Sex, Lies & Nikolai (24 page)

The lighter comes to life, and I instantly smell the smoke. He only ever lights it after sex.

It’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen: Nikolai in the nude, glistening with sweat, dick covered in my wetness, swollen lips wrapped around a cigarette, smoke clouding around him like he’s in a fog.

And I’m in a fog just staring at him.

“You and that cigarette,” I mutter lightly, rolling my eyes.

He’s still looking softly at me, but a smirk curls at his lips, that cigarette settled between his teeth.

“Do you smoke any other time?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” he answers. “Not often.”

“Just after sex.”

“Any time I feel like I need to come down from a high.”

I watch him for a few moments, hypnotized by his beauty. Then, I turn to my side and impulsively take the smoke off him. He raises a brow and I answer his questioning look by taking one drag of it. He chuckles lightly. “Always full of surprises, kitten.”

“I’ve smoked before,” I reply, defensively.

“I can tell.”

“I’ve done a lot of other things too. You shouldn’t be surprised.”

He turns on his side so he’s facing me, amused. “Have I insulted you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You implied I’m innocent.”

The laugh that comes out of him is dry. “I know the last thing you are is innocent, but I also know you’re the sweetest thing too.”

I smile. “Why?”

He takes the smoke from my hand. “Because every time I take you, you’re always surprised to get there. You’ve never been pleasured before me.”

My smile wavers instantly. “Am I so obvious?”

“No, you’re only obvious to those you open up to, and we can probably count those people on one hand, can’t we, Alina?”

The breath that comes out of me next is slow. “You think you know everything about me, don’t you?”

Nikolai shakes his head, pinning me still with his stare. “I have a feeling I could spend the rest of my life never getting to the bottom of you, rybka.”

The feeling’s mutual, but I don’t say that.

Instead, I get off and already start to get ready to leave. I feel like I’m running. Everything’s too intimate. His stare…I let out a breath. His stare is pummelling my insides right now.

“Stay,” he tells me. “Have dinner with me.”

“I have to be back. I have…things to do at home and…”

“Why do you lie?”

I tense. “I’m not lying.”

“We can eat somewhere nice,” he continues, his voice bordering hopeful. “Go to a nice Russian place. I can spoil you with better wine and good food. You can meet some people I know.
Good
people.”

“I can’t.”

“Alina –”

“I don’t want to have dinner with you, Nikolai!” I cut in evenly. “I just want to get paid and leave.”

Silence.

Shit.

Everything changes right then and there. The softness dissipates into nothingness, and I can’t tell if that’s worse.

If I’ve offended him, it doesn’t show. Then again, if Nikolai was feeling a thousand different emotions, I still couldn’t tell you one of them. He just looks at me, long and hard, with this unwavering intensity. Then he gets up and fetches me another envelope.

“Strictly business,” he remarks bitterly when he returns to hand me it, an icy glint in his eye. “Surprisingly, you are the most professional client I’ve ever had to work with.”

I feel a rip of anger cut through me. “You forget, Nikolai, that you’re
my
client,” I retort, pocketing the envelope. “And you’re easily replaceable.”

Yet again, nothing gets to him. If I think he’ll snap at me, I don’t know him well enough. But I do. I know him so well, it frightens me.

He stands there, in his intimidating grace, and watches me gather my things and leave.

*

I stand in the shower, shaking my head over and over again. I shouldn’t have said what I did. All this effort keeping this man a safe distance from me, and it’s turning me into a rude bitch.

I cringe at the word
replaceable
. What was I trying to prove by saying that? That I don’t need him? Of course I need him. He’s done wonders to my life already and I feel like I’ve barely scraped the surface of our arrangement.

He’s the most selfless lover I’ve ever had, and the thought of not touching him again – because of how horribly stupid I am – makes me panic.

I wrap myself in my towel and step out. I roam the unit, aimlessly tidying it up. I find myself in the kitchen repeatedly, eyeing my phone, knowing I should call Nikolai and apologize. But…

Ugh.

I’m a coward.

