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She can’t do anything but take it. Dig her fingers into the starchy hotel sheets, try not to be so loud everyone on the floor knows she’s getting railed to within an inch of her life. When he gets like this, she really doesn’t hate it. She hates it when other people do it. Aleksander is different. He uses her, yeah, but he always makes her come several times. Always talks her through it. Checks in.
Unlike some of her other clients, he wants to make it good for her.
Like now, when he’s got her bent over the edge of the hotel bed with her dress flipped up over her ass and her panties pulled down her thighs. When he’d pressed his hand to the small of her back to keep her in place, and freed his cock with his other, notched right at her entrance and pushed inside without using his fingers first. It hurt in a good way. The pinch giving way to the absolute delicious feeling of his cock filling her up just so.
No one does it like him. The fact that he pays her the most doesn’t even matter.
“Open your legs wider,” he commands and he’s so relentless she literally can’t move. Thank goodness he helps her, uses his knee to shove her right leg out. Her foot comes off the floor and she whimpers at the shift in her balance. “Just relax. Fuck. I can feel your tension.”
“I…you’re so -“
“Relax. Relax or I’ll fucking stop.”
She forces herself to go limp, and it’s immediately fucking better. Incredible. His hand digging into her hip and his other pushing down on the back of her neck. She’s drooling on the bedding, mouth open but no sound coming out. And it should be scary, but it isn’t. She trusts him. She’s been fucking him for months. He’s never once pushed past any of her limits or boundaries.
He knows her.
“Alina, honey,” he croons, slowing his pace, making her whine. “Such a pretty little doll for me, aren’t you?” She nods, which feels like nonsense. But he doesn’t like to be ignored. “Letting me fuck you any way I want. Hard as I want.”
“Yes, daddy.”
He snaps his hips hard. He hadn’t told her to call him that this evening. He turns her head roughly, cock buried and sitting so deeply and firmly inside her she feels like she could cry. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Are you testing me?”
“No,” she says frantically, and then he leans over her, pushes impossibly deeper, licks into her open mouth. It’s filthy. All of it. She’s never felt better. “No, I like it. Daddy, I just like it.”
He practically groans against her cheek. She knows how much he likes hearing her say that, too. That it’s good. That she likes what he gives. That he’s pleasuring her. Wants her loud. Wants her honest. She never pretends. The one time she tried, he shoved his fingers in her mouth and pressed on her tongue and told her never to do it again. Then licked her cunt so thoroughly the sheets beneath them were soaked.
“You want daddy to fuck you harder?”
She doesn’t know how he could.
“Yes. Please. Need it.”
He delivers. She nearly blacks out when she comes and immediately feels him expand within her, release into the condom.
He pulls out, no fanfare to it, little aftercare. When she tries to move, he says, “No. Stay there,” and she hears him fastening his pants and righting his clothing as she lies limp and dripping on the fucking bedding.
He touches the back of her thigh, makes her jolt, makes her whimper. She can’t come again. Not after that.
But she doesn’t say no. Because it’s fun to try.
His fingers slip into her, her eyes squeezing closed.
“Aleksander.”
He laughs, mean. “What happened to daddy? You save that for when I’m so deep inside you, you can’t fucking think? Stripped down to just a warm body who wants to please me?”
He’s probably not wrong.
“Daddy,” she breathes, is rewarded with a swipe of his thumb against her clit. “Oh fuck. Daddy. Daddy, please.”
“Come on, little girl.” She moans. He knew that would get her. “Or do you need my tongue?”
Just the thought of it sends her flying, his laughter registering to her ears as she lets go, sensitive enough that it feels like she’s dripping down her fucking thighs even though she isn’t. He’s just everywhere. All over her. She can smell him from how his skin was pressed against hers, feel his hands where he was holding her.
When he pulls back again, she stays there. He hasn’t told her she can move.
He drops a wad of bills onto the bed.
Okay. So they’re done.
“Get up.”
She turns over stretches her legs a little and sees the dark look on his face at her taking a little too long to do what he’s told her. When she stands she’s unsteady, and he reaches out to hold her hip.
“What do you say?” he asks, and yeah, yeah, this is her favourite part with him.
“Thank you, daddy,” she tells him, eyes soft and looking up at him. He reaches up to hold her chin gently, taps her lower lip with his thumb as he gives her the prettiest smile she ever sees on him.
Like always, he rewards her with, “Good girl,” and a kiss to the forehead, and then he leaves.
Alina cleans up in the bathroom, makes sure her hair and makeup don’t look absolutely destroyed. She takes her money off the bed, slips it into her purse, and leaves.
He’s still waiting for his car by the curb when she steps out onto the sidewalk. She doesn’t acknowledge him, nor he, her.
She never lets herself think about going home with him.
-----
Nikolai is an interesting one. He likes to role play. Real basic shit, mostly. French maid. Babysitter. Student/teacher. Nothing that infantilizes - she draws a line at him pretending she’s underage. Not that she can audit what goes through his mind, but he seems to stick to the boundaries laid out.
This time, he wants to pretend his wife has given permission. He isn’t even married.
Some men are just so lonely they make things up in their heads. She’s had clients who want to court her, take her to dinners and shows. She’s had clients who want her to call them honey, hubby, baby. Who want her to hand feed them dinner while they lie in bed. She is no stranger to the multitude of ways people like to be taken care of.
She has learned to be a good actor. She plays it up, leans into the scenario. Nik doesn’t come until she does - she wants to think she helped train him a little there, too; he used to have a hair trigger. When he does, he says another woman’s name. Alina is so used to this it barely registers. And when he’s come down and rolled off her, she does what they always do, too; slicks up her finger, tells him to open his legs, and presses into him. He keens, moans, talks about how good she is and looks. Calls her by her actual name. Submits.
