My Russian Master (Service & Submission Book 3) (3 page)

“Girl. It is time to get up. Come, we cuddle for a bit.” He sat at the top of the bed, pulling her into his lap. She wasn’t a small girl; he didn’t like small girls. He seemed to be partial to a woman of substance, sturdy with a fleshy, generous ass. He liked a little wobble when he smacked a bottom. Her breasts were also ample; they filled his large hands nicely. Small breasts would be useless to a man of his size. It’s why he liked Russian women. They weren’t pencil thin like Americans — well, some Americans anyway.

He wrapped his arms around her soft body, her head buried in his chest. She was still sweaty from the energy expended during her orgasms and whipping, and he brushed her hair back, gliding his fingers through the silky strands, brushing her forehead with light kisses. He hummed a little, gently rocking her, slipping small pieces of chocolate into her mouth and following it with water. Her eyelids would flutter, her eyes regarding him briefly, then closing again, her soft hum resembling the low purr of a cat.

Contented.

He loved seeing her in this state, totally at peace, without a care or concern.

He felt similarly after one of these sessions. The steady rhythm of the whip or belt with the resounding crack accompanied by the mewls and whines of a sub brought him back in touch with himself, his primal need as a man. It reinforced his need to subjugate and subdue, with the power only he could control — and slowly release. The need to control was strong in him, and yet he loved nothing more than to care for and comfort a woman afterward.

Keeping a tight rein on his restaurant and the students under him satisfied this need too, yet the desire to wield a whip or strap pulled at him daily. He loved knowing that by sheer willpower and control, the whip could be harsh or sensual. He delighted in watching a woman dance and shout in pain — and in contrasting ecstasy — all by his control of the implement.

Viktoria’s eyes weren’t glazed over anymore, and she smiled at him when he met her gaze. “You came nice, no?”

“Yes, Maxim.” Her cheeks blushed. “It was good and loud, right?”

Maxim laughed, “Yes, it was loud. Neighbors will be looking to see if the cat is okay.”

She slapped his chest with her small hand. “Not funny. You make me come so hard. It is ridiculous how I sound on American video.”

“Americans love the videos, and you screaming when you come makes it hot. People like to watch Viktoria come loudly. You and your beautiful ass.” He squeezed those gorgeous globes, and then swatted one of them, hard.

She scooched her hips forward, trying to avoid another swat. Like that would work.

“Don’t remind me, Maxim. It scares me to think I may have sex, shouting with orgasm in American hotel, and people recognize me, no?” She shook her head, nuzzling it against the center of his chest.

He ruffled her hair, fisting the silky strands in his hands, pulling her head back until she was forced to make eye contact. “What do you care about people you never meet? Eh? No worries. Come. Time for you to go. I have to read email and then go to restaurant.”

She kissed him on the cheek, climbing off the bed and grabbing her purse. She made it partway out of the door when he shouted after her, “Next week. Thursday, ten thirty. We do this again.”

“Yes, Maxim. I will see you then.” She waved and shut the door.

He started the computer and opened his email, scrolling through the familiar names and deleting the spam. One item caught his attention, an email with the subject line:

Wanted: Fitness Chef for CEO. Pays Well.

He opened the email and quickly read. He no longer had any difficulty with English.

Full time. Lives in Manhattan. Requires Green Card or American citizenship. Chef and fitness trainer to Caroline Turner. CEO of Turner Marketing. Pay will be—

He blinked, reading it again. That couldn’t be? Was that right?

So far, everything looked fine. He had his green card, and although he lived in Moscow and was trained to be both a chef and fitness trainer in that city, he had lived in the States for a while. None of this was an issue. And the pay. Well, the pay would be fabulous. He didn’t want to lose his chance at this job. He found his phone and dialed the number immediately.

“Turner Marketing. Sammi speaking. Can I help you?”

“Yes. Hello. My name is Maxim Volkov. You sent an email to me for fitness chef, yes?” He knew he had spoken slowly, but it was the only way to be sure that he used the appropriate English. Most people didn’t have trouble understanding him, but he wanted to be sure. Accents were hard to decipher over the telephone.

“Oh, hi Maxim. Yes, we’re interested in a fitness chef for Ms. Turner. Caroline would like someone on a live-in basis at her home. You’d have your own living area — kind of a wing, actually — living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. I included the pay, right?”

She spoke very fast and seemed almost overly friendly.

He took a deep breath, hoping he remembered everything she had said. “Yes, you told me about the pay. That would be acceptable.”

Acceptable? It’s more than you could hope to make in five years!

“You didn’t say anything about living there,” he said. “But if I have my own area, that should be fine.”

“Do you have working papers, Mr. Volkov?”

“Maxim. Call me, Maxim, Samantha. I have a green card to work in the US.” He cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. “I have been chef in New York, actually.”

“Really? Where?” The surprise in her voice was obvious.

“The Russian Room. You know of it? You eat there?”

“Nah. But I’ll check it out. So, do you think you may be interested in the job?” A hint of hopefulness snuck into her voice now. Samantha was either a great administrative assistant, or Miss Caroline Turner could be a difficult person when things didn’t go her way.

“Yes. I would be interested. We’d have to discuss details, of course.” He never jumped into things. Getting the details and working out any kinks ahead of time would be best for both of them.

“Oh, that’d be awesome! Thank God. When would you be able to meet with Caroline to discuss the final details?” There it was again. He’d have to watch Caroline when he met her in person, to see how she related to staff. It would be very telling for him personally.

“I need to book flight to U.S. so I can email you when my flight is confirmed. Is there any week that is no good for
Caroleena?
”

“Oh, it’s pronounced
Caro-line
. She’s very picky about how people say her name, Sir.” Samantha had an edge of rebuke in her voice, which never boded well with Maxim.

