Chapter 7 - Rodion

It was a surprise to see Anya at my sister’s house today and, for some reason, I got a good feeling about it. I did my best to act as normal as possible, although I was wondering what they were discussing before I arrived. I did feel a bit of tension from Anya, but Raisa was her usual bubbly self.

I didn’t actually want to leave, but I had business to attend to.

Arriving home, I don’t expect much. I don’t expect Anya to be waiting for me or for her to be welcoming or friendly, so when I walk into the dining room and the table is set and I can smell the rich aroma of creamy mushroom tagliatelle,I really am taken by surprise.

“What is all this?” I walk into the dining room, and Anya is busy putting knives and forks on the table.“It’s called dinner. People—well, civilized people, eat dinner at a table.”

I roll my eyes. “Funny. Did you order a pre-made dish and shove it in the oven to make it look like you made it? Are you trying to impress me or something?” I taunt her, knowing it will get under her skin.

“Oh, you think I made dinner for you as well? No, sweetheart, I made dinner for myself.”

I chuckle. She’s cheeky.

She shakes her head, but I notice the slightest, ever so faint smile on her lips. She turns her head away from me to hide it, though, so maybe I’m just imagining it.

She picks up a napkin, folds it, and places it on one of the plates.

“Well, go and wash up. It will be ready in a few minutes,” she demands, throwing me a stern look.

“Jeez, ok, wow. I’m going, I’m going.”

Leaving the dining room, I’m still smiling.

She’s definitely standoffish, but she cooked us dinner. Or am I reading into this too much? I mean—she has to eat. I might have just been a side thought where she cooked extra because she had to. Yes, that’s probably what happened. This isn’t a gesture for me.

I wash my hands and shrug my jacket off my shoulder, leaving it in the bedroom. I roll up my sleeves on my way back to the dining room.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t know your way around a kitchen if you tried.”

She walks into the dining room carrying a bowl of pasta with a crunchy layer of cheese grilled on top.

“That looks incredible,” I say as my stomach growls eagerly.

“It’s the dish I always had to make for my brothers. If I hadn’t cooked for them, they would have lived off of grilled cheese and takeout. This was their favorite.”

“So, you can only make one thing?” I taunt her again, watching her expression and waiting for that smile to return.

“Yes, asshole. I can only make one thing. Ever . My brothers grew up eating pasta—nothing else.” She rolls her eyes so dramatically that it looks like she is going to lose her balance.

“I thought so,” I nod.

She sighs loudly as she sits down.

Picking up a plate, she dishes some up for herself and says nothing to me.

Shaking my head, I pick up my own plate and scoop a healthy portion onto it.

The food is divine. Creamy, rich, and full of flavor.

I want to tell her how good it is, but I don’t think she deserves another compliment with her smug little attitude flaring up like it is.

“Did you and Raisa have fun today? Gossiping?” I say instead.

“Yup, we spoke about you the entire time. She told me everything.”

“Is that so?”

She nods sternly.

“Did she tell you that I am the one who used to cook for my family?”

I grin.

Anya’s eyes lock onto me. She is weighing up the truth of my words.

“Mm. I guess it’s something you are going to have to prove,” she says eventually.

There is a glint of mischief in her eyes. I was right. She is being playful. Cheeky. Full of attitude. But playful.

She is definitely nowhere near as defensive or combative as she has been with me before.

“If you’re lucky, I’ll only wear the black apron and nothing else while I cook.”

Her eyes flare for a second and she shifts in her seat.

She doesn’t reply.

“In fact, I think we should make it a kitchen rule from now on.”

Anya gasps and stares at me—then realizes I’m joking and squishes her lips together to try and hide the grin.

“Your apron will be too big for me. So, unfortunately, it won’t work,” she quips back.

“Oh, sweetheart. I will order you an apron in every color under the sun if you stick to that rule.”

Her cheeks flush pink.

I can’t help but push a little further. “I won’t be able to promise you that much cooking will get done, though.”

Her cheeks are glowing so fiercely hot I see straight through her. She wants me.

Her act last night was—I don’t know what the hell it was, but it’s so obvious that she wants me.

We eat the rest of our dinner with little comments flying back and forth between us, steadily building up the tension. The air in the house is quickly becoming charged. It feels explosive, as though any moment now, we are both going to give in to our desires.

She stands up, gathering the empty plates.

I pick up the leftover pasta and carry the bowl to the kitchen behind her. My eyes are on her hips, the way her summer dress flares over her ass. When she walks, it flips up slightly, teasing me.

She stands by the sink, rinsing the plates.

“Leave that. The housekeeper will sort it out tomorrow morning.” I step right behind her, leaning against her back and pinning her to the counter.

She hesitates but doesn’t push me away. I run my hand up the front of her body, caressing her breast and then wrapping my fingers around her throat.

I tilt her head back and press my lips against hers.

Her breathing quickens, but she moves to press her lips slightly harder against mine, opening her mouth to tease me with her tongue.

The kiss is slow and tender at first. I don’t dare say innocent because my body is a raging fire of explosive desire.

Anya moans softly against my mouth and my cock becomes so hard it aches. I push myself against her ass, letting her know I want her.