When she’s walking back into her apartment, she gets the notification Aleksander is booking time for this Sunday. Coming back to her sooner than usual.
‘What should I wear?’ she asks - all part of their regular agreement. His preference.
‘Black. Lace. Send me a photo. Whatever you want overtop. I want to know what’s underneath, and tease you until you cry for me.’
Fuck. She never gets wet for clients outside of having sex with them. This part of it is purely administrative. With most people.
Aleksander is different.
-----
When she goes shopping the next day, she asks if he wants to pick. This is new. A treat for him. An extra. He is usually busy during the day working, so she’s worried maybe he won’t have time, but hopeful that just asking will be enough to make him happy.
But he says yes. And she sends him photos from the fitting rooms of various pieces.
He picks a bodysuit that’s more decoration that structural, and she needs to buy a dress, now, that will work under this and not be completely inappropriate.
She makes that black, too. The night of their meeting, she puts on her shoes and meets him in the hotel bar of his choosing. Sees the look on his face when she walks in.
He’s mad. This is going to be good.
Her dress has cutouts at the sides. You can see the lace peeking through. To anyone else, it looks like just part of the garment. They’re the only two who know that’s not the case.
“You’re pushing me,” he says against her cheek when he kisses it in greeting.
“I’m pleasing you,” she says back, and he chuckles darkly and pulls out her chair.
“Always, little one.”
Fuck.
Later, after a drink in the bar and her sitting close to him, letting her knee brush against his, he takes her upstairs to the room he’s booked, doesn’t let her get onto the bed. He teases her where she stands. Undresses her so slowly she feels like she could scream. Barely touches her but asks her if she’s wet for him already.
Already? Has been since she was getting dressed for him at home.
When she’s down to the bodysuit only, she thinks he’ll push her backwards, but he does not. He sits on the edge of the bed, tells her, “On your knees,” and when she whimpers desperately, his palm makes contact with her hip and he looks at her darkly. “Don’t be needy. On your knees and open your mouth.”
She listens. Of course she listens. Wants it. Likes the slide of his fingers along her jaw, into her hair, against her scalp. Likes the way he pushes her down. The way he holds back his groan. The way he locks hers with her whe. She looks up at him. Her eyes water and he doesn’t care - presses upward and fucks her throat until she’s patting his thigh. Their agreed upon signal. She coughs a bit when he releases her, leans into the brush of his thumb against her cheek.
“Are you coming this way?” she asks, mostly to prepare herself. Physically and emotionally. Her jaw aches. When he comes in her mouth, it’s really in her throat. It’s brutal and unforgiving and he uses her. And she takes every drop. He’s made her lick up what she’s spilled in the past. Not that she minded.
“Of course not,” he tells her, like she’s stupid for thinking it. “I know you need me in your cunt. Are you ready?” She nods desperately, wipes at her eyes, then tries to wipe her mouth, but he stops her with his hand around her wrist. “I want to make such a fucking mess of you.”
It’s not the first time he’s said it. She isn’t surprised. Condoms are required and non negotiable. He can come on her body, but never her face and absolutely never inside. She thinks they both want it. Only he’s allowed to say so.
“Why are you saying that like you can’t?” she asks coyly from her spot on the floor. Maybe he’ll pull her onto his lap. Move her with his hands on her hips. Do all the work even when she’s on top of him.
“Careful, little girl. Don’t ask for things you aren’t allowed.” He curves his hand around the back of her neck, pulls so all she can do is move and then stands because she thinks it’s what he wants. “Come. Sit on my face.”
Oh fuck. He’s so generous. No one could ever be as generous as him. None of her other clients.
He stops her from undressing and she wants to take it back.
He isn’t trying to make her come. He’s trying to torture.
Moves her right up over him, licks through the lace, moans and then curses when she keens.
“You’re fucking dripping right into my mouth,” he says, but it isn’t a complaint. “You like when I fuck your face that much?” He’s mouthing at he skin of her thigh and she can’t focus. His palm comes down on her ass. “Answer.”
“Yes.” Breathy. Barely there.
“Darling.” Fuck. Fuck. What he calls her when he wants her full attention. “I’m going to make you come before I undress you. If you truly want to please me, you’ll fucking do it. Am I clear?”
She presses her cunt down towards his mouth. “Yes, daddy.”
He says, “Good girl,” right before he licks her again.
She leaves the room on unsteady legs. Wishes he could take her home. Wishes she could…
Wishing does nothing for her. She gets him how she gets him. Barely knows him otherwise.
-----
Matthias only ever fucks her from behind. Once a month, she gets onto her hands and knees in a room in Brooklyn and he is quiet and quick as he fucks her. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t get rough. Just wants a warm cunt to fill and likes the way her hips feel under his hands. She knows this. She keeps quiet, mostly. She never comes. It’s not about that.
She thinks he’s got some trauma he doesn’t talk about. That someone hurt him. Someone he probably loved deeply and wanted to be with forever.
Alina has learned a lot about people over the last few years since she started doing sex work.
Matthias always pays her in cash in a bank envelope, purses his lips and gives her a tight nod at the door as she leaves the room.
She thinks he needs this more than she does.
-----
“Don’t fucking move.”
She nods, looks up at him. That doesn’t count, right? It can’t.
“May I speak?”
Oh. Oh, he likes that she’s asked. Grins and tilts his head as he stares down at her. He’s fully dressed and she’s naked and spread out on a bed in this massive suite at the Waldorf Astoria.
“Only if you’re sure I’ll like what you say.”
