I hope not.

  I leave the drawing studio with the other students. We make our way out to the courtyard. A very handsome Brazilian boy walks with me. I thought I was beginning to make friends with him.

  At the door into the courtyard I freeze. My new friend is shocked.

  “What’s wrong?”

  My eyes must be wide open. The big Russian who tormented my dreams and my restless night. The man who chased me through the streets. My bad Russian. Larger than life in the middle of the courtyard. He turns. A ripple of excitement passes through the girls in the courtyard and the hallway.

  My heart pounds as his eyes swivel to me. Again I’m overcome with the same mix of excitement and fear that I can’t contain. Sensations wash through me. My panties are drenched.

  My Brazilian companion must be very intuitive, because he turns immediately to square his body to the big Russian. He doesn’t even flinch when my man strides toward us. I am shaking from my head down to my feet.

  The man’s long and beautifully manicured hand stretches out to me. Without breaking eye contact with me, he tells the Brazilian boy, “Leave us.”

  He hesitates. The man’s voice lowers and a cruel smile stretches his lips, showing his dazzling white teeth. “Go. Now.” he says. I can almost feel the boy shake as his eyebrows steeple, his head lowers and he backs away.

  The man’s hand is still out for me to take. I only lift my chin. It’s hard to hold eye contact with him. My eyes keep wanting to blink and flinch, but I make myself hold his gaze. His stare is intense and it makes me burn and tremble inside. His voice is deep and powerful, like the growl of a snow leopard.

  “You see? He wasn’t worthy of you. Wait and see what happens if any man tells me to leave you.”

  “What would you do?”

  His nostrils flare and his lip curls . “Do you really want to know?”

  “I don’t know,” I shudder “Maybe not.”

  “You maybe aren’t ready.” Then, “Please,” his hand is still waiting, palm up, fingers gently curled. A big hand, beautifully manicured. Long, powerful fingers and heavy rings.

  I reach out for his hand, and he inclines his head solemnly. “Alexandr.” As my fingers touch the heat of his skin, a shock like a snap of electricity slams through my whole body. Taken by surprise, I let out a tiny gasp. For that instant I am hardly able to control my breath. I certainly had no control over the gush of heat and wetness in my panties. His eyes burn. I’m certain he knows. “Alexandr Roskovski. I am entirely at your disposal.”

  Before I can answer, he says, “You are my princess. The love of my life.”

  What is left of me melts. I can hardly even tell him my own name. Staying upright, breathing slowly, I speak firmly and clearly. Still looking firmly in his eye, I squeeze his hand back, and I manage to tell him my name. “Cate Miller. I’m pleased to meet you.” I feel that was the hardest thing I’ve done all day.

  That ‘love of my life’ thing unsettled me. Everything about him seems strong and grounded. He could be the most firmly grounded man I ever saw.

  I can’t stand in his gaze another moment, trying to stay calm. I tell him quickly, “I must go.”

  The energy inside me bursts and I spin around. I run, flat out. With no idea where I’m going, I have to get away.

  Chapter Five

  Him

  ER WILD SPIRIT will not easily be tamed.

  Seeing her turn and run excites me for her and for the hunt. She is athletic, she has trained, and she runs well. The chase will be a thrill. When I catch her, though, I will need to keep myself under tight and ruthless control.

  Even now, before I start after her, seeing her run, the sight of her gorgeous ass, I can already taste a tang in my mouth. When I catch her, she will still be my beautiful, trembling flower.

  I will be pumped. I haven’t even started after her yet but my blood races and my cock thickens. It hardens and aches. I feel the emptiness in my stomach that is a hunger for her. When I catch her, it will be hard to restrain myself.

  A rage will fill me. Pump me. I will want to strip her. My body will need to be held back. I will need discipline if I am not to tear off her clothes in the open air and ram my cock through her soft, wet lips. Impale her. Ride her and ravish her.

  The scent of her lingers and all of my muscles are zinging. I want my face in her delicious pussy. I’ll pry her open, split her wide and fill her all the way through. She will be mine. I will have her and she will be mine forever.

  I will time it perfectly.

  Chapter Six

  Her

  BARGE THROUGH MY classmates in the sunny courtyard. I shout, “Pras ti tye,” excuse me, or pardon me, in Russian. Papers and books go flying. I pelt as fast as I can, through the doors, through the Institute and I burst back out to the street. I turn toward the bridge.