She still doesn’t push me away, so I turn her around, pick her up and lift her onto the kitchen counter. Pushing myself between her legs, she is forced to spread her legs open around my hips.

Grabbing the back of her neck, I kiss her again, she runs her hands up my chest, her fingers leaving heated trails of fire wherever she touches me.

She is tugging at my shirt, pulling the buttons loose. I slip my hand beneath her dress, pushing it up over her hips.

I dip my fingers inside her and she moans loudly, pushing forward against my hand.

Fuck. She is so sexy.

I tug my pants open, freeing my cock and her eyes are locked onto it.

She holds her breath for a second, frozen, unsure, but then pushes her legs open wider. She leans back, resting her hands on the kitchen counter behind herself.

Her posture is tense, though.

Something has changed.

She won’t look me in the eyes. In fact, she is looking everywhere but at me.

“Do you want this?” I ask, no longer sure she does. She’s turned clinical, as though this is an obligation. Is she just trying to get this over and done with so that I stop asking her for an heir? That is exactly what it feels like. One minute she was all over me and the next she was just cold and wanting no part of it.

Is this nothing but a duty to her?

I clench my jaw so tight my teeth ache. My cock is right up against her pussy, but I can’t bring myself to thrust into her.

Her pussy is soaked, completely ready for me. Physically, I think she is begging for this, but mentally, I think she is horrified that she wants me that badly and she just wants to get this over with.

I am not interested in being with someone in this way.

With a heavy, difficult breath—I step away from her.

She looks confused.

“What—where are you going?” She asks in horror as I pull my pants closed, zipping them up.

“To bed,” I snap, fucking annoyed and still fucking turned on despite my anger.

“But I—“ she stammers, pushing her dress down between her legs self-consciously.

“You what, Anya? What is it that you want from me?”

Her eyes shoot wide with fright at my harsh tone. But I’m furious with her.

I genuinely thought we were getting on this evening. I actually, stupidly, thought that she was warming up to me.

Clearly, it was fake.

She wanted to get this over and done with, but that is not how I play the game.

No.

“Rodion, I just—“ she says, her voice soft and her cheeks flushed. She is still on the counter. I’m blocking her from getting off.

I step further away, giving her space to climb down.

She does so hurriedly.

“Goodnight, Anya,” I say, glaring down at her with rage in my eyes. I can feel the heat of my stare as it pierces into her. I want her to know she’s pissed me off. I will not be taunted like this.

I turn my back on her and walk out, going straight to my bedroom and slamming the door behind myself. I hear it echo through the mansion, down the hall.

For fuck's sake. How did that go from really well, to fucking terrible in a matter of seconds?

And now my body is still begging to be with her.

I walk into the bathroom and flick the shower on. I’ll have a cold shower, wash away these thoughts, and force my body to think about something else.

The ice-cold water makes my cock calm down. It’s no longer a raging, throbbing hard-on. But I can’t push away my desire.

I can’t seem to get rid of the thoughts.

I stand under the shower until I’m shivering. My muscles are spasming from the cold when I eventually switch the water off and climb out.

“Dammit,” I mutter, wrapping the towel around my waist and standing in front of the mirror.

I stare at my reflection.

My eyes still look full of anger. I still feel angry, so it’s no surprise.

Although, all of the anger seems to actually be frustration because I so badly want to fuck her.

I toss the towel aside and march through to my bedroom, pulling the covers back I fall down onto my bed in a foul mood.

I stretch my arm above my head and stare at the ceiling for a moment before I close my eyes. I just need to go to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll forget this bullshit and I won’t fall for it again.

But with my eyes closed, all I can see is her and my cock starts getting hard again.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” I mutter under my breath.

I shove the pillow over my face, hoping it will help, but it doesn’t.

I can’t stop obsessing over her. My body is struggling to let go of the idea of being with her.

After a while, trying to fight against it, I give in and just let all of the incredibly raw images of her body flood my thoughts.

My cock goes rigid, rock hard and throbbing.

I grab my shaft tightly and begin to thrust my hand back and forth, imagining myself bending her over the kitchen counter and dipping my fingers inside her to feel how wet she is. She’s so ready for me. I slip my finger beneath her lace panties and yank them to the side, her dress is already hitched up over her ass and her round, full ass cheeks are arched up towards me.

I pull my fingers out of her and rub the tip of my cock against her pussy. She moans and pushes back against me.

“ Do you want this, princess?” I growl.

“Please, Rodion, please fuck me,” she begs, looking over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide and bright and flooded with desperation.

I push my cock into her pussy, slowly, letting it stretch her tight little pink hole open—inch by inch, the pleasure waves through me and she shudders, crying out.

I am deep inside her and her pussy is pulsing over my cock.

I pull out and thrust into her again.

Fucking her, faster and harder, her hips slam against the kitchen counter and I grab them to hold her steady. She is gasping and moaning each time I move inside her. She has her back arched high towards me to allow me as deep inside her as possible.

She feels like a goddess, my goddess.

It doesn’t take long before her legs are shaking so badly she can hardly stand. I fuck her even harder, wanting her to know that I own her. She is mine.

My body shudders with pleasure as I explode.