He drags his finger up her torso, from below her navel to her chin, follows the path of his finger with his eyes.
“Are you mapping out what you want with me this evening?”
A short chuckle. “No, little one. I’ve been thinking about that all week. I know just what I want. But it seems I underestimated how much I’d like to see you like this. Skin pebbling. Cunt dripping. Legs wide. You’re just waiting for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” His brow arches. Right. “Yes, daddy.”
He reaches for his belt. Fuck. Her stomach swoops and her cunt throbs in anticipation.
“I’m beginning to think you don’t care enough to remember that.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. No, I just. I don’t call anyone else daddy. I…” he’s watching her. He pulls his shirttails free, starts on the buttons. “I’m sorry. I’ll remember.”
“You better.”
He laughs when the threat makes her shiver.
When he’s undressed, hard and leaking and sheathing himself with the condom, he gets onto the bed, on his knees and sits back on his heels. He’s staring between her legs.
“You’re soaking wet for me,” he tells her. She knows. “I was going to get you ready, but.” He reads her hips, yanks her towards him. “You’re such a good girl. You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks into her before she can answer. The question was rhetorical anyway.
-----
Kaz is different. He likes conversation. To be seen with her. Takes her to different bars and restaurants. She doesn’t know what he does. But it’s something shady. She knows this because he always has his eyes scanning the room. Looking for whoever’s looking at him.
Then takes her to his apartment, and he’s the only client she allows this with. His place is nice. Dark. Smells of old books and money. He sits on a particular chair and lets her undress in front of him and then sit on his lap. Likes it when she speaks softly, lowly, when she jerks him off. Likes to get pulled right to the edge and then for her to stop. Likes to slip into her when she’s on top of him. Pulls at her hair a little in a way - unlike a lot of men - that suggests he knows what he’s doing and it doesn’t hurt. Makes her come - always - before he lets his restraint break and lets go.
Likes it when she lets him clean her up. He never wants to be taken care of this way. He’s not helpless, he says. Runs a warm, damp cloth over her and helps her dress again. Always tucks the money into her purse for her and kisses her cheek before she goes.
She likes him. She thinks they could be friends. Maybe they are.
-----
He’s over her, encompassing. Hand on her throat and hips tight to hers, fucking her deep and slow and thorough. Telling her he missed her when he was out of town and couldn’t see her last week. Telling her he thought of her mouth and her cunt and her pretty little body when he was in London. Telling her he wanted to fill her up. That makes her moan, makes her whine.
“That’s it?” he asks, and she nods, which is nonsensical. “That’s what you want isn’t it? Me to fill you up so full you can’t fucking move?”
“Daddy.”
“But you don’t just want my cock, do you?” He leans down, scrapes his teeth along her jaw and slows nearly to a stop, just short, shallow thrusts that make her want to scream for more. “You want my come. You want me inside you.”
He’s right. He’s right but she can’t say it. Can’t say anything. Can be that fucking risky and stupid. She doesn’t answer and he doesn’t make her. A blessing. If she answered he could mistake that for consent. She thinks he knows her better than that. But even so. Even when she’s sweating and aching and fucking burning for him - from him - she has enough of her wits about her to resist the temptation that gets stronger every time they do this.
“God, baby girl, you’re worth every fucking penny.” His words are punctuated with sharp snaps of his hips, spreading her so wide she knows she’ll ache tomorrow.
He’s the only one of her clients who doesn’t ignore the fact that she’s getting paid. And he does it in such a way that feels complimentary. He never calls her a whore or a slut. Never demeans her. Not like this.
She does something daring, reaches up to slide her hand up onto his cheek.
“Make me come,” she says, sounds a little broken when she racks on, “Please.”
He negotiates. Because of course he does.
“Tell me you missed me. Tell me no one else could fuck you like this. Like you want.“
She really hopes he knows she’s not lying when she says, “No one. Just you. Only you, daddy.”
He pulls out, makes her whine, flips her over onto her belly, then sinks back into her and reaches his hand beneath her as they slide together, sweat and heat and want. His fingers roll over her clit and she feels him everywhere. Wants him everywhere. Doesn’t think she could ever give him up and hopes she never has to.
“Want my pretty girl to come for me.”
That’s literally all it takes.
Moments later he’s pulling out, taking the condom off and jerking his orgasm onto the small of her back, the cleft of her ass. She just lies there and lets him. Likes the way it’s warm on her skin. Likes the way his hand presses down through his own mess, pushes her against the mattress.
Then he says, “Taste,” and she turns, reaches for his wrist, licks his thumb into her mouth as he watches, pleased.
She says, “Thank you, daddy,” without prompting, which makes him moan and push her back down, put his mouth against her cunt and go down on her until she screams her release.
-----
Fedyor is interesting.
His husband likes to watch.
It’s all very gentle and sweet and vanilla. A little boring. No one talks or says anything, usually, until Ivan, after however much foreplay he decides is enough, says, “Fuck her,” and pulls his cock out of his pants so he can jerk off to the sight.
Sometimes he picks the position. Sometimes Fedyor does what he likes. This time, he’s back against the headboard and she’s on her knees, facing away from him. Rocking back on him and trying to avoid Ivan’s eyes. He doesn’t really like that much. When Fedyor comes, she waits until he’s finished and he brings her off with his hand, like usual.
Ivan never comes when she’s in the room. He always hands her the bills, neatly folded, and she leaves the bedroom, closes the door behind her so they can do whatever they do after she leaves.
The midnight humidity makes her dress stick to her as soon as she’s outside. When she gets home, she puts her money in the box under her mattress and falls into bed alone. Wonders what it’s like to have a partner who wants to give you everything you ask for.