  Panicking, I can’t remember which way the metro is. I run as fast as I can by the river. I am a fast runner. I was a middle-distance champion in high school. I trained through my freshman year of college, too.

  I run beside the green, majestic Winter Palace, the Hermitage. I’ll run around the palace and back into the courtyard. I look over my shoulder before I dash across the street. A big yellow truck is coming right where I was about to run. The man, Alexandr, is right behind me.

  The truck is almost on me. Twisted and out of balance, I scream. My footing slips.

  The truck’s horn blasts.

  Alexandr leaps. He moves like an elegant quarterback. I’m falling. His hands take my waist. Gently, easily, he sweeps me off the ground.

  He holds me in the air like a doll. A precious, weightless treasure. He smiles, lifting me effortlessly to safety.

  I pant. My breathing is out of control. I’m unable to move or speak. I have to wait to put words together.

  Shaking my head, I ask, “How can you run so fast?”

  “For you? I can do anything. And I will.” His face tightens and his eyes smile. He’s still holding me. My body tingles and shakes.

  All my nerves and reflexes want to wrap my arms around him. And my legs. My whole body. All of me. I want all of me on him. Now.

  I manage to resist but I don’t know how. Or even why. I can’t let my guard drop for a moment.

  If I let my thoughts go free for an instant, I will tear all of my clothes off, right here in the street. I will curl all of my naked limbs around his body. Around his long, hot, rigid cock.

  The burning in his eyes is unmistakable. Even with my zero experience, I know that he would eat me up like a rare steak.

  “You don’t have to run,” he tells me. His hands are still on my waist.

  “Oh, I do,” I tell him. I tug to get away. He doesn’t let go. “And you have to let me. You must let me go. I’m not ready.”

  “For what? You haven’t even stood still long enough to let me tell you what I want yet.”

  “What do you want?” My panic rises. I know I shouldn’t have asked him that. I know what he wants.

  “I want you. You are my love. I want you for my wife. My queen. To be mother to all of my children. My mistress, my bride, and my obedient, shameless courtesan.” His eyebrow lifts, as if to say, isn’t it obvious? He says, “I need you. You are going to be my life.”

  My stomach plunges and my panties get another soaking. “What are you doing to me?” I squeeze his hand again. “Please. You have to let me go.”

  “Of course.” He doesn’t. He’s still holding my hand. “Only, two things.”

  “Um… what?”

  “You must tell me your address in Saint Petersburg.”

  “Oh…”

  “And you must understand. Take as long as you like. I can wait. I need you to be ready. But you will be ready. You will be mine. I will never give up.”

  “Oh.” His voice resonates deep inside me. My thighs quiver and my little buds sting, hard as stones. My body knows that he’s right. I know that I can’t trust my body anywhere near him. I don’t dare to look down at his pants. I know what I would see. “Okay. I really have to go.”

  He hasn’t let go of my hand.

  His eye sparkles a gleeful evil. “Your address.”

  I sigh, “About that.”

  “Would you rather I follow you?”

  “Okay. But you promise you won’t come around unexpectedly.”

  “Then you’ll need to give me your phone number, too. So that I can call and be expected.”

  “I don’t have a phone. Not here in Russia. I brought my phone from the States but it doesn’t work here.”

  My knees are going to give way, I can’t keep this up. “All right.” I give him my address. “But promise me. No surprises.”

  “I think you like surprises.”

  I have to agree. To a point. “Some surprises.”

  “I’ll make sure that you have only the kind you like.”

  I turn and leave. He is so aroused, driven by wound-up passion, but he lets me go. He respects my wishes. Can he really be a total brute and yet completely respect me, at the same time?

  I have to walk away and keep control of myself and my feelings.

  This is a battle I am going to lose. It’s just a matter of how and when. That makes me remember another lesson from middle-distance running. Just this step, just this straight, just this race. Don’t think any farther ahead than that.

  Chapter Seven

  Her

  LEXANDR. ALL THE way back on the metro, I curl his name around in my head. On my tongue. Deep in my throat, all the way down to my chest.

  Alexandr.

  I may have said it out loud a couple of times. Travelers in the carriage looked at me strangely.

  Alexandr.

  Like his name alone will protect me from anything.

  When I get out of the metro near my uncle’s apartment, Alexandr is there, waiting. He’s standing by a long, black, Mercedes E class.

  He has broken our deal already. I fold my arms and tell him, “I said no surprises.”

  “You said you didn’t have a phone.” He hands me a gift-wrapped box.

