51. Max

I'm stunned. Speechless. She thinks I'm only here for sex? Have I not made it abundantly clear I want more than sex? A whole lot more. Like the whole shebang. I've never, ever wanted more before, but this woman is it for me.

Only… she thinks I'm a fuckboy. Fuckman? Is that even a thing?

Fuck me. I wish Sasha was here. Not here in person, obviously, because I'd have to kill him. Nobody sees my malyshka in her cute little cotton panties. If he was talking to me, I could ask his advice. He's so much better with women than I am.

I can fuck them, make them scream, but when it comes to the emotional shit? Nope. That stuff scares me.

"Natalya," I purr, needing her to understand how much she means to me. "This isn't just sex for me. I care about you…" More than care, if I'm being honest, but she's not ready for that. "Since you assume I'm only here for sex, then we won't have sex." I step back and leave the bedroom.

A good few minutes pass before she follows me with a bemused expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" I'm sitting on the sofa, my feet on the coffee table, flicking through the curated suggestions on her Netflix account. It seems my malyshka likes romantic comedies. Not exactly my preferred choice of entertainment, but if she wants to watch something cutesy, then I'm game.

"Picking a movie for us to watch." She frowns when I pat the sofa cushion next to me.

"A movie?"

"Yeah. Any preferences?"

I note she hasn't covered up her cute panties and my lips curve up in a smirk. Her eyes narrow with irritation.

"So we're not having sex now?"

The smirk turns into a full-on grin. My dick is having a hard time getting with no sex program - literally - but it can wait. My malyshka needs to understand she's more than a fuck to me. So much more.

"Nope. No sex. We're having a Netflix evening."

This provokes a huff of laughter. "You don't strike me as a Netflix kind of guy."

"Rude." She's right. I can't recall the last time I logged into my Netflix account.

"OK, well I'm going to take a quick shower while you pick something to watch. Be right back."

By the time Natalya returns, dressed in a pair of Minnie Mouse PJs, which I'm fairly certain she's wearing because she thinks I'll be turned off by them - spoiler alert, I'm not - the takeout I ordered has arrived and I have Pretty Woman queued up.

Sasha recommended it as a movie all women love when I messaged him while Natalya was in the shower. If he's lying to me, I will shoot his dick off tomorrow.

"You need to eat," I tell Natalya when she looks surprised at the array of food on her kitchen counter.

"I was probably going to have some toast or something," she says as her cheeks turn pink, reminding me how her ass turned a lovely shade of pink when I spanked it. My dick hardens in my pants and I push the thought back.

Nope. No sex.

"Toast is a snack, not a meal."

"Err it kind of is a meal when it's covered in peanut butter and I have five slices," she argues. I fix her with a hard stare and point at the cartons of Chinese food.

"Eat. If you don't eat, you don't get dessert."

"What's for dessert?" she asks, scanning the kitchen hopefully. Ah, so my malyshka has a sweet tooth. Noted.

"You'll see," I smirk, picturing her legs wrapped around my head with my tongue buried in her cunt. From the way she flushes even more, she reads my mind.

But that won't happen until I'm 100% sure she understands I'm here for her, not sex.

We each fill a plate with food and then sit down on her lumpy sofa. It's truly horrible. I want to ask whether she rescued it from a dumpster, but don't wish to offend her. Maybe I can buy her a new sofa.

The movie begins and I wonder why women find this movie romantic. How is the idea of a rich guy paying a woman for sex romantic? Transactional sex is not romantic. At all. And only high-end hookers look like Julia Roberts.

Not that I spend time with hookers. Why would I need to pay for sex when I can find a woman for free? I snort with amusement as the plot unravels. Natalya throws me a few dirty looks but remains glued to the screen. She even sniffs a bit when the movie ends with Richard fucking Gere rescuing Vivian from a life of prostitution. Yeah right.

A more realistic version of the story would involve Vivian being hooked on drugs and tossed out of a moving limo after she tried to steal Richard Gere's wallet. Ha.

I decide not to share my thoughts when Natalya starts clearing the remains of our meal away.

"Leave that," I order. "Get to bed, I'll tidy up in the morning before I leave."

"But—"

"No buts, baby. You're tired. Bed!"

She starts to argue then thinks better of it. Her shoulders slump and she walks away, leaving me to turn off the lights and set the alarm. I send one last text to Sasha letting him know I'm staying here tonight and ignore the flurry of childish emojis he sends back.

Natalya is curled up in bed when I enter the bedroom. Her eyes are closed but she's still awake. After brushing my teeth with the spare toothbrush she keeps in the bathroom, I strip off and climb into bed beside her.

This bed was a good investment. It's way more comfortable than the old one. Thank fuck. My dick still wants to bury himself in Natalya's warm, wet cunt but I ignore him. He's a horny asshole and we're not having sex. Not tonight anyway.

Natalya relaxes against me and I slip into sleep feeling better than I have in a while. All the shit going on with the dangerous drugs and assholes messing with my Bratva can wait.