-----
He asked her to bring her favourite toy.
Asked her to wear nothing under her dress.
Asks her, in the room, if she wants to try something new.
She says, “Only with you,” and means it.
Aleksander slips his finger into her asshole while he presses the vibrator to her clit, moves slowly, gently, tells her he wants to fuck her there but they need to do some training first. She’s never taken anyone there. Only her own finger when she’s been curious. Nothing more. Nothing as deep as him.
“I want it,” she breathes when she asks for another finger and he says her name like a warning. “Please, daddy. I want you. I want you to fuck me. Please. Get me ready. I’ll take you. I’ll do anything you want.”
His cock slips into her cunt and it’s so overwhelming she comes right away, overstimulated and clenching around his fingers in her ass. He gives her just enough time to breathe before he’s moving again, his fingers first, slowly, then his cock. She feels full to bursting. Feels him stretching her. Opening her up. She knows how it goes. She’s watched videos. He lets the vibrator fall away. A small mercy.
“My baby ready for daddy to fuck her here?” Three fingers. She knows how big his cock is. She’s probably not ready. He presses the head to her hole anyway. “Breathe.”
She tries. She does. Gasps for air when he sinks deeper, when he groans with the restraint of not just taking her.
“That’s it, little girl. Just like that. Just let me fuck you. Let me take you.”
She does. She lies there, knows he likes her like this - unwilling to move and drooling on the bedding. He feels fucking massive. Truly impossibly big. And then his hips are against her ass and he’s breathing hard.
“You’d let me take anything I wanted, hm?”
“Yes.”
He pulls out. Gets her onto her back, gets her legs up and spread and slips back into her more easily this time, presses his thumb deep into her cunt as far as it’ll go.
“You’ll feel this for days,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be a threat, but she can’t register it as that.
When he finishes and pulls out, she feels so dreadfully empty she starts crying. The drop. It happens sometimes with him. He slips his fingers back into her, rubs his hand over her tummy until she calms, until she’s less sad. He kisses her when he doesn’t have to.
He’s hard again by the time she should be getting up. She tells him to sit back on the bed, blows him slow and deliberate, lets him come down her throat again and gets herself off with the vibrator.
She doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to let her go. He makes her stay for another round, comes on her tits and makes her put her dress back on without cleaning up. She feels fucking filthy and perfect the whole way home, slips into a bath and cries and hates this part. The part where she realizes she’s too attached.
-----
Mal is truly just an obligation. Someone she keeps in her contacts because he’s low maintenance and inconsistent, and when he does reach out to her it’s almost always on short notice. It’s getting to the point where she almost hates when she sees his name on her schedule.
He’s fine. He’s not threatening or mean. He’s just also not good, either. The rest of her client roster is at least interesting in some way or another.
At her meanest, she thinks at least with Mal it’s the shortest amount of work she has to do to get her full rate. He’s done in 5 minutes and never even wants to cuddle. Clueless and selfish and an absolute bro. Usually leaves her in the cheap hotel room he’s booked instead of being even remotely close to a gentleman and seeing her out.
She’s walking home - it’s not far, and it’s finally cool enough that she feels she’s not melting - and Aleksander calls her. It’s rare. He usually texts.
“I have a sizeable favour, for which I’ll pay you generously.”
Before even knowing what it is, she replies, “Of course, daddy,” as she walks down the street and he’ll know she’s in public. He’ll like that. “Anything.”
-----
The dress he sends her is black and gold, pretty and expensive and it fits her perfectly. When she teases him about not sending jewelry, he says he’ll have that handled before the evening starts. She has her makeup and hair done - pulled back loosely off her face the way she knows he likes it.
He picks her up from her apartment building, which makes it feel like a date. Which, she supposes, it is. They’ve only done this a couple times before. Usually they just meet for a drink and then go upstairs to a room. This is nice.
She knows this is a gala dinner with investors he’s trying to impress. An evening of schmoozing and reading people and acting like a perfect little accessory.
In the car, Aleksander kisses her cheek and tells her she looks stunning.
Then he pulls a ring box from his pocket.
She doesn’t mean to gasp. He does laugh at her.
“People take me more seriously when they think I have a wife. More stable and reliable.”
“Oh. So I’m your wifey, not your little girl?”
His lips twist and he raises a brow as if to ask if she wants to push her luck. She does. But still.
There’s a gorgeous Art Deco ring in the box, and he slips it onto her finger and then puts a gold band on his own hand.
Fuck.
When she rests her hand on his thigh, she can’t stop looking at the ring.
“Is this what it would be like?” she asks, stupidly unable to stop herself.
“Hm?”
She should say it’s nothing. She should not clarify.
“To be married to Aleksander Morozova.”
He turns to look at her like he’s trying to read her. Like she’s in any way being subtle. Which she’s absolutely not. That much is clear and he has to know it.
“I worry it would be dreadful, sweetheart.” He sounds too serious. Like he really thinks that. She wants to argue. He can’t possibly believe it would be a life of hardship.
Not that it matters. No one wants to marry their whore. And she’s known it since before she started doing this. Before she met him. Before she had the audacity to think she could ever love anyone.
“I don’t think so,” she says, lets her thumb push at the beautiful ring that’s temporarily on her finger. “I imagine I’m not the only woman to consider it.”
“Alina.”
God. No. No, he shouldn’t say her name. Not at all, but especially not like that. Soft and tender like he wants to let her down gently.
His whole thing is he’s a bachelor. It’s why he comes to her. He wants no more than a warm body - his little doll to dress up and use - and that works for them. She should not complicate it or confuse it with anything it isn’t.
She looks out the window. He does not press further.
