Page 4 of From Russia With Blood

“I don’t need stats. I know everything I need to.”

She stops. “Wait. You’re seriously not talking about Titanic again. Are you? That was a fluke accident.”

“Fluke, huh? Did you read all the stuff that came out after the movie? It wasn’t a fluke.” Pulling in my lower lip, I nibble on it as I peer back up. “Do you think they have enough lifeboats?”

“Puh-lease. You’re not going to need a damn lifeboat. This is just ridiculous.”

“Yeah. See how ridiculous you’ll look when we crash into an iceberg. We’re taking a cruise way up north where icebergs live year-round.”

“You’re impossible. I’m not entertaining these delusions of yours.”

“Well, fine. I’m not sharing my door with you. In fact, I’ll just let you go.”

“Won’t need it.”

Glancing up, I catch the gaze of a man staring at me, his lips twisted up into a smile. Fuck. He probably heard all of that. In my head, my worries seem valid but spoken out loud...yeah. I probably shouldn’t say anything else, not when I actually want a chance at playing with someone.

Several people walk about, not a coat in sight. They must be locals. It doesn’t matter that it feels nice to them; I’m used to living in the deep south, where anything below sixty is just cold. With no sunshine to help warm things up, everything feels more frigid than it probably is, though more than likely, that’s just the grip of fear around my heart.

There’s a chill that’s settled deep into my body since we’ve landed in Unalaska, and it’s not letting up. Perhaps I’m sick? I can’t go on a cruise if I’m sick. Fat chance. Lizzy forced me to chug all manner of nutrient-based drinks and supplements. Maybe it’s the additional vaccines I got before traveling? No. I’m just being a coward and not facing the fact that I’ve dreaded going on this trip since the moment she told me we were going.

The doors open, blasting us with hot, humid air, and my stomach pitches again. This whole trip is a mistake. I feel it down to my very core. It doesn’t matter that it’s supposed to be my sexual awakening, or re-awakening, I guess. I open my mouth to beg Lizzy one more time to just forget the whole thing when movement outside catches my eyes.

Four, sleek, black coffins, carried on men’s shoulders like an actual funeral, pass by and start making their way up the ramp to the mouth of the ship. I tug on Lizzy’s sleeve and point to the display, needing to know I’m not the only one seeing this. The whole thing is surreal, moving in slow motion as if to make sure I see it.

“Woah. These props are great! Those look like real coffins! What an awesome way to set the mood.” Several others around her laugh and join in with nods of agreement before turning back to their own friends. Smatterings of conversations are still happening about the coffins, but none of them are negative. Did we see the same thing?

I say nothing. What can I say? These horror movie rejects just won’t understand. I can't explain a feeling to people gearing themselves up for a couple of weeks of scares and pain. Me conveying the terror zipping down my spine will do nothing more than amp them up further. Helplessness drips through my brain, making every movement stuttered and slow. Besides, I don’t need any more help sounding like a nutjob.

Hazarding a glance up, I stare at the cute man from earlier, really studying his features. Perhaps lusting after man flesh will keep the burgeoning panic at bay. His back is turned towards me, letting me stare at him without it being creepy. Muscles bunch with every movement as he rummages through his bags.

Everything about him screams control - from how he handles his stuff to the expert way he moves about the space. Others can feel it too. They must. They give him a wide berth as if a forcefield is around him, pushing everyone else away.

What does it say about me that I’m inexorably drawn to that space of calm and control? It beckons me, whispers to me. A throbbing heat settles deep into my core as I stare at the man transfixed, unable to pull myself away. Everything is too hot, and this time, it’s not just the jacket.

This is what I hoped to feel whenever I was with Chet, but it never happened. I never felt out of control, like my skin was too tight for my body. Everything was chaste, tender - hollow. The more I distance myself, the more I can fully understand just how lacking our relationship was.

The stranger exudes the type of command I crave, the type I’d fall down on my knees for. But I made that mistake once. And just like that, the sour bile fills my mouth. My heart wrenches, and I wrap my arms about myself to hold it together. If I can just push through and make myself get onto that boat, it will all be worth it. It’s got to be.

I’ve already determined to not let feelings get the better of me. This is a no-strings-attached trip, which means trying my hand at any dominant who thinks they can handle me. Problem is, the twisting in my gut as I look at the mystery man is a warning. It would be far too easy to give into the illusion that I’m wanted or desired as anything else beyond my ability to take a beating. After this trip, no one’s going to remember me. I need to keep that at the forefront of my mind.

A trickle of sweat slides down the back of my neck and along my spine, drawing a prickling awareness to the scratchiness of my clothes against my skin. It’s all too much. Everything. Ripping at the zipper, I drag it down so I can tear off the coat that’s now suffocating me in the too-hot space.

Once free, I take in gulps of air, drawing curious looks from the others nearby. No doubt they’ve been waiting for this trip with anticipation and not dread. It’s what a normal person would feel. But I’m not normal, far from it. I’m hollow, aching - lost. I draw my hand up to encircle my throat, holding my palm there as I breathe.

Without conscious thought, my gaze drifts back to Mr. In Control only to find his eyes boring into mine. The searing heat stops me in my tracks. I can’t breathe under the intensity of his scrutiny. Danger. The word flits through my brain as his lips begin to curl. There’s no doubt he knows the effect he’s having on me.

The pulsing returns to my clit as I drop my hand, still transfixed by the handsome man. He turns fully, staring me down as he pulls out a fedora and slants it on his head - just like a movie star. Pain blossoms in my ribs as Lizzy slams her elbow into me, interrupting the fantasies that start to play out in my mind.

“You’re staring,” she hisses loud enough for the entire state of Alaska to hear her, let alone this small island. Mr. Hunk smiles, winks, and bends down to keep digging around until he finds what he’s looking for. A whip. The wicked curl of the leather as he runs it through his hands before coiling back up nearly undoes me. His lips slash into a panty-melting grin before he attaches it to his holster, completing the look.

Mortification blossoms through my body as his back is once again to me. What was I thinking? Fresh out of a relationship and ogling the first hot guy with a Dom vibe I see? Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing. And what of it. Everyone here is looking for that hit-it-and-quit-it someone, why shouldn’t I? Shaking my head, I move up a few steps with Lizzy, who’s thankfully doing some checking out of her own. The difference between her and me is that I don’t feel the need to announce her soon-to-be conquests.

As some of the fellow passengers argue with the check-in counter about their room, I pull out my phone and scroll back through the welcome message. That fluttering of anticipation curls again in my stomach. Some of my dreams were bound to come true. I answered everything honestly, hoping that someone else would be at least somewhat compatible.

They list my likes and desires in order of edginess, and I wonder how Mr. Fedora would stack against it. If that whip is actually made for play, we may be better suited than I’d even dare to hope. Shaking my head, I scroll further down, making sure my hard and soft limits were still listed, as if something could have possibly changed it in a way that would leave me vulnerable. It’s almost become a pathological need. Every day I scroll down, making sure everything is the same. I won’t be able to control everything on this trip, but I have an iron grasp on what I can.

When I glance back up, Mr. Hottie is gone, and I hate the small bit of disappointment that runs through me. Get it together, Kat. It was a smile. That’s it. Stop acting like a sub in heat! I’m here to try many men, not just settle for the first one that can make my panties damp. I turn my thoughts away from the dangerous fantasies they’re heading down and onto Lizzy’s exuberant conversation.