I take it anyway, and I scroll to his name on my contact list. He plugged it into my phone weeks ago when he needed to make arrangements to see me last minute.

My finger hovers over the call button, and I take a few breaths before hitting it. It rings on the other end, over and over again with no response. After over a dozen rings, I hang up.

Either he’s ignoring me, or he’s busy.

I want to think it’s the latter, but…I would ignore a person too if they called me
replaceable
.

I throw something light on and crawl into bed next to Scarlett. I sigh miserably, disliking the way I push people away when they get too close to me. I don’t like that part of myself, because by the time I realize what I’m doing the damage is already done.

I stare at the darkness for a long time, listening closely for any movement in the unit. My paranoia is always high, and it’s irrational at times, but being a lone woman with a tiny girl to look after, the mind tends to turn against itself.

Luckily my phone vibrates under my pillow, distracting me from my fear. I pull it out quickly and answer.

“Hello,” I whisper.

“Alina,” Nikolai responds coolly. “You called.”

“Yeah, uh…I figured you were too busy to take the call.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

Silence settles over the line and I’m itching to get the words out, but I’ve never apologized to a man I’ve been intimately seeing before. It’s harder than I expect.

“I just…” I pause, letting out a trouble breath. “About today, and what I said…I just wanted to say…”

“I know,” he replies, sparing me. “Anything else?”

“Well…no.”

“Good night, Alina.”

My body sags in disappointment, this want to keep him on the phone present, but… “Good night, Nikolai.”

I feel no better getting off the phone.

I feel no better without actually saying the words I’m sorry.

I think the only way I’ll feel better is when I’m back at his place and kissing him.

He fucks me hard, the rhythm more punishing than usual. I’m practically holding on for dear life. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t even look at me. He buries his face between my neck and shoulder instead and thunders inside of me, until I have no choice but to surrender. We both come together, agonizing groans torn from our lungs in unison.

It always feels so fucking good.

I start to sag into the mattress, my fingers already seeking his back, when he suddenly gets off without waiting to catch his breath.

It's like whiplash.

Nothing at all like what I’ve gotten used to. No tender eyes. No look of awe. He doesn’t even smoke a cigarette next to me. He gets up instead and strides out of the room, leaving me breathing raggedly on the bed alone.

The change fucks with my head.

Is he angry at me?

He returns, his face clear of emotion, and rests the envelope on the edge of the bed. Then he turns and begins dressing. I watch him, waiting for him to give me a sign that all is right, but he doesn’t. There are a million thoughts roaring through me, and none of them are pleasant.

I sit up, flushed and aware of my nudity. I cover my body with the sheet and search for my clothes, eyeing him every few seconds, knowing something is deeply wrong and it’s all my fault.

It’s the first time he’s never spoken a word to me from the second he picked me up to the second we’re done. I feel like I’ve lost something big between us, and it worries me more than I imagined it would.

I tug the sheet tighter around me as I slide off the bed. He’s just zipping up his pants when I weakly utter, “Nikolai.”

He doesn’t look at me. “What?”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yesterday –”

“Yesterday you made things very clear.”

I want to go to him, rest my hand on his back and tell him to forget about what I said yesterday, but it’s the confliction inside of me over this whole thing between us that stops me.

“I shouldn’t have said it,” I mutter.

He turns to me now. His chest is still moving quickly from our session, his hair is unruly and over parts of his forehead. “I may be
your
client, but I have the power to end things just as much as you.”

My heart seizes. “Don’t.”

“Why?”

I swallow, not responding.

“Why?” he presses.

I still can’t answer.

“You can’t even tell me why?”

He waits for more nothing from me and his nostrils flare.

“Who will you replace me with if I go, Alina?” he questions roughly. “I’m obviously so dispensable, I wonder why you deal with me anyway.”

“Nikolai –”

“Where are these fucking men that are better than me? Tell me. Point them out! Because clearly I haven’t done a decent job of it.”

“Nikolai, stop –”

“Have you been with anyone else?” he rants on, fuming now. “Are you getting paid by some other man? Is he better than me? More
valuable
? Is that why you’re so quick to leave?”

