Chapter 15
The last days of couch assignation went more smoothly than the firsts. Piotr came with his adorable dog. Jessica stopped by too. She called her friend Juliette. Her whole family had taken her first call in a while, informing them she broke her hand, as an authorization to harass her daily.
Vladimir came and went at odd hours.
He was stressed out, she could tell. He often came home frowning, his face a mix of harsh lines. Thomas having been a grumpy one too, she was used to it. She'd leave him be for a couple of minutes, while he threw his jacket on a chair, got everything out of his pockets and finally settled on the couch with a smoke. She would sit by his side until she'd feel his hand somewhere on her. Then, she'd know he was ready to talk about whatever was on his mind, mostly business, but sometime Anatoly's refusal to agree on something.
She'd listen patiently. Then, she'd try to calm him. Sometimes she'd empathize with him. Sometimes, she'd advise him to try and see things through Anatoly's eyes. Sometimes, she'd tell him he was wrong. That got them fighting most of the time. Until one or the other admitted to be proven wrong. She wasn't the kind to pout for days on end or to sweep things under the rug. Vladimir wasn't either. The fight, debate, whatever, could last hours because of it. In the end, however, it would settle down and they would cuddle or kiss and try not to touch too much. For now.
Then, at last, the weekly checkup at the clinic came.
"You've done great, Cami!" Dr Meyers said at the end of his consultation. "Your bruises, though I know they still look ghastly, will pass without complications, if you keep your treatment up." She nodded. Having Vladimir rub cream on her body wasn't the worst treatment to suffer through. "Your hand will have to wait the month's end to be inspected, but your ribs are on the mend. You can start to move a little. Beware though. Keep it to just small things like cooking, walking a little around the block. No running yet."
She tsked. She missed her daily runs and her job! She also thought of something else she hadn't dared to do for now.
"Can I take a bath?"
"Yes, you can," the doctor agreed with a smile. "Keep someone nearby thought. We wouldn't want you to aggravate your ribs' cracks by forcing too much to get out of it. I'd say you'd manage alone, but you need to have someone around in case you don't. The important thing here, in general, will be to listen to yourself. If it hurts, you stop."
That set Vladimir's mind on another path.
"What about sex?" He asked pointblank.
Camille blushed profusely. Did he have to be so blunt?! It was a question she was anxious about too but still! The doctor, however, just smiled in understanding. He must have expected it.
"Sex, you can do," he answered. "But!" He added at Vladimir's growing smirk. "You have to take it slow," he said to both. "Keep the rough part out for now and you'll be fine."
Now, the girl wished she had a hole to hide into. She had never been embarrassed to talk about sex in general. Talking the specifics however…
Little did she know, that advice sent her on her weirdest night yet.
Right after the clinic, Vladimir dropped her off at his place. He had a meeting with his accountant to review the numbers. He promised he'd be home early. She nodded and called Piotr to see if he was free. He was. Well, he wasn't exactly but he could free himself if need be. She wanted to take a walk around the block, now that she was authorized to do so but she was scared to wander alone, even in broad daylight. Her voice had shaken as she had explained it. Piotr had made no mention of it and just promised to be here as soon as possible.
He came with his baby dog. He refused to tell her his name, she'd have to guess. She cursed him but she still was thankful he was here. He made no comment when he saw her cast glances in every alley. He didn't either when he realized she was trying her hardest not to come too close to anyone but him. In the end, he offered his arm so he could shield her. More precisely, so the pup with a mystery name could shield them with his wild running around for as far away as his leash would allow. Wary of getting their legs trapped, passerby gave them a wide berth.
Sadly, after not even half an hour, she was exhausted, her ribs were starting to hurt, and she had to go back home. She invited Piotr to have a beer, so his pup could have a drink. The damned dog turned the bowl full of water on itself once, wetting the kitchen floor. Camille just hugged him harder, cooing at him that he was a bad dog. Her face got licked lovingly. She laughed.
