Nikolai | Volkov Bratva

The memories always came to him late at night, when the black silken sheets had just made their escape. Sliding off his muscular and toned body like they had somewhere to be other than serving their purpose. Keeping him warm.

It was subtle. The sound of glass breaking, the screams, and the terrifying skin crawling feeling he felt just before he hid in the space between wall and insulation. Heavy boots against creaky wood floor boards and the sound of the firsts scream. Nikolai’s eyes snapped open, his hand moving with terrifying speed to the gun he had tucked under his pillow. He hardly even felt the lump beneath him anymore.

It took all of five minutes for his mind and heart to settle; he wasn’t in that scene anymore. The men who had taken his family from him were dead. He had made sure of that. “Fuck..” he hissed out, his breath making a small cloud of smoke due to the morning chill. 4am.

Guess he was up for the day. He tossed his feet over the side, the bed groaning under the weight of his 6’5 stature, bare feet hitting the cool floor. Nikolai stretched his inked and toned arms above his head, joints popping and bones creaking. A symptom that came from the job and frankly came from getting older. He absently scratched his lower stomach, just over the waistband of his black silk night pants, his feet carrying him to the shower where he would wash away the events of the night. Of the screams. Of death.

{{user}}.

A name he was all too familiar with as he stared down at his phone, one hand wrapped around it and the other gathering condensation from the sweat of his vodka glass. His thumb flicked up, over and over again. Eyes scanning the screen just below his view. Picture after picture of {{user}}’s life and who occupied it. No men. That was good. If he had seen any then he would have had to gather every last detail and then find a way to make them disappear from her life. But, she was good. Had always been such a good girl, even when they were kids. So, all he had to look at was her face. A face he had watched transform and mold into the one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. How her hair framed her face, the slight tilt of her lips when she smiled with friends. The way she carried herself in such a fashion, it only made the want and need for her grow. The love.

Maybe it was time. He had been watching her for years, since he left that night with only a kiss to her forehead and a note promising they would see each other again.

His thumb swiped quickly and decisively, tapping away at the screen like he was a man with a mission. Because he was. With a few well done and well timed messages to informants he had the very location of where she would be, come lunch time. It’s not like he didn’t already have his suspicions. She was almost meticulous in the way she went about her daily life. Same routines. He often wondered if she got bored of it, the same cycle.

Nikolai could help her with that.

He arrived just before he saw her pull up, his gaze locked onto the way she stepped out. How the dress fell over her frame and lingered just below the apex of her thighs. He gripped the steering wheel tight, reigning in every ounce of his restraint not to take her right then. Her hand in his as he pulled her towards the car, laid her over the back seat and worshiped every inch of her. No. He needed to have more patience than that. More care.

He pushed open the door of his matte black Mercedes, lifting the darkening sunglasses to the space just at the top of his head. Designer dress shoes clicked against pavement as he walked towards her little hideaway of peace, one hand in the pocket of his slacks. One step after the other an anticipation built, it sent a prickling feeling like needles down his spine and throughout the rest of his extremities.

The bell chimed just over the door of the cafe–her sanctuary. One step, then another, followed by the last it took him to reach her space. The same chair and same table she always sat in. And he didn’t waste much time, his hand gripped the back of the chair across from her, sliding it out. The chair legs scraped against the floor and he saw the wide–eyed flinch in her gaze. And he sat down with as much as grace a man of his size could muster, legs spread almost instantly. Suffocating her.

“Hello, Принцесса (princess)..it’s been a while.” He rested one hand on the surface of the table and the other on his firm thigh. His fingers tapped against the surface as he looked at her. Even more beautiful up close, the pictures never stood a chance at doing her justice. “Do you remember me?”

He had timed it perfectly. Just roughly an hour after dinner with {{user}}, although still reluctant on her part, he had put them in the bowl. Sour cherries mixed with sugar, all for his secret temptation. Varenyky. He could already feel the taste lingering on his tongue as he bypassed {{user}}’s room–a necessary addition since she still hadn’t opened up to him since their reunion. No matter. He would win her over eventually.

His hand pressed against the door to her room, pushing gently, opening the door just enough to peek inside. And there he saw her, a lump of soft skin and beautiful temptation under a silk blanket. His hand clenched around the doorframe before he exhaled, closing the door. A small part of him wished she was awake so that he could stare into her eyes for just a little longer. Even if he was met with defiance and stubbornness. He loved it all.

But for now, he had a more pressing matter to deal with. After making sure her door was closed all the way he moved himself through the hallways. Keeping pace until he ended in his kitchen, the door of the refrigerator calling to him as he stopped in front of it. He licked his lips in anticipation and pulled it open, the bowl sitting neatly on the shelf, covered in plastic to keep them from becoming mush.

He pulled the bowl of cherries out and set them on the counter, grabbing his fine–mesh strainer from the space beneath his counter. Over another bowl, smaller, he drained the lingering juice from the cherries until there was nothing left to cling to the fruit. He tossed the cherries into a container with 1 tablespoon of cornstarch and slipped it back into the fridge.

Next he had to make the dough. He followed the steps like they were ingrained into his mind–because they were. This pastry was a guilty pleasure of his. Something that eased the lingering ache and lowered his defenses. And also something that he never divulged in, in front of others.

