Chapter Seven
Misha
I stare down at my cock, which has been inside too many women, coated in the sacrificial blood of the goddess I now worship. I am so unworthy of her. I’m not good enough to even look at her. Yet selfishly I shoved my dirty prick into her purity, without a condom. I wish she had told me no, and I would have walked out and not touched her, after the leg-shaking orgasm I gave her with my mouth of course. She knows I’m Russian. I could tell, from the way she touched the tattoo. She should have backed out then. But she wrapped her fingers in mine. And then she said please.
I had talked myself out of fucking her. I had decided her pleasure was enough for me. I convinced myself that tasting her, giving her her first orgasm, drinking her juices, would satisfy me. She reminds me I’m greedy. She reminds me I’m immoral. I want more. I want it all. And she has the nerve to beg me to take it.
I shouldn’t have done it without the condom, but in the moment I couldn’t stop myself. And she feels just as good, just as pure, as I knew she would. She is the first virgin I’ve had sex with, and her tightness nearly pushed me over the edge of sanity. I wish I would have waited for her. I wish we could have shared this together. But then I would be the one fumbling around, not knowing how to give her pleasure, and she would have been unsatisfied. Everything I’ve done has led me to her, and I am right where I want to be.
I roll the condom onto my blood covered tool. I don’t want the condom to irritate her, it might catch, or it might be dry. She might be allergic. I’m thinking too much. The condom is the right thing to do. When I have it on I turn back to her. She’s smiling at me, and she looks like the first warm sunlight of spring. She looks like everything holy, and I am garbage.
“You are amazing,” she says, with her alluring gray blue eyes glittering as bright as her smile. She has to do nothing more than smile at me, and I am weak. She isn’t intentionally seductive, but she has captivated me. Not only is she too good for me, too virtuous, she is promised to someone else, the enemy of my family.
She reaches out to me, and I grab hold of her. She stares down at where our hands meet, and grins. “You’re huge, all of you. Your hands are so big, so strong, I bet you could fight the world, Mike.” She looks into my eyes then, and I see hope. Does she realize what she’s asking of me, what she’s offering me?
I spread her knees, and settle myself between her thighs. This is my new home. I want to live here for the rest of my life. I want to live off of her, to eat her and drink her, and make love to her. I want her.
She twines our fingers together and grips tightly as I enter her again. She frowns, and whimpers a little. I knew the condom wouldn’t be comfortable for her. I know she wants me inside her bare, just like I want it.
I need to distract her from her discomfort, so I whisper, as I inch into her, “My name is Misha.”
“Misha,” she moans. My body shivers hearing her say my name, with her voice dripping desire and need. Her free hand touches the tattoo at my hip, the one I keep hidden from my family. I know she understands its meaning. “Misha, please.”
I might faint from her pleas, along with my name on her delectable lips. My knees are weak. Somehow, though, my chest swells with pride, and my brain fills with dreams of the future. A tiny house in the country. Fruit trees in the back yard. Cows and chickens. A kitchen garden. A baby in a basket, and a toddler on a swing set. I watch over them as I tinker with a tractor. Their mother hangs out diapers to dry in the sun. They have her dark hair, and my blue eyes. She smiles at me, and calls to me. My love.
I reach out to take her thick, dark hair in my hand, and smile as I fill her slowly. She feels like heaven. “Yes, my treasure.”
“Misha, you’re so good,” she encourages me. “You’re so careful. You’re so sweet.”
I exhale raggedly. “No.” Everything she is saying is a lie. I am wicked. I am reckless. I am nasty. But every bit of me, down to the rotten core, is hers.
“Yes, Misha,” she sighs, and wiggles against me. “Yes. Now!” I pull her against me, and she gasps as she feels all of me inside her. She continues to stare at me. Her fascinating gray eyes are focused on just me. I am filling her body and her mind. Me. She wants me. She chose me. “Misha. Misha.” She repeats my name as an aching, yearning moan like she can’t get enough of me.
“I want you, Chiara.” My brain is full of things I want to say to her, but being inside her makes it hard to speak, and think. I slide out slowly, but I need to be in again. And again. And again.
“You have me,” she says. She doesn’t know what I want. I want to run away. I want to give up my family, and my name, and be hers. And I want her to be mine.
I can’t tell her I love her, that I’ve loved her since I saw her leaving her Roman Church alone, with her hair in a tight little bun and her gorgeous body bundled up in her heavy winter coat. Jesus, I’ve done it. I’ve fallen. This innocent little virgin has brought me to my knees.
Her moans fill my ears. She’s close. I’ve brought her to the edge, while staring into her eyes and fantasizing about the future. Can she see it? Does she know she has me? She owns me. Does she know?