Vladimir came home by eight. It was already dark outside. The days were getting shorter. Since she had been 90 percent sure he would come home in time for dinner, and since she had been cleared for cooking, she had scavenged the fridge and managed to cook them a batch of spaghetti Bolognese.
The weird part of the evening began after that, once dinner was over, once they had stopped talking. Vladimir stood up, walking around the counter to her side. He swiped her cheeks with a napkin, probably orange with sauce on some place.
"You eat spaghettis like a pig," he commented. Usually, he would smirk at her or laugh. Right now, he was doing neither. His blue eyes were on hers. They had a weird look, almost sad. She couldn't place the emotion behind them. She kept staring, trying to understand what was on this brain of his.
"Fuck you," she replied, as a habit, without any bite to it. She was too focused on him to really mind.
He bent forward to kiss her, his right hand gently resting against her jaw as his lips stopped inches from hers. She could feel the warmth of his fingers on each side of her ear, his calloused skin rough against her softer one. She swallowed her saliva in one uneasy gulp, her eyes still fixed on his. His other hand went to rub circles on her hip, under her top. She stood from her stool to be closer to him, and yet not daring to do anything to break the kind of trance he had put them both in. Then, he kissed her. Slowly. Tenderly. He didn't exactly asked permission to slide his tongue against hers – she suspected the concept of permission wasn't in his DNA anyway – but he did it so gently that it felt almost like a caress.
She stood straighter against him, her arms sliding around his neck, allowing him to do the same around her waist so their hips were against each other's. She didn't know what that was about but she wasn't complaining. She was already feeling tingles running down the length of her body. His hand on her hip slid up to her bra-clad breast. He glided a finger inside her bra to brush against her nipple. She hugged his neck harder and whimpered, shockwaves of electricity travelling from her breast to her lower belly. One of her hands followed the length of his spine down his shirt before coming back up and finally landed at the back of his head. She felt the soft strands of his hair, shorter there, tickle her skin.
Against her wishes, he straightened, breaking the kiss as he did. His hand on her breast went to grab hers. He squeezed it lightly and she followed him to the bedroom. She was speechless, offset by his unusual behavior. Once they were plunged in the half darkness of the bedroom, the only lights coming from the kitchen, far away down the corridor, he undressed her gently, taking his time with each of her clothes. She tried to do the same with his but he batted her hands away. Soon, she was naked while he was still fully dressed.
There was something disturbing and yet exciting in it. Her, naked, fragile, nipples hard and pussy wet while he, still fully clothed, strong, unwavering, watched her, his eyes – the only thing betraying his lust – roaming over every inch of her. She had to force herself not to hide her breasts and held his stare. It was worth it, though, as his unabashed look sent her belly constricting harder and harder.
When it seemed that he had committed every part of her body to memory, he finally consented to even the field. He removed his jacket first. She stayed still; her eyes focused on his slow movements. She was pretty sure he didn't want her to do anything, except for watching. She was more than happy to comply. Even if, when his fingers undid the buttons of his dark shirt one by one, starting from the top, she was very tempted, to say the least, to touch the skin he was exposing. In the shallow light, she could see shadows made on his skin by muscles. He then removed his pants, his socks, his underwear. He was going so slowly it was driving her crazy. Yet, she bit her lip and stood still, her core getting wetter and wetter, while he was getting naked in front of her.
He came closer, his warmth tingling her skin as he stood inches from her.
"Vladimir," she murmured, reluctant to break the spell but so thrown off-balanced by this new softness she felt unable to stay silent.
He kissed her again, his tongue against hers. Her arms found their way back around his neck. She whimpered when one of her harden nipples, brought closer to him by their kiss, grazed against a scar thicker than the others on his chest.
When he laid her down on the mattress, a hand on her back to accompany her way down, she opened her mouth again. His went to her neck, his hot breath sending cold shivers running down her spine.
"The doctor said to take it slow," he cut her off. "So, shut up and enjoy."
Yep, that was him alright. At least, she could cross the "abducted by aliens and replaced by a clone" explanation from her list.
