she did cook for you.”
I should tell her she cooks like this every morning, but I keep my mouth shut. Sam nods her head and lets me take her hand as we make our way to the dining room.
Breakfast consists of what Mama usually cooks—eggs and pancakes—but she’s added extras, and I know she’s done that because we have a guest. I pull Sam’s chair out to get her to sit, and she does, then Viktor’s voice cuts through the air.
“Auntie, it looks delish,” Viktor says in Russian while walking around the table with Freya glued to his side.
“Eat, eat.” Mama waves her hands around and waits for everyone to start eating before she does. Smirking and looking to Sam, I see her watching everyone. They’re all digging into the food quickly. It happens regularly, my mama is one of the best cooks around, and they all come here for her food. Mama loves to feed everyone.
“You marry her?” my mama asks in very poor broken English.
Sam spits out the juice that has only just touched her lips, and she looks up, shaking her head ever so slightly.
“Oh, you know…. maybe.”
“She not Russian,” Mama tells me.
I shake my head then look to Freya.
“Last Russian girl is gone now,” I say, smirking, as Freya kicks me under the table.
“Yes, yes. Marry that American girl, Anton,” Mama says, effectively ending the conversation.
I feel Sam’s breath on my ear as she leans in close. “We are not getting married.”
I turn smirking to her. “If you say so, dear.”
Freya laughs loudly, then tries to stop when Sam turns to face her.
“You have to realize he doesn’t bring anyone to meet Mama,” she says. “I was lucky to meet her only because I’m married to basically her second son,” Freya tells me.
“He didn’t really give me a choice,” Sam whispers, trying to be respectful of my mama, who’s busy now reading her magazine at the end of the table.
Too much English and she zones out, unable to understand everything.
“Well, I find this all very interesting… and fascinating as well. Anton loving on a woman, hmm… who would have thought?” Freya says.
“He doesn’t love her,” Viktor says. I tip my head to him. “He just loves the way she makes him feel right now.”
“You really suck sometimes, you know that?” Freya says, then shakes her head.
“Ignore my husband. One thing you need to learn… if you take on one, you take on all. These two…” she thumbs her fingers at us, “… have been joined at the hip since birth, along with Kazier. Except he has other responsibilities they don’t have.”
“What about Death?” she asks, intriguing me.
“Oh, well… him and Anton… they have a unique relationship.”
“How do you know him?” I ask Sam, not knowing how they even know each other. She looks at me, but Freya interrupts before she can speak.
“Anyway, they’re like the lover and hater. You know… those love-hate relationships. Anton loves him, Death hates him.” Freya giggles.
“He does not,” I say, defending my relationship with Death.
“If you say so.”
“Anyway, basically, they’re inseparable.”
“I need to go, I have to get ready for work,” Sam says, standing.
She thanks my mama, who waves and smiles then places her eyes back down, focusing on her magazine. “You come back for more breakfast.”
Sam nods her head then starts toward the front door. She doesn’t wait for me to open it. Instead, she does it herself, pushing the door open and then breathes in deeply.
“You have a lot of people that love you,” Sam says, not looking at me. “It must be nice.” Then she steps toward my car, opening the door and sliding in.
“It is,” is all I can reply as I start up the car, and I’m left wondering what she means when she said that.