Page 37 of Maksim
It isn’t as if I’m forcing Elira into a box and locking it for hours at a time. If she feels it’s safest to do that all on her own, who am I to stop her?
“Well, he isn’t coming home tonight,” I say instead of finishing my thought.
Her arms cross over a white blouse a couple sizes too big, and it draws my attention to the oversized slacks she’s wearing as well, but they don’t hide the subtle curve of her hips. The wife’s clothes remind me again what this girl is capable of.
Even in ill-fitting clothes, her beauty still strikes me. I don’t know if it’s actually her looks or if I’m imagining things after what I now know about her, but her eyes hold a fierceness to them that I know without a doubt could never be tamed. Her lips, full and supple, are either great for sucking cock or merely a cover for vicious teeth.
This girl isn’t a whore. She’s a vixen.
I gesture toward my bedroom door and walk that way. “Come on, I brought food.”
Her feet patter after me, soft and light like a mouse (or an assassin) to the kitchen where the to-go box awaits on the bar. Elira silently slides onto a stool without needing the command and stares at the Styrofoam container with suspicious, disapproving eyes.
When I slide it to her, she carefully opens it, her eyes softening when she sees food that must look edible by her standards. I watch with a curious amount of anticipation as she picks up the burger.
I lived in Russia until I was nine years old. This is not my home country. But still, as she bites into that burger, I wait with a strange feeling as if it isn’t only the food she’s judging, it’s me. So far, I am what she knows of America, and I do not impress. It wouldn’t matter if it didn’t remind me so painfully of my own experiences.
With that thought, a memory flashes that I immediately shove down, choosing instead to focus on Elira. That life was decades ago. It’s over. It’s done.
As she chews and swallows, she gives me no indication of what she thinks. No expression, good or bad, crosses her features, and for some reason, it irritates me.
“Well?” I ask, realizing I’m leaning toward her on the bar.
She looks up as if she’s just noticed I’m still here. “Hmm?”
I splay one of my palms. “What do you think?”
“Oh.” Her eyes dip to her lap while she tucks hair behind her ear. “It’s, um. It’s good. Thank you.”
Thank you?
A little red flag waves in my mind, and I find my eyes constricting slightly. She’s being especially polite this evening.
“Of course,” I say through my growing suspicion.
I watch intently as she eats the burger like the good girl I know she isn’t, just waiting for some kind of snarky remark to come from her. But it doesn’t, and not knowing what has caused the sudden change in demeanor makes me uncomfortable.
My eyes lower to her tits. “I liked the dress better.”
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looks down at the blouse, baggy in the chest.
“This is umm…” I wave my hand at her while I pretend to be thinking of a word. “Less than flattering.”
“Oh…” She crosses her arms over her chest, apparently finished with her food. “I’ll wear it tomorrow for you, then.”
I’ll wear it tomorrow for you, then.
What the fuck is she doing?
“I’d rather you wore it now. Or nothing at all.” My voice is cold and reprimanding, as if she did something wrong by looking anything less than the sexy piece of ass she’s supposed to be. I only mean to poke, to test, to tug that fiery girl out of her just to make sure I still have her figured out.
But my cold words, the thought of commanding her to take her clothes off, the thought that she may one day listen, heats my blood. Desire starts to crackle inside of me as I watch her, waiting for the fireworks to go off.
She looks at me with an expression as cold as my voice. She looks pissed. Her eyes hold a contempt that brings a comforting ease to my confusion, revealing that she was merely forcing herself to be polite. Maybe she’s gotten smart. Maybe she isn’t trying to be the manipulative little minx I know she can be.
I can’t help but smile.
But then, as one corner of her lip crooks upward, my smile falls. She stands like she’s about to call my bluff.