“I say it that way because of accent. She will understand, I am sure. When is Caroleena available, Samantha?”

“Uhm... Sammi. Call me Sammi. Well, she said that she’d move her schedule around to accommodate you, Max. So, whenever you want.”

“
Maxim
. You’ll call me Maxim, or Sir.” He paused, waiting for her response.

Start as you plan to continue.

“S-sorry. Maxim, Sir.”

“It is just how I wish to be addressed. No worries.” He paused to look at his schedule on his phone. “It should be no problem for me to be there next week. So, I will call you with details of flight. Should I make hotel reservations?”

“No. S-sir. Her penthouse has a wing for you. Did I put that in the email? Or did I forget?”

“No, Samantha, you put it in the email. I’m not hired yet, so I had no reason to believe I would be able to stay there. But, thank you, I will stay at Ms. Caroleena’s.
Caroline’s.
”

“Okay, Maxim. I’ll talk to you soon! I’m so glad you’re coming.”

“Good day, Samantha.”

Maxim hung up, staring at his phone.

Interesting.

Caroline didn’t know him at all — hadn’t even met him yet — but was willing to let him stay at her penthouse. Definitely not safe.

Impulsive.

And Samantha was overly eager to please her boss, evidently fearing her boss’ negative reaction to things.

The good news was that Caroleena wanted him to start immediately.

Chapter Three

“C
aroline, Maxim just called from the airport. Jason found him, and he’s on his way.” Sammi, dressed very professionally today, stood in the doorway to Caroline’s office. Some days, she dressed too feminine as far as Caroline was concerned, but today a black, tailored suit with strappy heels made her look the part of an administrative assistant to a CEO.

A look that she should wear every day.

“Show him in as soon as he gets here.” Caroline pointed to the comfortable sitting area in front of a gas fireplace in her office. Two Queen Anne chairs beckoned any visitors, along with a sofa, and a glass and cherry wood table accented with a large glass vase full of dried blue and purple hydrangeas. “And make sure there’s coffee and tea ready this time. I want him comfortable.”

She grit her teeth a little. Sammi had forgotten tea for an English client a few months back and since that incident, Caroline made sure to remind her admin every time clients were on their way.

“Yes, Caroline. I’m sorry. Everything’s set, I’ve even added chai and purchased an espresso machine.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Well, about damn time. We’ve needed one of those for a while now. I want him as my fitness chef. We need everything to be perfect. Now, go. I have things to do before he comes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sammi turned on her heel, shutting the door quietly behind her as she left.

Caroline felt nervous about meeting Maxim. She didn’t usually have nerves when meeting new clients or executives. She hadn’t climbed her way to the top by being reticent or insecure around people. But since this had to do with her weight and eating habits, she felt concerned about judgment. She assumed a fitness chef would be critical of her lifestyle, and her body as a whole.

She hadn’t always been a size sixteen. In college she’d been down to a size six. But the amount of work to maintain that sort of figure became unrealistic. She’d been one who liked the more drastic measures girls used to stay thin, she found herself eating very little every day, then binging on pizza and beer on Fridays with her roommate Avery, doing “body cleanses” or laxatives, to purge weight on a daily basis.

And, thankfully, Avery had caught on and convinced her to stop with the purging. She’d always love her for that. Avery had helped her over that hurdle and kept her away from it — for the most part — for the next four years.

Speaking of which, I need to call her and fly her out for a weekend. A girl weekend.

She missed her girl time with Avery Beauchamp — Harrison, now. Avery had married an attorney, the same attorney who had made her clean his house as punishment for selling stolen goods. She been amazed that Avery — sweet, kind (and crazy) daughter of a judge, Avery — had committed a crime. God, the crazy times they’d had in college as roommates. She needed to get her out here for a weekend so they could rip up the town again. She wrote a note on her phone reminding herself to give Avery a call tonight.

Picking up the Parker files on her desk, she shook her head trying to focus. No need to concern herself over things she had no control over and his reactions fell into that category.

* * *

T
he long flight had been grueling. He’d forgotten how exhausting it was to fly to the US. Feeling like the walking dead, he and his fellow passengers had made their way down into the bowels of the airport, congregating like zombies in baggage claim.

Now, Maxim waited for his bags to appear, the only sounds the murmur of tired travelers and the repeated squeaking of one of the rollers each time the metal plates swung around the turn at each end of the stainless steel carousel.

A hulking, tall man walked up to him.

“Hi! Are you Maxim Volkov?”

“Who are you?” Maxim looked him up and down. Tall, well built — somebody who obviously worked out daily. Dark hair, piercing green eyes. Security, maybe.

“I’m Jason Steele, Ms. Caroline Turner’s security and chauffer. You’re a dead ringer for your pictures.” He extended his hand.

Maxim shook it. The man had a strong handshake. “Nice to meet you. I am waiting for my bag.” They both turned their attention to the carousel.

Once the luggage had been retrieved, they made their way to the car. As Maxim climbed into the front seat, he grabbing his phone out of his pocket saying to Jason as he dialed, “Samantha told me to call Caroleena’s office when we were leaving.”

Jason laughed. “Dude, you better start saying her name right. She’ll have your head on a platter. She isn’t someone to mess around with.”

Maxim raised his eyebrows at him. “Does she give you trouble?”

“No. Nobody gives me trouble. I don’t tolerate such behavior.” Jason looked in his mirrors before pulling out of the parking lot into traffic. “Ask my wife — or Caroline for that matter.”

“Same here. She will see fast that I am my own boss. I listen and accommodate to a certain degree. After that, it’s done my way.” He paused to listen to Samantha on the other end of the line. “Hi, Samantha. We are on our way. Yes, Jason found me. See you soon.” He shut the phone off, slipping it into the inside pocket on his suit coat.