He helps her out of the car when they arrive, settles her hand into his arm and leads her into the room. Introduces her to people as, “My wife, Alina.”
He did not ask if he could use her real name. She doesn’t care. Nothing else of this is real. Her name can be. He turns, kisses her cheek during a moment between conversations. Says, “You’re doing wonderfully, little one,” and then laughs when it sends a shiver down her spine. As if he hasn’t practically conditioned her to have this kind of response to these words. That name.
She wants to be his wife and his whore and his little one, and despite all warnings indicating otherwise, she really does think she could be whatever he wants. Whatever he needs. Thinks she’d offer. Thinks she’d beg.
He tops up her wine glass during dinner, calls her darling, smiles when she makes small talk with the woman next to her.
“So young!” the woman says, and Alina smiles politely. “He must find you exhausting.”
Alina nearly chokes on her food, and Aleksander slides his hand up her thigh under the table.
“I’d say we’re a fair match,” she replies as the woman laughs. Aleksander gives her leg a squeeze, nestles the edge of his hand right up next to her cunt. “If anything, he’s so ambitious and driven I have a hard time keeping up with him. But he’s very good at making time for us.”
Aleksander takes his hand away. She doesn’t know why. But moments later the man he’s trying to get tens of millions of dollars out of says something about how he seems to be a ‘solid lad’ and slides his eyes towards Alina. So perhaps she said something right and helped.
He agrees to dance with her, slides his hands into proper position and leads her around the floor. Tells her again how pretty she looks. Then tells her he’s got a reward for her for contributing to his success in getting a verbal agreement out of Stanley.
She doesn’t care if it’s money or sex or anything else. She’ll take what he gives. What he offers. She won’t say no. He knows that, too.
When they’re leaving, he simply asks her how she’d like to end the evening. The simplest answer is the honest one.
“With you.”
She doesn’t realize where he’s taking her until she walks out of the elevator ahead of him and into an expansive apartment. She looks over her shoulder and he’s watching her.
It smells like him in here. Like his cologne and laundry and whatever else.
“Why here?” she asks.
He laughs quietly, pours them both some vodka over ice. “You’re wearing my family ring on your finger, little one. I don’t mind if you see where I sleep.”
“Where you sleep,” she says, stepping out of her heels - he likes their height difference - and sliding her hand up his chest. “Is that where you’d like to fuck me?”
He swallows down his entire glass of vodka. “I’d like to fuck you everywhere.”
He hoists her up onto the kitchen counter and kisses her, sinks his hand into her hair and growls when he meets some resistance in the form of the pins holding it in place. She likes him frustrated. She should consider why that is.
“You look absolutely perfect,” he tells her as he kisses along her neck, down her décolletage, hands moving up her thighs as he stands between them. “I was the envy of every man in the room.”
She grins, lets her legs open wider. “You like that they all know I’m yours.”
She’s not playacting. She wonders if he can tell. If he’s been able to tell.
He hums into her skin, then pulls back to look at her. It’s all darkness. Want. Something else muddled with desire.
“And I like that they all wanted to fuck you, get on their knees for you and sample your little pussy.” She just waits. There’s going to be more. His thumb brushes the front of her barely-there underwear. “You know I like having the best all to myself.”
She very desperately wants him to undress her right here and now and make her come. He can do it so quickly when he’s feeling generous.
“Aleksander,” she whispers, far too quietly, too sweetly. A rare time she uses his name. She hopes it’s not giving too much away. “Please.”
He leans in, holds the back of her head so she’s pressed right up against him, cheek to cheek.
“If you were my wife, I’d take you to bed and never let you leave,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. She whimpers, melts a little. He holds her in place. “So that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Oh god.”
He chuckles at her again like he knows what he’s doing. She cannot decide if it’s cruel or kind.
It would be inadvisable to beg him to marry her. He’d never do it. She’s being an idiot. But it’s hard to think so when he pulls her down off the counter, circles her wrist with his fingers and pulls her down the hallway and into his bedroom. It’s nicer than any of the hotels he’s ever booked for them. Spacious and warm and dark and him.
He pulls down her zipper and lets the dress fall to the floor, seems to like what little she has underneath, but makes short work of getting her naked.
“Lie down,” he commands, but it’s so much more gentle than usual. “And wait for me.”
He starts undressing as she watches and pulls pins from her hair so he’ll be better able to do whatever he wants to it. He pulls his cufflinks free, lets his shirt fall, opens his pants, pushes his underwear down and off. He’s half hard already. She swallows. She doesn’t know what he wants with her this evening. If she should continue acting the little wife, or be his whore, or his little girl, or his…
She spreads her thighs.
“I asked you to wait.”
“I’m not doing anything.” She isn’t. She’s not touching herself. She’s just waiting. Open for him. Wetness on display because it’s all for him anyway.
“Close them,” he says, and she listens like he knew she would. “Let me look at you.”
She moves her hand over his dark bedding so he’ll see the ring. Shameless. And he watches. Like she knew he would.
He takes a deep breath. “Let’s think,” he says, walking towards the bed, standing at the edge. “How would I fuck my little wife?”
Alina moans. He does not react. Which is in itself a reaction. “You know you’d fuck me however you want.”
“What I want,” he says, gruff, knee landing on the bed as he reaches for her hand. No. No, he can’t take the ring back. Not yet. “Isn’t allowed.”
Oh. Oh, fuck.
“Tell me,” she begs. She sounds wanton. Desperate.
“I’ve told you before, little one.” Pushes her thighs apart with his hand and gets between them, the heavy weight of his cock warm against her as she presses up into him. “I want to fill you.”
