Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 7
MAXIM
I’ve been sipping on some shitty coffee for the last two hours, studying Ivory’s mannerisms and body language carefully until she disappeared down the hill. While I was agitated that she was out of my sight, I knew that there was no possible way I would be able to blend into the party and spy on her up close. I just need to wait until I see her again.
My mind wanders, and I think about the toys I found in her bedside table. My cock twitches as I imagine her lying in her bed under the blankets, lightly playing with herself through her underwear until she can’t help but slip them off. I try to picture what her pussy looks like as her fingers slip between her lips, delicately teasing herself even further, a twinge of Catholic guilt sitting heavy in her belly as she climbs closer and closer to orgasm.
The innocent ones are always the best because they’re so sensitive. They haven’t ever savagely pounded the fuck out of themselves with a nine-inch vibrating dildo or gotten head from a stranger in a nightclub. I haven’t even been within ten feet of this girl, and I already know that she would nearly melt through my fingers if I did so little as stroke her tits.
As my cock throbs into the front of my pants, I notice a slender figure emerging out of the woods. I recognize the figure as Ivory, hardly herself without an entourage of sycophants and idiots trailing her. I can’t say I miss them.
When I study her face, she appears nervous, maybe even scared. In my daydreaming state, I hadn’t noticed that all the other vehicles have disappeared, leaving me in the open but also indicating that Ivory is here alone. Why would she still be here?
She’s removed her shoes; she must be planning to walk home, or at least to the next public place. The way she steps carefully through the parking lot makes her look even more like a newborn baby animal. It would be endearing if I didn’t feel she was in danger.
I know she’s drunk, and while she isn’t driving, it’s also incredibly dangerous for her to be wandering the back roads by herself, barefoot, while completely off her face. If I were any worse of a person, this would be the prime opportunity to kidnap her and hold her hostage until her father paid me an obscene amount of money. It would be messy, but it would be a lot easier than playing the long game.
But I’m not that bad.
As she passes by my vehicle, I roll down the window, which freaks her out, whipping her head back to look at me with wide, feral eyes. I’ve only ever seen this girl dressed perfectly, hair and makeup meticulously done, glowing with confidence and grace. Right now, she could be mistaken for a crack whore.
“Do you want something?!” she slurs, her words pointed and mean. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she could be rabid or deranged, maybe high on bath salts.
“You look lost,” I say.
That was absolutely the wrong thing to say to a vulnerable college girl, but I never said words were my forte.
“What of it?” she replies, her tone a bit softer than it had been initially. I still can’t believe I’m talking to her face to face already. I thought I’d have more time.
“I was just wondering if you needed me to call anyone for you,” I say into the increasingly crisp and cold air.
There, a perfectly reasonable, helpful suggestion.
When I look closer, I notice that her hair is wet. I had known that there was a lake down below; my friends and I used to hang out there and gaze into the water there when we were younger. The fact that she had potentially been naked in that water in the not-so-distant past makes my dick ache. So close to me, I could have seen her had I been closer. Goddamn it.
“Well… my phone is dead, and I think my friends ditched me,” she says, warring within herself about whether or not she should be asking for my help in the first place. I’m sure it goes against every instinct, everything she was ever taught about strange men in dark vehicles, or men at all.
I’m both shocked and relieved that she hasn’t asked me what I’m doing here in the first place since I hadn’t thought that far.
“Would you be able to just drive me into town? I can figure it out from there,” she asks.
I’m almost disappointed at how easy this was. No hunt, no chase—just a lost little girl in the woods.
“Yeah, I can do that,” I reply. I remember the two guns that were sitting in the passenger seat and panic internally. “Actually, wait just a second. I’m Maxim, by the way. Yes, before you ask, it’s Russian, but I live here. I’m a park ranger.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m Ivory.”
As if I didn’t already know.
Fortunately for me, the darkness of the night and the tint of my windows made concealing the weapons easy. One glance at those things, and she would run screaming.
After I’ve adequately hidden the guns, I motion for her to walk to the other side of the vehicle and unlock her side for her. As she steps in, I can smell the weed, cigarettes, and beer she had been partaking in all night. She might even be more wasted than I thought.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to appear as transparent about my intentions as possible.
She’s extremely tense at first, grasping at the door handle like it’s her final salvation. “2541 9th street,” she replies, refusing to loosen her grip on the door.
“Is that where you live?” I ask, pretending to be completely oblivious.
“No, it’s where I was at a party with some friends earlier. I think they ditched me here, so I want to at least go figure out what the fuck happened,” she replies, sounding nearly on the verge of tears.
This is perfect.
“Why would your friends leave you out here?” I ask as if I’m unfamiliar with the whereabouts of New England WASPS, vapid and unyielding in their selfishness.
Ivory just shrugs.
“They sound kind of shitty,” I continue. There’s no way she’ll defend them after what they did.
“I mean, yeah. They’re all shitty. But that’s just how they were raised. Once they start overdosing or getting pregnant, maybe they’ll get their shit together,” she replies. “They all got whatever they wanted growing up, so they aren’t used to acknowledging peoples’ feelings or consequences.”
For someone who has consumed copious amounts of alcohol and weed, this girl is completely coherent, even articulate. I’m pretty impressed, but this also means I need to be on my best behavior in case she remembers something.
“What kind of people are they?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light while gathering more potentially valuable information.
Ivory sighs. “They’re… I don’t know. I knew some of them in high school, and they just kind of ended up at my college. Mostly, they’re entitled trust fund kids who are blowing two-hundred grand on a private university so that they can spend four years doing coke and ‘finding themselves’ in financially destitute tropical countries,” she says, staring out the window.
“Damn, seems like you really don’t like them,” I reply. Even coming from the perspective of my ulterior motives, it seems like this girl really needs someone to talk to.
“I definitely don’t right now. I only came to this stupid party because one of my friends begged me to, like she couldn’t have fun without me, and then she ditched me with her piece of shit boyfriend,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes again. She gazes out the window at the skyline as we drive along the water.
