28. Matvey

28

MATVEY

Not once in my whole fucking life have I failed to sleep when I needed it.

I don't toss and turn restlessly, replaying my regrets. I don't ponder. I don't reflect. I just close my eyes and sleep the sleep of the dead, the sleep of a man who's earned six hours' respite from a world intent on putting him in the dirt.

My men—even Yuri and Grisha—know better than to intrude on my sleep, because my work demands that I am at my best at all times. Most people, when they are a step too slow, a day too late, a dollar too short, accept it and trudge on anyway.

But when I'm off my game, people die.

So all those around me understand it. The one entity that seems not to have gotten the memo?

My dick.

I'm lying awake in the pre-dawn murk with a raging hard-on and sleep nowhere in sight.

I know whose fault it is, of course. The same person who's been haunting my dreams. Ever since we resumed our "changing room activities," I can't seem to close my eyes without the images of it hounding me: April's legs, locked around my waist. April's lips, sealed around my cock. April's?—

Suddenly, my phone lights up.

I don't have to check who it is. The only people brave enough to call me at this hour of the day are Yuri and Grisha. And Petra, but I can't imagine she'd do something as pedestrian as call when she can just storm in.

Note to self: change the goddamn locks before she gets any ideas.

However, when I look at the display, my mood changes.

It's April.

For a second, I wonder if something's happened. If this is an emergency call. Even after I promised to be available 24/7, she'd never actually used the burner phone I gave her. If she's using it now…

Without a second's thought, I accept the call.

"April."

"Oh—hi, Matvey." On the other end of the line, April sounds surprised by how quickly I picked up. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

I take in the tone of her voice: frazzled, but not scared. Without realizing I'd stopped, I begin to breathe again. "No. I was already up."

Part of me, anyway.

"Oh, good! Good," April mumbles. "I wouldn't have called so early, but…"

"April," I interrupt, though not unkindly. If anything, there's a small smile playing on my lips now, one I don't let show often. "Just tell me what's wrong."

"Well, nothing's wrong, exactly," she says. "But Dr. Allan had to move up today's appointment. She's been called in for a double this afternoon, so she's coming over in an hour. I know you don't like surprises, so I just wanted to let you know."

"Oh." For once, I'm speechless. It's taken me years to train secretaries to be half as competent as April's being right now: sorting out priorities, anticipating my needs. "Good. You were right to call."

Mindlessly, I begin to stroke my cock over my boxers.

"I'm glad," April sighs. "Again, I really didn't wanna bother you, it's just?—"

"It was time-sensitive," I complete for her. "I understand."

"Thank you."

It feels like a natural place to end the call. For a second, I'm sure she'll do just that. I pick up my pace, wanting that velvet-smooth voice to carry me as far along as possible.

But her next words aren't a goodbye. "So… early bird, huh?" April jokes. "I had you pegged for a night owl."

"Definitely a night owl," I correct.

"The plot thickens, then. What could possibly be keeping Your Owlishness awake?"

The little lilt in April's voice is driving me insane. I hook a finger under my waistband, take myself fully in hand. "Feel free to guess, Ms. Flowers."

Maybe I imagined it, but I think I hear her breath hitch. It never fails to rile her up—calling her that. "Let's see… Shootout by the river?"

"Guess again."

April harrumphs. "Fine, then not a shootout. Important Poo-king duties, then?"

" Pakhan ."

"Right. That."

I huff a laugh into the darkness. "Wrong."

"Really need to go to the bathroom but don't feel like getting up?"

"That's extremely specific."

"Try being pregnant. I promise you, it's a journey filled with extremely specific experiences."

The image of her pregnant belly sends a spark running down my spine. Fuck. "Last guess before you're out of lives."

For a long moment, April's quiet. I can practically hear the gears in her head whirring, her determination to win this game no matter what. With April, everything turns into a race.

"Thoughts?" she hazards finally.

I mull it over. "Mm. ‘Thoughts' isn't wrong."

"A-ha! I knew it. It's always thoughts."

"Not so fast," I chide. "You haven't told me what kind of thoughts yet."

"Oh, I see. Someone's playing hard to get."

You don't even know how hard. "Time's ticking, Ms. Flowers."

"Alright, fine! How abouuut…" She lets the last word drag to buy a few extra seconds for herself. "Evil mafia CEO plans to take over the world?"

"Why do you seem to think I'm some cartoonish overlord?"

"Because it's funny?"

"You and I have very different definitions of ‘funny.'"

"That's because you're no fun at all."

"Oh?" I say, giving myself a squeeze. "I seem to remember you having your fair share of ‘fun' last night."

This time I didn't imagine it: her breath does hitch, and for a fair handful of seconds, too.

"In fact…" I drawl, picturing her pretty pink cheeks, blushing just for me. "The thought alone would be enough to keep a man up at night."

"Is…" April swallows. "Is that so?"

"Indeed," I confirm. "It'd be madness, really. Trying to go back to sleep like that."

For a moment, I wonder if I haven't overdone it. If April's delicate sensibilities won't have the better of her and force a quick, awkward goodbye out of her lips—lips much better suited to other things.

It'd be natural. In all my life, I haven't once found a woman who could keep up with my appetites. I don't expect it to be the seamstress I randomly knocked up nine months ago in a changing room.

But, as always, April surprises me.

"And, uh… What would these thoughts entail, exactly?"

I feel my face split into a grin. Feral, hungry. "Let's see," I reply, lazily playing with the head of my cock. "First, there wouldn't be any clothes. It takes energy to think things up, you know. Best save it on what matters."