They still can’t. She wants to cry. God, she wants that so badly. Wants him so badly. If he asked her to stay with him, she’d never leave.
She’s almost greedy and stupid enough to take him in her hand and let him have her bare. But she’s not that stupid.
She runs her fingers through his hair and lets out her breath. “I want that, too, Aleksander.”
He’d usually punish her for using his name instead of the other thing he likes to be called. But this time he just closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers and waits there a moment. Like they have time. Like this isn’t all pretend. Like she’ll fall asleep tonight after she makes him come, and wake up with him in the morning. Laze around indulgently in bed as the city wakes outside the room.
He kisses down her body, takes his time, tongue over the crease of her thigh, hand squeezing the fleshy part of her ass as he gets her where he wants her. Tips her hips towards his face so he can devour her. Makes her whine. Makes her come. Barely lets her come down before he’s pressing into her, condom in place. He’s going so slowly, so gently. It feels more like making love than anything she’s ever done with another man in her entire life.
“You’re so good, aren’t you, love?” he asks, and she cries out when he hits something inside her so perfectly she might fucking come apart already. “So good for me. My good girl.”
She can’t help herself. Needy and desperate and emotional.
“Your good little wife.”
One of his arms collapses, his face buried against her neck as he picks up his pace.
“A fucking menace of a wife,” he says, and oh, oh, she’s so close. So, so close.
“Keep going,” she urges, worried, a little, that he’ll remind her she doesn’t get to make demands.
But all he does is roll his hips, press her into the mattress, and say, “That’s it, isn’t it? You want to please your husband?”
“Yes,” she whispers, voice raw with all she’s holding back. “Yes, daddy.”
He growls, fucks her harder, pulls back and gets his hands on her hips as he sits on his haunches. Pulls her so hard against him it makes her yelp.
“I was going to be so nice to you,” he says, and god, she’s going to fucking come. “But you’re pushing me. You’re too much. Fuck, Alina. You’re so much.”
His hand moves up her body, and she thinks he’s going to close it around her throat just the way they like, but he doesn’t. He reaches up, touches her face tenderly as he fucks her, then slips his thumb into her mouth. She holds his wrist and sucks, laving her tongue over the pad of his thumb. He only looks away to watch where they’re connected, where he can see his cock fucking into her.
She comes when he pulls away, laces their fingers together, her ring pressing hard against his fingers.
Aleksander pulls out, takes the condom off, strokes himself at her encouragement until he’s splashing his release over her hips and the little patch of hair above her cunt. When she drags her hand through it, he watches that, too.
Then leans over her, their messy bodies pressed together, licks the sweat from her neck and catches his breath.
“Don’t leave yet.” He sounds a little more unsure than usual. Like she might say no. As if anything she’s said or done this evening could be interpreted as anything other than her absolute love for him.
So she says, “I don’t want to,” and he draws a breath like even just that is doing something to him. “I want to get you hard again so I can suck your cock. Then you can fuck me from behind the way you like.”
“Fuck, Alina. Give me a moment, will you?”
“No,” she says into his ear, wiggles her hips until he moves and gets off her, lies herself out atop him so she can drag her fingers up his cock as it rests against his hip. “Isn’t this what all husbands want from their wives? Insatiable women who just want to swallow their come?”
“Careful, little one,” Aleksander says darkly. “You’ll have me fucking proposing.”
It makes her grind her wet cunt down against his hip, makes him groan and press his hand to the small of her back to keep her there.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
She wants it to sound like a warning. Instead it comes out as a whine.
Aleksander pushes at her shoulder. Says, “Get me hard again so I can fuck your throat,” and it’s not the height of romance, but the way he plays with the ring in her finger while she blows him really feels like something.
-----
David is quiet and meek and doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. She’s trying to be patient, but it always ends up just being dinner and a chaste kiss on the cheek and then him looking disappointed in himself.
She grabs his cock under the table at the dark restaurant she’s brought him to, asks if he’d like her to stop. He stutters out that he would not. She makes him come in his pants and then he finally asks if he can take her home. She’s always wary of going home with men.
Well. She was.
So instead she has him order a town car, put up the privacy screen, finger her in the back until he’s hard again and she rides him while the driver smokes outside. He doesn’t last long and he seems embarrassed about it, doesn’t try to get her off and she doesn’t push him. She’s $3000 richer when she steps out of the car and leaves him to clean himself up.
Buys a bottle of prosecco on the way home and falls asleep with her head fuzzy, which is better than worrying about why Aleksander hasn’t called on her this week.
-----
One week turns to two turns to three. She goes through meetings with some of her regulars with a level of detachment she hasn’t felt since she first started. Only Kaz notices. Asks her about it. She insists he doesn’t want to know, but he gives her a look like he’s under no illusions as to what she gets up to outside her time with him.
She says, “I’m being ghosted by someone I really like,” and that feels like an accurate statement, even if she is leaving out the part where it’s a client she’s talking about.
“A fool, then.” She laughs softly, tilts her head. “Have you told him how you feel?”
She chews her lip. “I mean, I essentially said I’d marry him.” She gives Kaz a soft look like she worries she’s said too much and he’ll stop wanting to see her if he thinks he’s going to lose her. “So I clearly scared him away.”
Kaz sighs, finishes his old fashioned, reaches for her hand and stands, pulls her up with him.
“Let’s go, Alina.” When she’s leaning her arm sort of against him and he leans in to speak into her ear. “Perhaps we can both forget a while.”
For the first time, she thinks she understands why he does what he does with her. In his darkened apartment, he lets her do anything she pleases with him. She wonders why he cares so much. Wonders why Aleksander won’t.
-----
He calls her after three and a half weeks.