He slid two fingers inside of her, his thumb rubbing the most sensitive part of her anatomy, as his tongue slid against her throat. She had been made so wet by his little strip session that even two fingers felt barely enough. However, when he started rubbing her clit, slow and shallow movements first, then more pronounced, her back arched in extasy. She felt waves of pleasure mounting from her core. Just to be sure, she followed his advice and concentrate on her breathing as she raised her head to watch him touch her. He raised himself a little from her so she could get a better view.
Quicker than she'd have thought with their slow rhythm that night, she came around his fingers, moaning and screaming in pleasure as her back arched back on the mattress. He let her a few second to catch her breath and enjoy the last remnants of extasy before he put his two wet fingers against her lips. She grabbed his hand with one of hers – the one still in a cast –, her eyes in his as she sucked herself off his fingers. She saw the lust flare in his eyes, his chest rumbling in a feral groan. Her tongue glided against his calloused fingertips as her second hand slid down his chest to grab his length. She didn't get it in time. He had already positioned himself at her entrance and he pushed in. She moaned against his hand as he filled her.
He freed it from hers so each of his could settle on each side of her head, caressing her hair as he moved inside of her. He kept a slow, constant rhythm, his eyes never leaving hers. She wouldn't have thought she would enjoy this so much. It was slow, it was soft and yet, her whole body tingled with the satisfaction of her lust being quenched.
She was beginning to pant again, her inner walls constricting almost painfully. She had to let go of his hair, at least with one hand, to have it slid between them and land on her clit. She began to touch herself, not sure she could come twice but feeling like she needed to as if her life depended on it. This, coupled with her inner walls clenching, got Vladimir grunting harder. He grabbed her hips with both hands, his whole weight resting on her and heavy on her arm still between them. As usual, instead of bothering her, it only fueled her desire for him. Then, he lost his constant rhythm, it became more erratic. It took Camille more focus to keep touching herself but she thought she'd manage. She was almost there, his stronger and stronger thrusts and his erratic breath on her neck helping her.
Suddenly, he bit her neck, grunting, and in one thrust stronger than his others, he came. She took her hand off herself to hug him as he rode his waves of orgasm until the end, his heart hammering against her ribcage. Finally, after a few deep breaths, he raised himself up from her neck, kissing the mark his teeth had left to soothe it, his chest sweaty against hers, and look down at her.
"Did you…?" He asked, looking down at their joined hips with a pointed look. No, she hadn't, he had come too soon for her to follow.
"No." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I did once." He knew that but she wanted him to also know that it suited her just fine. Coming one time every time they had sex was luxury already. He nodded and kissed her neck. His right hand grazed her skin down to her clit. She could feel it rubbing gentle, large circle for now. His fingertips were wet with her fluids and his. Not for the first time, they had forgotten condoms. They were lucky she was on the pill.
However, no man had ever touched her after he came. She was unused to it and a little embarrassed.
"Vladimir, you don't have to..." She trailed off, trying to take a hold on his arm. It was no use. "I'm not even sure I can..."
"Shut up," he mumbled against her neck. This time she hit him on his shoulder, with her cast. She wasn't at ease with his hand soaked in his own sperm touching her just to try to get her a second orgasm she wasn't sure she could have and he was insulting her! She had been used to sex being over once the man came. Russia didn't get the memo, obviously. "Stop that brain of yours and enjoy it."
Small waves of pleasure were starting to resurface inside of her. Soon, she was back to where she had been before he came, on the brink of coming herself, and she forgot why she had been objecting before. Her back arched, one hand clenched on the sheets, her cast on his back, as his fingers kept sending electricity up her lower belly. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, falling straight into his again, and her whole body froze. She let out an almost pained whimper as she came again, harder and longer than the first time. Spasms after spasms rocked her body, all thoughts scrambled in her brain, while she let giddy breaths out in time with the shaking of her core.
"Holy shit," she swore in one last breath, once her brain had deigned to catch up.
Vladimir only chuckled before he let himself roll sideway on his side of the bed.