"And what…" April clears her throat. I can tell her voice has gone hoarse, can almost picture her face: cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted around half a choked breath. "What does matter?"

Hook, line, sinker.

"Your wet, eager little pussy, for example."

My tone is harsh now, commanding—just how I know she likes it. On the other end of the line, April whines, making my cock jump. "T-That's…"

"I'd start out nice and slow," I tell her, even though it's a lie. If I had her here, right now, I'd be plunging deep into that tight heat without so much as a finger to pave the way. "With my tongue. Taste how slick and ready you are for me."

Her breathing is completely gone. Held captive in her throat. Taut. Desperate.

"Then I'd make you readier. I'd drag my tongue all the way up that sweet clit of yours, enjoying all the little sounds you'd make. Quiet at first, and then louder and louder."

"Matvey…"

"Are you touching yourself?" I demand.

A long pause. "I?—"

"Do it," I order. "Touch yourself or I'll hang up."

I can practically see the outrage on her face. It's my favorite look on her: that who-does-he-think-he-is, how-dare-he glare that makes her eyes squint like sharp crescents, her lips press tight together. It's a treat unlike any other.

But what I love even more is her surrender. "Ah…"

I let out a hiss. My hand's working faster now. I can feel the slick of precum all over my fingers. Closing my eyes, I pretend it comes from her. "Don't go in yet. If you do, I'll know."

April makes a quiet sound of protest. "I thought that was… the point… of phone sex?"

Already so far gone. I squeeze myself at the base, forcing my excitement to slow down. I want to make this last.

And I want to hear her come first.

"I'll decide what the point is."

Another low whine. "Fuck."

"Language," I chastise. But truthfully, it makes me fucking throb. It's so rare to hear April swear—every instance is a gift. It makes my chest swell with pride.

Well, that and something else.

"Touch your clit," I command, softer now. Lower. "Pretend it's my tongue. Wet your fingers at your entrance, but do not go in."

It's an exercise in restraint—not coming from the sounds alone. "You're such an asshole," April whimpers, all the while doing exactly what I ordered her to. I can tell from the wet noises of her fingers, the gentle slide that isn't quite pumping.

Not yet.

"Good girl. Keep going."

A few panting breaths break against my ears. I roll my hips into my grip, bucking up. "You—goddamn— prick ?—"

"You don't even know the half of it."

A moan, long and deep. "Oh, you'll pay for this…!"

"Yeah?" I quip. "I was thinking I'd get a reward."

"Not a chan—ahh…!"

"Here's what I had in mind," I continue, feeding on her stream of insults. With every word, my cock grows harder, impatient. "First, I'll lap up all those sweet juices of yours. Get my appetizer straight from the source. You with me so far?"

"Mhmm…"

Fuck. We haven't been at this five minutes, and she's already moaning like that . This little vixen will be the death of me.

I force myself to focus on the scene. On this little game of ours—one I intend on winning. "Then I'd fill you up nice and easy. My fingers first, then my cock."

"Ahh…!"

"I'd dip the head in. Grind it against that sweet spot of yours, but without relief. If you wanted more, you'd have to beg for it."

"Matvey…"

"Beg, kalina. I promise I'm a reasonable man."

That's a lie. Right now, I'm feeling anything but reasonable. I want to grip those full hips of hers until they're bruised in the shape of my hands and sink in, without giving myself a moment to breathe.

Without giving her a moment to breathe.

Eventually, her pride breaks. It always does in the end. "Please," she whispers, barely audible.

"What was that?"

"Please," she blurts out again, frustrated. "Please, Matvey, I need?—!"

I grin. "Go on, then. Take what you need."

I can hear it when she does. There's a wet sound of fingers breaching, then a whimper. "Ah —ahh ? —"

"Come for me," I growl, close enough to taste it. "Let me hear it, April."

"Matvey—!"

A high-pitched moan pierces my ears, and then I'm coming, too, following my little vixen over the edge.

Hot cum spills out over my hand and pools in the crevices of my hips. It feels like it's ripped from a deeper source than I've ever tapped before. Like it was meant for her and her alone.

I catch my breath as the mental whiteout fades and reality comes rushing back in. That was… intense. More intense than I'd expected, for sure.

But then again, April Flowers always manages to defy expectations.

Expectations. The word settles heavily in my stomach. There are no expectations between us—no commitments other than the one growing inside her belly. Even if we did break our promise to keep our distance, the most important one still stands: This means nothing.

That's the only vow worth keeping.

When I come back to the present, April's still panting softly in my ear. "Need a hand?" I joke.

"Mm. I hate that you weren't even here, but now, I can't stand."

"Consider it part of the service package. In-person or remote—exchange if unsatisfied."

A quiet snort. "You're a real comedian, aren't you?"

"Don't let my men hear you say that. My reputation would never recover."

It's strange, how mellow I get after this. After her. With other women, all I felt was the crawling urge to get away.

With April, I keep wanting to make it last just a little longer.

"Well, I'd love to stay for more of your pitch," April yawns, clearly exhausted by our little marathon. "But I'm afraid Dr. Allan's gonna be here in half an hour. So I really need to grab a shower."

For a second, I try to picture it: April, fucked out of her mind, spreading her legs for her lady doctor with my seed still warm between them.

Fuck. I'd better take my shower cold.

"See you tonight," I murmur, letting an unspoken promise fill the air between us.

April doesn't miss it. "See you tonight," she echoes, voice quivering with anticipation.

Then the call disconnects.

Outside, the sun is rising. I consider going back to sleep for a moment. Like this, satisfied and spent, I could easily down another three hours.

But the sooner I get to work, the sooner I can clock out.

And the sooner I can finish what we started.