Has the decency to sound ashamed of himself.
But still manages, “Hello, little one,” when she melts at just the sound of his voice.
She’s lying in bed, luxuriating on a Saturday morning. She’s meeting Fedyor and Ivan later. She hopes Aleksander asks if he can see her, just so she can have the satisfaction of saying no.
“It’s been a while,” she says, makes it sound like an accusation. “I’m surprised to hear from you. Thought maybe you were through with me.”
“I’m not,” he says gruffly, like he’s angry with her for saying anything. Fuck that. Fuck him. “I’ve been busy with the acquisition. Ended up traveling for work.”
Lest he remind her she’s not, in fact, his wife, she doesn’t bother pointing out that over the last two years, any time he’s had to travel for work he’s let her know.
It doesn’t matter.
“So when would you like to schedule something?“ she asks, cold. Detached.
Her heart is already broken, but to hell with him if he thinks he gets to know it for certain.
“Is this how you want it to be?” he asks, short, clipped. Good. Maybe they’ll reset things between them. She can continue benefiting from his payments and they can fuck and go their separate ways.
“How else would it be, daddy?” Sugar sweet. Cheery.
She’ll pay for this. She knows it. But he pays extra when he spanks her.
“Tonight.”
“Can’t. I’m fucking someone else this evening.”
He pauses. He clearly knows she’s upset. Bothered. And that’s pissing him off. But he’s too much of a coward to say so, isn’t he?
“Alina.”
Dark. Threatening.
She sighs. She shouldn’t push him too far. It doesn’t even feel good anymore.
“Tomorrow night,” she suggests.
He says, “Yes. Come over. I’ll send a car.”
No. No, he can’t invite her into his house again. It feels like the scene of a crime. They can’t get back on track if she lies on his bed again and lets him have her.
“What about that new hotel on 28th? I’ve heard it’s really nice.”
“No. Here.”
She feels like crying. “What, it’s that or not at all?”
He sighs like she’s being exhausting. She should be more careful. She does have a reputation to uphold. Though she isn’t sure he’s actively recommending her to any of his contacts.
“If that’s how you need to look at it, fine. You’re being deliberately difficult and I’m losing patience.”
She scoffs. “Well, it is all about you, isn’t it?” He’s quiet on the line. Just his breathing. “Fine. Tomorrow night at your place. Text me what you want me to wear.”
“Alina.” Softer now. Like he’s over this game. “I’ve missed you. Don’t be so cold with me.”
Has he earned her warmth? He set her alight and then let it burn out. Why does he get to ask this of her?
She will not admit he’s hurt her feelings by being out of touch for so long. He hasn’t earned that.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, letting some of the venom escape her tone this time. “Maybe I’ll be good.”
“If you’re not, you know what happens.”
She laughs bitterly. Can’t think of any punishment worse than his silence.
-----
He texted her to pick something to wear for him. He said it’s her choice. It feels dismissive. Different. She doesn’t want different. She wants what they had before that night. Wants him insistent and sure of himself.
She wears black, sheer, something new she knows he’ll like. And jeans and a white crop top because maybe if she’s not perfect he’ll stop.
When she steps off the elevator and into his apartment, he’s waiting there for her, smiles softly, tilts his head, and looks her up and down.
Fuck. Fuck, she hates him.
“Drink?” he asks instead of greeting her. Which is fine. If he called her his little one and kissed her cheek she might not be able to handle it.
Maybe with some vodka in her system she’ll feel more in control. More like she can do this.
He puts his hand on the small of her back and leads her to the kitchen, where the vodka is on the counter, a glass already sitting waiting for him to fill it for her.
Before he does, he moves her a little more gently than expected, gets her between the counter and himself, looks down at her. She fucking hates herself for how greedy it makes her.
“This outfit is doing things to me I’m sure you didn’t think it would.”
Well. Fuck. He’s right, isn’t he? His hand moves up under her crop top, warm against her skin. When he leans in to kiss across her cheek, she lets him.
“I didn’t feel like getting all dressed up for you for once. You didn’t make any requests.”
It’s true. She’d had to convince herself not to read too much into it.
His fingers slip into her hair and tip her head back gently. After their conversation yesterday she was expecting a rush. Punishment. Him to literally press her against the door, maybe, and take her from behind with her pants around her knees so she couldn’t move.
This isn’t helping her.
“I knew I’d like whatever you showed up in. This is…Very sexy, Alina.”
How to tell him that every time he says her name she wants to scream?
“The outfit is for me,” she tells him, looks up into his eyes, which, surprisingly, doesn’t feel like a mistake. “What’s underneath is for you.”
He makes a low noise, pushes his hand up onto her breast and grinds his cock into her stomach. “Would you like to show me?”
She can’t resist. “I thought it was all about what you want?” She yelps when he pinches her nipple harder than she’s expecting. “Should I undress myself, or are you going to do it?”
He grins at her, steps back. “Go ahead. I’ll pour your drink.”
It’s exceedingly hot, the way he does the task while watching her push her jeans down off her hips, pull her shirt up over her head. He slides the glass towards her.
“What now?”
He tilts his head, appraises her, drinks her in as she sips vodka on ice.
“I have a question to ask you,” he says, voice even and infuriatingly calm. She sets her glass down, rests her hand against the counter and waits.
He doesn’t speak. Is he waiting for her to welcome it?
“Okay.”
“How much?”
She pulls a face. “What?”
“How much, Alina,” he repeats, stepping closer, hand curving around her hip to pull her closer. “To have you exclusively?”
Her throat tightens immediately, and she shoves at his chest, feels the awful, hurt look on her face. He says nothing more. No clarification or apology.
