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Valerie
All of Pasha’s little secrets can be frustrating, but what’s even worse is having to wait for weeks as the search crew combs the bottom of the ocean for Julia’s lost necklace. I knew it wouldn’t take hours, but hearing Pasha tell me that it would be weeks or even months is almost too much to handle.
I have to find little ways to distract myself. The first thing I do is insist that we stop living on a boat in the ocean. Just looking at the water every morning is enough to make me remember why we’re still in Italy.
So, in Pasha’s usual style, he takes me to yet another luxurious location deeper inland. He has a cute cottage with sheep and a garden full of little yellow flowers. I immediately fall in love with the place when I see it. It’s so much more relaxing and mellow than his gigantic mansion back in Texas.
I feel like a cute country wife here, picking flowers and making bread for dinner as Pasha works in the yard outside. He’s takento chopping things down. I don’t know why, but he seems to enjoy the swing of the ax.
He doesn’t have to do it all by himself, but I realize he’s just trying to find ways to fill the time, just like I am. That’s all we’re ever really doing in life, and I think that’s okay. When you have all the money in the world, working is no longer about paying the bills. It’s about finding a satisfying way to keep yourself busy.
I sprinkle some extra flour over the ball of sourdough I’m kneading on the counter. This is probably the fifth loaf I’ve prepared today, but I’ve been trying so hard to get the cuts right over the top. Every time I bake it, the bread ends up being misshapen.
I’m starting to get a little frustrated, but that’s part of the learning curve. If I can get past that feeling, I’m going to be able to produce the most beautiful loaves of bread.
Julia would laugh so hard at me for trying to get good at something so domestic. We always swore we only wanted men for sex and nothing else, but I’ve been enjoying playing the role of a housewife. It completes me in a way I never knew I needed.
I lay the loaf beside me on the counter, dusting my hands on a little white apron with lemons printed on the border. Pasha is outside hacking at a tree he cut down this morning. I don’t even think it needed to be cut, but he’s taken an ax to everything on the property except the olive tree. I fear that’s next, though.
I admire him through the window, watching the muscles in his torso move with each swing of his tool. He’s glistening with sweat, shirtless in the sun, and his tattooed hands look good enough to choke me in bed tonight.
I love when he’s rough. He thinks he’s too much sometimes, but I secretly crave the punishment. I’m allowed to have at least one addiction, I suppose, one little vice that doesn’t really hurt anyone.
His hands around my neck and his cock buried inside of me. That hits the spot like nothing else.
But he’s outside and I’m in here all covered in flour. How do I close that gap in a way that doesn’t make me seem too needy? He said he wanted to put a baby inside me. I wonder if that’s still an urgent need for him, or he’s calmed down about it.
I look around the kitchen, then down at myself. The lemons on my apron give me a wonderful idea, and I rush to the cabinets in search of the right ingredients for a thirst-quenching glass of lemonade.
Sugar, salt, lemons, water, and ice. We have everything for the perfect pitcher, so I whip it up in a hurry and bring it outside to him.
As I approach Pasha, he stops swinging his ax and looks over at me. I put a little more swing in my hips than usual, hoping he’s not too tired to get aroused. Sometimes when he’s been out all day, all he wants to do is shower and sleep.
“Is that for me?” he asks, eyeing the glass in my hand.
“Yessir,” I chirp handing it to him. “And if there’s anything else you’re in the mood for, I’ll be happy to give it to you.”
He narrows his eyes as he takes a sip of the lemonade. “This is really good,” he says, looking at the glass. He takes another sip. “Very good.”
I blush at his praise. “You really like it?”
He nods before gulping down the rest of it.
“I can get more for you if you want,” I say as he crunches on the ice left in the glass.
He nods toward the house. “I’ll come with you. I need to cool down a second. It’s getting hot out here.”
“Certainly is,” I mutter, looking at the deep grooves between his abs. He’s built like a Greek statue, and he barely seems to care. Most men who are in as good a shape as he is spend half their time flexing in front of the mirror. The only time I’ve ever seen him look in a mirror is when he gets up in the morning to wash his face.
I walk in front of him, blocking his way and moving slowly enough to make him annoyed. I can hear his grunts of frustration, and I revel in the aggression I’m building. The angrier he is, the more likely he’s going to fuck me like he just got out of jail.
Finally, when we’re at the door, he physically grabs me by the ass and moves me out of the way. I giggle, stumbling into the doorframe like he pushed me.
“Don’t exaggerate,” he says, chuckling as I pretend to be injured.
“You pushed me.”
“You were in the way.”
