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“You already were.” Konstantin gestured vaguely at him to go away and sprawled back in his chair.
For a moment the man stood there and stared at him stupidly. Was he going to pick a fight? That was a nasty business to bring into a party. He’d have to ask him to step out into the street, at least.
“Look at her build. She’s barely got anything up top. There’s no way she’s of age. Men like you are the ones who bring a bad reputation to BDSM. It’s not safe, sane, or consensual if she’s not old enough to consent.”
Yeah, Konstantin was going to fucking kill him.
Chris stalked back over and eyed the man. “How dare you insinuate I’d let an underage girl into one of our parties. Get off my fucking property.”
Konstantin got off his chair. Ambrose pushed him back down.
The man opened his mouth to say something, but Chris lit into him.
“And if you think the only woman capable of consent has to meet your criteria of what a woman should look like, you’re even more of a dickwad than I thought.” He jabbed a finger at the man but didn’t touch him. “The only reason you’re here, Pete, is because your wife is a total sweetheart and she’s friends with Janine. Learn some fucking manners and we might invite you back sometime.”
The man strode off, his expression thunderous. He talked to a woman who must have been his wife, but the woman rolled her eyes and stayed seated. He left without any more fuss.
Konstantin’s friends turned to him and he held up his hands innocently. “I’m not following him out. It’s done.” He wouldn’t be a very good husband to Varushka if he was in jail for murder.
He turned his attention to her. She was standing in waist-deep water, and looked away from him when he met her gaze. Crap. How much of that had she heard?
“Varushka, get your ass over here,” he called in Russian.
She walked up the steps of the pool immediately and moved gracefully toward him, her red hair wet and smoothed back from her lovely face. Her steps were confident, even though her eyes were wide and nervous. Those eyes made him want to take her in his arms and comfort her. Unfortunately, it also reminded him of the last time he’d spanked her, and the way she’d sobbed for him to stop but had been careful to remind him that “stop” wasn’t her safeword. She’d been so wound up afterward she’d begged for sex.
Konstantin folded a towel and threw it down beside his chair, then gave her the hand signal to kneel. Soundlessly she complied, just as the other men wandered off to watch a flogging that was in progress in the living room that they could see through the patio doors.
“You look like you have something to say to me.”
Briefly, her fingers twisted together before she laid her hands properly on her thighs. “Baba Nina should have sent Mikka instead of me,” she mumbled.
For a moment Konstantin hesitated, not wanting to ask questions he didn’t want answers to. But if he didn’t ask he’d wonder until he did. “You don’t like it here, little bird?”
“I never should have come to America,” she whispered, the words driving a stake into his heart. “I’m an embarrassment to you. I don’t know how to do the things you like and I have no tits. Mikka is very beautiful and she knows about men. She’s made like a woman. No one would ask you if she was too young.”
“You’re very beautiful. Haven’t you felt the people here admiring you?”
The girl blushed and ducked her head.
“Do I seem disappointed with how you look? Have we spent our time together innocently, or have I been buried deep inside you every chance I get?”
Her mouth fell open and she blushed, then glanced around, but no one was paying attention to them.
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“There are many different sizes of women, and all of them are beautiful.” He traced a fingertip down her small nose. “There’s a reason Baba chose you for me. Why are you her favorite and not Mikka?”
She shrugged. “Mikka is bold and smart, but sometimes she cuts people with her words. Maybe Baba Nina thought she would argue with you too much.”
Konstantin pulled her to lean against his leg and stroked her wet hair. “Do you think Mikka would work as hard to please me as Varushka does, or would like being my slave?”
The girl chuckled darkly at the thought. He took that as a no.
“Does Varushka like being my slave?”
She nudged his leg with her forehead, and her eyes closed as he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. Her shudder was telling.
“I don’t care if Mikka would like being your slave, Master. I’m the one who’s yours. She can get her own man.” Varushka’s expression was fierce.