“Fuck you.” The bastard has the audacity to sip his drink. “Fuck you.”
God, she’s standing in his kitchen mostly naked and he’s being more insulting than he’s ever been. He’s never been degrading like this. She’d rather he call her a whore in bed than treat her like one now.
She reaches for her shirt. He takes it before she can. She wipes furiously at her cheek and he seems to know better than to try and touch her right now.
“Give me my clothes.”
“No.”
She is not a violent person, but she wants to throw this glass against the wall. She absolutely won’t. Would never. But fuck him.
“You can’t just…God, you’re such a fucking idiot, you know that?” she asks, then spots one of his sweaters on the back of the sofa, walks over to grab it. He’s still in his place. When she goes back for her jeans after pulling his sweater on, he’s standing on them. Just one foot. Holding them in place on the floor.
“Stop,” he says gently, and she doesn’t have anything to say to that. “Why is this upsetting you?”
“Because you can’t buy me, Aleksander. Not like this.” She drains the last of her vodka because she feels like she needs it.
“That’s not what I…”
“Just ask me,” she says, sounds sad, desperate, very in love with him. All the things she’s been hiding for months and didn’t want him to see. “You can have me.”
“Little one,” he says, and she cuts him a look as she cries, because no. He can't pull that dynamic in right now. They’re equals. They have to be. “Alina. I didn’t think you’d want this. With me.”
She rolls her eyes, pushes at his chest again. He catches her wrist, slips his fingers beneath the fabric of his sweater, tugs her closer.
“I pretended to be your wife,” she reminds him. Then looks up at him through her lashes. “When it was just us. You had to know…Didn’t you feel…”
“You’re a good actor, sweetheart. I’d hoped. But I didn’t want to assume.” She scoffs. He reaches up, uses his knuckle to wipe under her eye. “I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.”
“About what?”
He’s got to say it. She needs him to say it.
“How I feel for you. How I’ve been feeling for you.” He tugs her bottom lip free when she takes it between her teeth. Seems to ignore the pleased - hopeful - look on her face. “You must understand. It’s been a long time since I thought a relationship was something I wanted.”
She’s desperate to know when it changed for him. But maybe that would be worse. Then she’d have to live with the knowledge they could’ve been doing this all along. Since whatever point he stopped looking at this thing between them as a transaction.
“And how could I tell you? Your work relies on inexclusivity. But I can’t…I’m a jealous bastard, Alina. I won’t share.”
She’s biting back her smile. “You’ll take care of me if I quit?” He draws a breath. Does he think this is the first indication that she’s saying yes? “Daddy?”
“Fuck, Alina.” He lifts her onto the counter, and she yelps at the cold shock of the marble under her bare thighs. He pushes her legs apart to stand between them, pulls her close and sinks his hand into her hair to tip her head the right angle so she’s looking at him. “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
God. Oh god.
“Anything?” she asks, reaching to palm his cock through his trousers.
His jaw works with the effort of staying quiet. “Anything. Everything. Just tell me you’re mine. Tell me you…”
She laughs, which stops him talking. “Baby,” she says, strokes his beard, flexes her thigh under his palm. “I’m wearing your shirt. I’m on your counter. I’m with you.” I love you. “You have to know I’m yours.”
He kisses her with an intensity that turns her spine to liquid, holds her up when he moves back, carries her to his bedroom and joins her on the bed immediately. He pulls the sweater off her, licks at her breasts through her bra, then slips his hand into her underwear.
“Hate that I missed weeks with you,” he says, and he would not if he had to look at her, if he couldn’t bury the words in the space between her tits. “All I did was want you.”
“More,” she begs, unsure herself if she means. One of his fingers or more of his words. “Please. Please, I need…”
“You need me,” he says, gruff.
There’s a promise there she didn’t know she needed. A truth she’s known for ages. When she whimpers, he pulls away, gets her panties down off her legs and puts his mouth to work in other ways. He moans as he tastes her, like she’s delicious. Like he’s kissed this. The taste of her, the feel of her cunt under his tongue.
After a few minutes, when she’s so keyed up she may come already, he stops, leans up over her, presses his wet lips against hers and licks the taste of her into her own mouth.
“I’m going to fill you so fucking full, little one, and keep you in this bed until you ask me for more.”
She moans so loudly and grabs him so tightly her fingers hurt.
“Aleksander.”
He grins down at her. Undoes his pants.
Fuck, she is so in love with him she aches with it.
She doesn’t need more preparation. She’s wet and she wants to be as close to him as possible. Wants him to make good on his promise. God, she’s wanted to feel all of him for as long as she’s been fucking him. She almost laughs; she’s really been gone for him from the start.
He presses into her, groans into her neck, tells her he’s never going to stop fucking her, and hitches her thigh higher so he can feel her just right. He says her name, says, “There’s no one but you, little one,” and she has to put effort into not crying while he fucks her, for a different reason than usual.
-----
She moves in a week later.
She lies in bed in the morning after he’s gotten up to get ready for work. After he’s fucked her deep and sleepy and slow and filled her up and told her not to move. He brings her coffee before picking his tie. He tells her to use the card he gave her if she goes out for anything.
She feels lazy and happy and boneless, and when her hand disappears under the duvet right before he comes over to bid her goodbye, he makes a sound that is anything but admonishing.
Then replaces her hand with his own. Brings her off and calls her sweet little names until she’s coming, clutching his arm, calling him daddy.
He lets her lick his fingers clean, makes her promise she’ll wear something pretty when she meets him for dinner later.
He sets the ring box on her bedside table before he goes.
Says, “It’s yours,” instead of asking her to marry him.
She knows him well enough to know it’s the same thing.