As Camille laid down beside him after they had cleaned somewhat, she couldn't find sleep, his undecipherable expression haunting her. It might sound cheesy but it felt to her that, before, they had fucked. Numerous times. Tonight, she felt like he had made love to her. And that disturbed her more than she would have liked.
Yep, she sounded cheesy. Even to herself. It was true thought. It wasn't because he had been going slower. No, that was doctor's order. His tenderness was one thing different. The other was that damned look in his eyes. Ever since she had met him, a lot of things were said through their eyes. Tonight, she saw "I love you" in it.
God, she was getting worse. She almost hit herself in frustration. She wasn't that girl. She refused to be. And yet... Yet, she couldn't get this idea out of her head. Mostly because... Because it made her ask herself, what if? What if he had actually told her that he loved her? What would she have said?
She knew the answer and she hated herself for it...
Needless to say, she had a terrible night after that, despite her body being fully sated. She had tossed and turned all night long. At some point, she had even woken Vladimir up with her messy bedside manners.
"Something the matter, love?" He'd grumbled against his pillow, his eyes only half open and his voice groggy.
"No," she had lied in a soft voice. "Go back to sleep."
The next morning, as she enjoyed a long bath to try and wake herself up, she was still haunted by it. She had already admitted she liked him, more than a simple toy boy. But loving... Loving was different. It was different than liking, even when it was a huge liking. Loving was supposed to be for Thomas and no one else... Was she even in the right frame of mind to love, knowing she still had more nightmares of Thomas' cracked voice begging the world not to let him die than she had of her kidnapping?
Finally, it was Anatoly that got her out of her funk. He came to have a drink the next night, all smiles and laughter as he always was. It was surprising that no one suspected Vladimir's softer nature when it was there, for all the world to see, in the way he was with his brother...
The latter was currently drinking vodka in the living room. She sat on the couch next to him, Vladimir beside her on the closest side of his brother. He had his feet on the coffee table despite his brother's repeated requests to put them on the floor. Yes, Vladimir – who did the same thing most of the time – could be a hypocrite like that. They talked shop for an hour or so. Apparently, a man in a mask was beating people out on the streets. It was mostly gossip. Some asshole who had a reputation of liking his daughter a little too much had ended up in the hospital. Good riddance, in Camille's opinion.
However, the brothers disagreed. They said that, if at some point, the lunatic started to take down mobsters instead of rapists, they would have to take care of it. She supposed it was true...
In the end, Anatoly decided there was no point thinking about troubles they didn't have yet. They had enough already. The Chinese's drugs they were asked to distribute came in such quantity they didn't have enough men to do so. Eventually, they moved on from business to lighter matters, to Vladimir's utter displeasure.
"So, Camille, I heard you were bored senseless since you're on house arrest. I know a way to free you from boredom."
"Do you, now?' She asked, smirking despite smelling some shenanigans in the air.
"Yes, let's play truth or dare, or well, drink!"
"No!" Vladimir cut sharply, frowning. "We're not."
"Now, I definitely want to play," Camille pointed out.
"You don't," her lover told her. "Anatoly is a real pain in the ass and he can hold liquor like a Russian sailor."
"Oh come on!" Camille and Anatoly exclaimed together before the latter stood up to grab the vodka bottle and the former added: "I've nothing to hide. Do you?" She was taunting him. On purpose. It worked.
"Fine. You're on. Don't come complaining to me that I didn't warn you, though."
She quickly understood what he meant.
"I'll start," their guest announced. "Camille, you have the choice between truth or dare. If after you chose, you want to back down, you take a shot of vodka."
"Why do I feel like the purpose of this is, in the end, to get drunk as skunks?"
She hadn't played the game since she had been sixteen. It had been harmless enough back then. Nevertheless, she should have known not to play any game with people born in the land of the Russian Roulette...
"Because it is," Vladimir grumbled. She knew why he wasn't happy. He was too proud to ever back down. It should be fun!
"I choose truth." It was always the safest to start with. If it turned harmless, maybe next time, she'd try a dare.