“No!” I cry out. “You’re the only man I’ve been with in five years!”

He runs his hand through his hair and turns away from me. His entire body is tight with anger. I don’t know what to do or say to alleviate the situation.

I’m so fucking inexperienced, I don’t even know how to process what’s going on!

This is meant to be an arrangement. A fuck for a paycheque, but I feel a little naïve for thinking it ever was going to be that simple.

Still not looking at me, Nikolai sighs slowly, peering down at a spot on the ground. His gaze is distant, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking.

“Nikolai,” I whisper, contritely. “I’m so –”

He cuts me off with a bitter scoff. “Go home, Alina, before I really say something hurtful.”

*

I feel dead on the ride back to my apartment. I really do just fuck things up, don’t I?

Logically, none of this should bother me. Nikolai doesn’t mean anything to me. Except he does. And it makes his harsh words all the more painful to relive.

I deserved it. I was foolish to think he would forget what I said to him the night before. I hurt his feelings, so of course he wouldn’t just spring back to his normal self with me.

It explains why he fucked me so hard. He was finding a way to take it out on me without hurting me back.

The right thing would be to cut things off, but just the thought makes my heart protest. I feed myself lies. Lies give me the illusion all is right. It shields my heart from feeling pain, so I lie with a fury.

He doesn’t mean anything to me.

I’m doing this for money.

Money.

Better future.

Scarlett.

Repeat.

Money.

Better future.

Scarlett.

I swallow these lies, but they don’t stay down like they did before.

I get off the bus and walk with my head down to the building. The homeless man I usually walk past stops me for a quick hello. I dig my hand into my pocket, fishing for change and throw them down for him. Then I plod on, step after miserable step.

*

The door is unlocked and slightly open when I arrive home. I hear footsteps inside my unit, and I slowly push the door open, refusing to enter.

“Fucking hell,” a voice fumes.

I sigh, my hands turning into fists at the voice of Grant.

What the fuck does he want now?

I wait there, at the door, arms crossed. I’m a mess right now, and the last thing I need is to have some kind of vicious confrontation with this drug dealing animal.

I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’m antsy, worried for the money I’ve hidden. When he comes out minutes later, his face is red and unforgiving. He towers over me, forcing me to take steps back until my back is against the wall of the hallway.

“Where the fuck is your thieving mother?!” he roars.

I resist cowering, but my heart is aching in fear. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t fucking know?”

“No.”

“She just disappeared then?”

“I haven’t heard from her.”

“She owes me money.”

“She owes
everybody
money.”

“Sandra’s never been gone from me this long!” he grits out, seething over me. “Where the fuck is she, Alina?!”

“I don’t know!” I scream back, glaring up at him.

His face turns an even more impossible shade of red. He growls and slams his fist over my head, breaking through the wall, sending crumbling bits of it raining over me. Then he storms down the hallway, taking the elevator down.

The second he disappears I hurry into my unit. Everything has been turned over, and the panic I feel makes every bit of me shiver as I rush into the kitchen, my sights on the large coffee jar on the counter. I open it and dig my hand inside, sifting through the coffee grounds, searching for the feel of the glad bag I’d stuffed the bills in.

I nearly collapse in relief when I feel it. I pull it out and circle it in my hands, making sure it hasn’t been opened. Then I stuff it back in and cover it up. I put it back on the counter and bend over, feeling like I’m about to pass out from the terror swirling like a vortex inside of me.

It’s there. It’s there. It’s there.

My heart’s still racing inside my chest. I’m shaking and anxious. I slide to the ground and bury my head between my knees, taking in deep breaths.

I hate that man.

I hate him.

How do I rid him from my life?

I hear quiet footsteps, and I’m too weak to lift my head up. If he’s come back, I’ll just let him scream at me until he leaves.

The footsteps get closer, until they’re so close all it takes is for me to open my eyes to know who it is. But then I catch the waft of that familiar scent, and all at once my heart explodes and my mind goes quiet.