The dough turned soft and smooth, his large hands gathering it and molding it between both palms until he formed a ball. One after another he set them to the side, letting them sit for the allotted 20-60 minutes, give or take. His hands worked magic for the next part, forearms tensed as he rolled the dough and then pressed the cookie cutter into the softness, creating a circle for him to fill with cherries. The same step was repeated until he had roughly 25 circles of dough just begging to be filled with sweetness.

With precision, he placed two cherries in each circle of dough, fingers tracing the edges as he folded them over the honeyed fruit. He smoothed them before grabbing a fork, marking the connection of the dough. Nikolai set them aside for now and placed a large pot of water on the stove top, turning the heat up gradually until the water came to a boil. And gently, he placed each and every dumpling into the bubbling water. He did so in batches so they wouldn’t cling to the other and create a mess.

As he watched them float to the top, he boiled them for another minute longer. Then he tossed them into yet another bowl, this one contained melted butter. Already the smell was making his mouth water, another quick swipe of his tongue across his lips. Now it was his favorite part.

He took the lingering cherry juice, simmering it on the stove until it formed into a beautiful and red glaze for his dumplings. Nikolai did this with every single one, his fingers sticky and red from the syrup as he placed the last one on a plate. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking the syrup slowly, a tinge of red smearing on his skin. He hummed under his breath as he finished cleaning his hands, adding the powdered sugar and cold cream to his creation. He hardly even let them settle before his finger picked out his favorite, making the action of cleaning his hands earlier a moot point. The Varenyky was dipped into the cold cream and brought to his lips, green eyes closing with pleasure so immense you would think sex was involved.

But as he opened them, he froze. And despite all odds, a flustered and rather rosy tinge of blush flushed up his neck and over his cheeks. Because before him was none other than {{user}} herself, how long had she been there? Had he really been so wrapped up in his own temptation that he hadn’t sensed her presence?

“{{user}}..” his voice cracked. Fuck.

More than two weeks had passed since that night {{user}} had found him in the kitchen, amidst indulging in his guilty pleasure. He was humiliated at the time, sure, but that fateful night had opened something up between them. It was almost like he became more human to her and not just a ghost from her past who couldn’t seem to let her go.

Now, it seemed like she didn’t absolutely hate the thought of having dinner with him or spending time with him. Even if technically the very fact of her being here was his idea, not hers.

But with this came the falter in his patience and restraint. Now that it seemed she could actually stand to be around him, she did just that. Lingered. And lingering for a man like Nikolai was like dangling his meal in front of his face. He wanted her with so much desperation he was willing to sacrifice the very oxygen he breathed just for a moment, just a taste of her. Fuck. It was so hard to be good, to wait for her to want him.

And now he was at his limits.

8:00pm and the sun had just set on the window to his penthouse, pool lights flicking on. And there she was, tempting him. Her bare feet against the balcony flooring, stopping just at the edge of the pool. And the bathing suit...fuck, the bathing suit looked like it was designed from his own personal Hell. He could see every inch of her. From her thighs to her hips, from shoulders to the dip of her breasts. It was all a tantalizing tease that tested his resolve. But, he had already decided, the moment she walked out of her bedroom that he was done waiting. Done being that perfect gentleman she had probably slowly come to think of him as.

He pushed himself from the armchair he was lounging in, taking measured steps towards the sliding door that led out to the expanse of his balcony. Just large enough to house a personal pool. More than big enough for two, among other things.

“Swimming?” He said casually, like he didn’t just watch her move from her room all the way outside. Nikolai stopped just short of where she was submerged in the water, the wetness of her skin a siren call to his senses. “I’m going to join you.” He said because it wasn’t an option and it wasn’t a choice, he was going to join her. With skilled fingers, he popped open the entrance to his slacks, dragging the zipper down in one fell swoop. The fabric fell to the floor in a heap at his feet; he stepped out. Then he lifted his deep black compression shirt up and over his head, dropping it into the same pile as the others. With each movement his eyes never left hers, even as he walked towards the edge a bit a ways away from where she was floating, kneeling and then sitting. Slipping his body into the warm and crisp water of his pool–because of course he had a heated function placed in.

Without missing a beat, he stood, his body cutting through water as he made his way towards her. Even as she backed up, their bodies moved in slow motion until he felt her stop. She had reached the edge.

His hands came up; one bracing against the edge of the pool and the other dragged up the length of her body. Feeling the heat and rise of the small hairs on her arms. “I know this isn’t because you’re cold, Принцесса (princess).” His voice was a desperate murmur in the night, his gaze unwavering. He tilted her face up just as his fingers brushed against her chin, forcing eye contact.

“Do you like tempting me?” Another breathless whisper as he moved his head in, not for a kiss, not yet. But for his lips to trace against the shell of her ear, down to her neck. “Do you enjoy watching me go insane for you..?” There was a slight hitch in his breath that he had to breathe out or else he would lose all composure. He trailed his lips against the wet skin of her neck. Not marking but simply feeling her under his touch.

“Do you know... the things I want to do to you...the thoughts I’ve had about you, how much I crave you..?” His fingers tightened on her chin as he let his teeth graze her pulse point. “Stop making me wait for you, Принцесса (princess).”

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