"What was your best night of sex?" Anatoly looked like the cat who had caught the mouse. His brother muttered something in Russian and throw a pillow at his head. "Vodka?" Their cursed guest offered. She said no. She knew that the game was mostly about getting some questioning done with her. They both wanted the same thing. But she wasn't a coward.
"My first night with Vladimir." She said pointblank.
It had been her best night. He had made her trust him and managed to unlock that kind of block she had with orgasms. Her straight answer made both brothers choke on their drinks, because playing a drinking game was obviously not enough alcohol for them...
"My turn," she said, unperturbed. "Vladimir, truth or dare?"
The game went on for sometimes. She learned that Vladimir had never been with a hooker, mostly because he was scared of diseases, which made his brother snort. She also learned that he had made an unfortunate meeting with a woman in Russia who turned out to be a man, that he could do a headstand but crashed after a few seconds of it, that Anatoly could do a somersault and that he actually got a few hookers' diseases, thankfully nothing too bad, and that both had slept with more women than they could count.
She also learned that, if Volodya was the classic nickname for men named Vladimir in Russia, Anatoly sometimes called his brother Vovotchka, when he wanted to tease him, because it was another possible nickname for him, only this one also referred to some main character known for being an idiot in children's stories back in their homeland. After about an hour, she was starting to feel dizzy. She decided that Anatoly had to cook tonight because no, she hadn't forgotten about the night he bought a hooker for his brother to take at the Red Star. He took his punishment with grace, on the condition that they kept playing.
They eventually had to stop when Camille's dare was to kiss Anatoly on his cheek. Vladimir let a string of Russian curses out before threatening bodily harm if his brother didn't get back into his senses. Camille hadn't seen the harm in a kiss on the cheek. Vladimir argued it was because she didn't know his brother like he did. She could oppose nothing to this.
Instead, he turned on the music and offered to get back to their dancing lesson as their slave did the cooking. Said slave shot back something in Russian that made Vladimir smile. He refused to tell her what it was.
Their meal turned messy and loud but fun. She asked Anatoly to tell her more about the brothers' teenage years. He complied happily.
"You should have seen us back when we worked in Alexei's garage. Volodya told you about it, right?" She nodded. "We were wildlings. We worked seriously because Alex scared the shit out of us but all bets were off when the garage closed off. I was always chasing girls around."
"That hasn't changed." Vladimir muttered, drinking vodka again. Camille vaguely wondered if they had a second liver she hadn't been gifted with.
"And Vovotchka here was always fighting. You see, when brother dearest didn't have that nasty badass scare on his face and he didn't have grown pubic or face hair yet – it took him long enough –" Camille burst out laughing as new Russian curses flew toward Anatoly. She laughed even louder when she saw her lover was slightly blushing. It was true then! "Well, back then," Anatoly kept going, unbothered, "he had quite the baby face and he didn't like to be reminded that, no matter how much he frowned, he still looked like a fuckin' virgin."
Camille kept laughing madly. Mostly because she could picture it so well! Vladimir still had remnants of that baby face. If she tried to imagine him without the scars, the frown, the tattoos and the stubble, she could easily think he was far younger than he actually was.
"Do I need to remind you, brother," the word was spit like an insult, "that most of my fights were due to you putting your tongue into the wrong pussies?" Camille's eyes widen at the graphic mental picture her lover had summoned.
"Yeah, best years," Anatoly answered, not the least bit bothered, his eyes dreamy.
"Alex kept boxing my ears because of it." Vladimir was down to growling now.
"So," Camille interjected, "Alex raised you both? Kinda?" She asked. She knew they'd already been eighteen when they'd met him but they seemed to owe him quite a few life lessons.
"Yeah," Vladimir answered in a smirk. "He's the one who'd told us to never let down a woman on the brink of coming."
Camille blushed. Hard. Last night was still fresh in her mind.
"Aaand I'm off," Anatoly commented, standing up, when he saw, just as Camille did, the spark in his brother's eye.
"Yeah, fuck off, you leacher."