“Yes, Misha. I’m yours. Yours,” she moans. I feel her tighten around me, her muscles grip me, her calves hold me. “Take me there. Take me, Misha.”
She doesn’t know. She’s just talking. She doesn’t want me to take her, because I will never let her go. I thrust up into her, and I watch as she comes undone for me. She doesn’t look away. She moans, and her body shakes, but her eyes are locked on mine.
“Yes, my love.” I moan as I feel myself coming with her. It shocks me, because I’m not concentrating on my own physical pleasure. But when her muscles contract around me, my body responds. My moans become growls as she forces me toward my orgasm too. She continues to moan my name, through her climax. I feel it in my heart, in my soul. I’m hers. “Yes, Chi, I’m yours. I’m yours.”
“You’re mine.” She almost giggles. She’s coming down from her high, and she’s happy and content. Our hands are still together, but her hand that was on my hip moves, to caress my face. She only sees the outside, the pretty package that hides the shit inside it. If she knew me, she wouldn’t want me. “Misha.” She says it confidently, with her bright happy smile. “Tell me your last name.”
“No.” I don’t even have to think about it. I might have said it a little too forcefully, because she gives me a little frown. We’ve been as intimate as two people can be. Of course she’s curious. She wants to know more about me. I want to tell her everything, I do. But now’s not the time. “You don’t want to know. It’s best if you don’t.”
“Do you know who I am?” she asks me.
I look down between our bodies as I pull out of her. She has some blood on her inner thighs. The condom is covered in it. I kiss her lips quickly, when I see that she’s looking too. The last thing I want is for her to freak out over it. When I have her attention away from the gross stuff, I slide the condom off.
“I know you’re mine, and that’s all I need to know.” I step away as I say it, and I quickly toss the rubber in the trash. After I discard the proof of her taken virginity, I turn toward the bath. She moves, and I stop her with a look and a shake of my head. “Wait.”
“I have to pee,” she complains, and Chiara being all pouty is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen or heard.
I start the water, and begin to fill the bath. Then I return to where she’s still sitting on the counter, so I can pick her up and sit her gently on the floor. Then I leave the room and close the door.
I know exactly what I want to do. I hope I have enough time. I steal quickly into the other room, where her dress and her purse are lying by the door. Without any qualms I open her purse. I’ve been in her house, I’ve watched her sleep. Her purse holds no secrets from me. But what it does hold is the ring her fiancé gave her. I find it quickly and take it out. Next I place the ring in a secret pocket inside my jacket. Then I quickly send a text to my phone from hers, and quickly erase it, before I replace it and close her purse back.
When I hear the water go off in the bathroom, I open the door and find her stretched out in the tub. My body immediately responds, seeing my fantasy wearing a pleased expression and nothing else. My stomach muscles tighten because I know that I am the reason she’s wearing that little grin.
I close the shower curtain, and take care of my own bladder before my growing hard on makes it impossible. I hear her scoff, but she doesn’t complain. I ate her out until she came all over my face, she shouldn’t argue that I’m peeing in the same room as her. I finish up, flush, and pull the curtain again so I can climb in with her.
“What are you…” she asks, but by then I’m already in the tub. She spreads her legs, and I bend my knees and place my feet under her thighs.
I smile, and splash some of the warm, soapy water her way. We sit in comfortable silence for several minutes. She has her eyes closed, and her head leaned back against the edge of the bath. Her pink lips are slightly parted. And every few moments she moves her hand, to brush her hair away from her face or wipe sweat off her brow. Each time, she touches one of my legs, and she grins. She grins subconsciously, just because I’m near her.
She’s not going to grin, or smile, when I tell her the truth. So maybe I won’t tell her all of the truth. “You’re Chiara Rossi, Nico’s daughter.”
I have all of her attention. She’s staring at me now, trying to figure me out. “You know a lot about me. Who are you?”
I shake my head, before I slide down into the water. I let it cover me completely, almost as if she can baptize me, cleanse me of my sins. Will she, when she knows what I’m capable of? I pop my head up, push my hair out of my face, and wipe my eyes.
Then, I tell her. “I am Mikhail Ivanovich. I’m Ivan’s son. But you might know me by my nickname. I’ve heard the Italians call me the Bloody Ivanovich, because of all of the Italians I’ve killed.” My father calls me the family screw up, but he knows when he gives me a name that person will disappear, as if he never existed.
Her eyes go wide. I guess she’s heard of me. “I don’t believe you. You’re too young,” she argues.
I shrug. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
She’s really frowning now. She’s angry, but she’s keeping her emotions in check. “And you knew who I was when you decided to leave the bar with me?”
“Yea,” I answer, honestly.
She moves to climb out of the tub, but I grab her ankle to stop her. I’m not letting her go.