  He commands me, “Open it.”

  When he instructs me a molten heat drops all the way through me. Thick like lava. My panties are soaked again.

  I pull off the elaborate ribbon and wrapping. Inside the beautiful paper is a new, top-of-the-line phone.

  “I can’t accept this.”

  “Then don’t. Consider it as mine. It has my number programmed already, but you can use it for whatever else you want, of course.” I try to hand it back to him.

  “I need you to have it. I’m serious. I need to be able to contact you. Don’t think of defying me.” He says it casually but a trickle of chill drops through me at what it might mean.

  I take back the box with the phone.

  He nods, approving. I’m surprised how much his approval means to me. He says, “Since I’m here, let me drive you the rest of the way home.”

  “No. Please. Let me walk.”

  “This isn’t the best neighborhood.”

  “I’m guessing that where you live is the very nicest neighborhood of all. Everywhere else probably seems scary and dangerous by comparison.”

  “You have wisdom. And you know your mind. You are perfect.”

  I hold up a hand. I must get a breath or I’ll be undone. “Please. Let me adjust a little. Okay?”

  He makes a bow with his head.

  Walking away, I feel his eyes on me all the way to my uncle’s apartment block. It takes discipline not to look around.

  I stay in my room and keep out of my uncle’s way until bedtime. Alexandr—the shape of that name has taken up residence in my mouth. I roll it around, over and over—he is as good as his word. He does not phone me or come around. Last thing before I turn in for bed, he sends me a text message:

  ‘Good Night, my love. My Princess. I cannot wait for you to become my Queen. I will have sweet dreams of you. I hope you have sweet dreams of me. Good night. My love.

  Your Alexandr.’

  I can’t sleep. The memory of his big hands, lifting me like I was silk makes my thighs clench. I could call him. He would send a car. Or he would drive over. Would it be possible, could I have just one embrace, one long, deep, hot kiss? Could I just feel the ridges of his hard body press into my soft, trembling flesh? Perhaps he would flutter his lips on my neck. Press the rasp of his dark voice, warm and moist in my ear.

  How would his lips taste? Would he lift me, raise my thighs and take my weight so I could spread myself around him?

  My hard, sore nipples would crush against his fine suit. Rub against his shirt. Maybe inside, against the hard, hot muscles of his chest. Could I feel the weight of his thick, pulsing rod against my soft tummy? The top of it nuzzling between the slow bounce of my breasts. His heat vibrating in my valley as I cling, gripping tight around his massive trunk.

  I wonder how the heat of his cock would taste. Piercing into my throat. He might be rough. Spin me around. Fling me on all fours. Rip away my clothes. Grab me. Work my clit with the thick nub of his thumb. Tease and spread my lips. Would he slide his rod along my slit, press against my clit, while he massaged me open. There. And behind.

  He might slap me!

  I spring up, bolt upright, gasping. Hot and hopelessly wet. It feels like a door is swinging open into darkness.

  And I remember that I left my watercolor in the art room!

  How could I have forgotten it?

  I rock, curled up in a ball. Tossing and turning. I didn’t think I’d fallen asleep but somehow I’m shaking awake, groggy and muddled. Even the shower can’t rinse away the thick feeling.

  I rush to dress, pulling on pale jeans. I knot a shirt under my breasts and tie a red scarf around my hair, although my curls spill out. I don’t know that the look is going to work for me but it will have to do.

  I hurry to the Art Institute, run up the stairs to the room we were in yesterday. The door is locked. A janitor is in the hallway. I tell him what happened and ask him to let me in. He takes some persuading but he agrees. I’m ecstatic. He unlocks the door. Sunshine streams in wide shafts through the high windows, lighting all the easels in a hazy golden glow. Several other students’ show pieces are just where they had been. I remember exactly where my watercolor was.

  In the bright morning sunlight is the bare wood bench. My painting is gone.

  I’m crushed.

  That picture of my Mom was from a special moment. She asked me again and again to have it copied. “No, Mom. It’s for you. You keep it.” I told her. I borrowed it back to bring to Russia. And now I’ve lost it.

  I thank the caretaker. He can see I’m upset but he has to close up the room.

  I have an hour before my first class and I rushed breakfast. I think about going to the canteen and finding some yoghurt or a piece of fruit. On my way down the stairs, I hear an odd chirruping. Down on the mosaic tile floor of the entrance, several students look up at me, smiling.