I feel him at my side, sliding down to where I am. His arm circles around my shoulder and he pulls me into his chest. I crumble a little more just then, shaking like a leaf as he settles me entirely over his lap, kissing me on the top of my head.

“It’s okay,” Nikolai whispers. “You’re alright.”

I close my eyes tighter and grip his plain tee to me. I take in deep breaths, feeling safe in the warmth of his embrace. We stay like that for what feels like a long time. I don’t deserve his affection, not after what I did, and yet here he is, holding me to him like all it matters is that I’m alright.

“Why are you here?” I ask him once I’ve calmed down.

“I’m always here after you leave me,” he answers.

“Why?”

“To make sure you’ve arrived safely.”

I feel like I’ve swallowed a large rock. I pull away and look up at him. His blue eyes are so tender, nothing like the hardness earlier. “You really do that?” I push out, my voice breaking.

He nods solemnly. “Of course I do. You won’t let me take you home. What choice do I have?”

“I thought you were angry at me.”

“I’m still angry at you, but it doesn’t mean I won’t make sure you’ve come home alright.”

There are so many things I want to do in this moment.

Kiss him.

Hug him.

Tell him what that means to me.

But he just shakes his head, telling me with his gaze not to say a word about it. Like he knows I’m not prepared to. It makes the ice inside of me thaw even more for him.

“Now tell me what the hell happened,” he demands. “I come up to find your door wide open and you on the ground.”

“Grant was just here. He seems to think I know where my mother is. He turned the apartment inside out by the time I arrived.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Why does he do anything? Because he’s a lunatic.”

“How did he get into your apartment?”

“He must have a spare key. Maybe it’s Mom’s key, or he made one for himself back when he lived here. I don’t know.”

“Has he done this before?” Nikolai’s words come out more clipped. I can tell he’s angry.

“Yeah.”

This time he hooks his finger around my chin and forces me to look him dead in the eye. “Has he hurt you?”

Not for a long time. “No.”

“Has he ever?”

“No,” I lie. Because I’m not going to talk about it. Not here, not now, not ever.

He knows I’m not telling the truth, but he doesn’t push the matter. He helps me up instead, and then he gives me a hand tidying up the unit. It’s nothing compared to what Mom did, but it’s still frustrating having to put everything back where it belongs.

When we’re finished, he makes a phone call in the hallway and I pick up Scarlett. I take her inside and run her a bath. She seems to sense something’s happened, because she rubs my arm tenderly.

“You look sad,” she says.

I go to tell her I’m not, but then I hesitate, knowing she won’t believe me if I lie. “I’m a little sad,” I admit.

“You’ll feel better, Alina,” she assures me, still rubbing my arm.

I smile at her. “I know I will. I’ve got the best sister in the world to cheer me up.”

That makes her eyes light up.

I give her a bath and change her into clean clothes. Then I brush her hair and settle her into bed. I look to the front door before I do, catching sight of Nikolai still standing in the hallway, talking.

“Who is he?” Scarlett asks me after she’s climbed into bed, clean and flushed from her bath.

“My friend,” I answer.

“Is he nice?”

“He wouldn’t be my friend if he wasn’t.”

She settles under the covers, her arms reaching out for Rumple. Then she sits up. “Where is he?”

I search for the bear, looking under the bed and then in her toy box. “Try to get some sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll look for him in the living room. I’m sure he’s there.”

She lays back down, hugging the bed sheet to her chest instead. I turn off the light and leave the door half-opened, and then I proceed to search for Rumple.

He’s not in the living room, or the kitchen, and I’m starting to think she took him into Roberta’s, when I stand on something round. I look down, making out the familiar shape of the button I’d recently bought for his eye. I pick it up, my heart already crashing in my chest.

I scan the kitchen floor, catching sight of another piece of something white. A bit of stuffing.

Rumple’s stuffing.

My movements slow as I follow the trail to the garbage, where some more stuffing is hanging from the lid. I open it and look inside, instantly finding Rumple in at least six different pieces.