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Around four in the afternoon, she appeared, bundled in a coat, jeans and boots. She bounced down the stairs of the front porch and out onto the sidewalk. I considered driving up and asking her to get in the car, but figured that would scare her. So I got out of my car into the frigid winter temps and hurried to catch up. It took me three blocks, but when I caught up, it was worth it.
She glanced at me, scowling then shoving her hands in her pockets and looking down at her feet. “What?”
“Can we talk?” I put my hands in my coat pockets and fell into step with her, though she didn’t really respond. At least she wasn’t running away. That was a plus.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the other day. What you heard was not my plan for the city. I was only agreeing with Liam to prove just how stupid his plan was. When you left I laid into him.”
She glanced up at me and then turned her face back down. We continued walking for a moment in silence. Her measured breathing came in puffs of crystalized air. The traffic around us was a backdrop for the ice-cold tension between us, drowning out my thoughts. I wanted to pull her into my arms and hold her safe again, so she knew how I felt.
“This way,” I said, gesturing. I knew of a place we could talk that was far more private than the street corner, and she followed my lead.
“My father will never change, Leo. Our families will stay at war as long as he is living. I may have even ruined my chance of taking over for him.”
I heard the emotion quivering her voice. “I’m so sorry, Anya. Please, let’s go in here and talk.” The small hostel I led her into had been my home away from home at one time, back when I was barely older than her and trying to make it as a capo. Her eyes held a glimmer of attraction as she looked up at me then the marquee over the door.
“A hostel?” I opened the door and she walked in without questioning me again.
“Let’s just talk.” As I strolled through the small entryway, past the desk, the owner looked up from his magazine, a loud box and tube television playing the evening news. He nodded at me knowingly and acknowledged his nod.
“Room 6.” His grunt was all the approval I needed. So I took Anya by the hand and led her to the third floor, opening the door for room six and guiding her in. I shed my coat and hung it on the back of a chair, and watched as she strolled to the glass sliding door that led to a balcony, from which the view of the city was limited.
“You really don’t want the families at war anymore?” She stared out the window as I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm myself.
“I told you I’d never lie to you and I meant it.”
It wasn’t the Rockaway in Queens but at least it had a working heater, and somehow they had managed to keep the carpet in the hostel clean despite all the snow and grit on the ground outside. I watched Anya press her head against the glass as it fogged up with each breath almost hiding the snow-covered balcony behind the frosted glass. I could picture Anya on a good day standing naked on the balcony, her ass firm against the concrete with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop. This girl could be a centerfold; she was that good looking. My eyes ran around the room, searching for a way to break the ice, and get her to loosen up to me.
I scanned the aged room, after turning up the thermostat to something more comfortable. My eyes skimmed across the old TV set with the DVD player mounted below and a select few DVDs, really showing the hotel’s age. It was a room, and that’s all that mattered. I walked over to Anya, her breath continuing to fog up the glass, almost like she was making a game of it.
I could see the soft smile on her face as my arms wrapped around her, removing the winter jacket she had on. “Hey, you’ve seen Titanic right?” I asked, seeming it was fitting for a literal icebreakerandone of the DVDs on the shelf.
“Yeah, what are you hinting at? You be Jack and I be Rose, and we fuck in someone’s car then you draw me naked?” She turned and a smirk crossed her face. I chuckled at her brevity.
“I have a better idea,” I said, grabbing her top and pulling it off. She wasn’t wearing a bra again, but with a chest like she had, she really didn’t need too. I picked her up as she turned, shocked by my sudden movement. It had been too long and the separation too great. We needed this—Ineeded this.
Her smile and the way she chuckled told me I had her, that she believed me. She tugged the hem of my shirt and pulled it off and threw it to the floor. As she did, I dropped her onto the bed. “I’m not the best artist, so I won’t insult you with my drawing skills, but fuck… Your body is a fine piece of art. I tugged her jeans and panties off, dropping them on the worn carpet before shedding mine.
Anya positioned herself on the bed and posed, resting her head on a hand, propped on one elbow. “Well, if you can’t paint me like one of your French girls, you can at least take a photo, but if you show anyone. I will personally kill you, Leo.”
I reached for my phone and snapped a photo, then tossed it aside and climbed up onto the bed. She spread herself for me, and my fingers searched her out. She arched her back and gasped as I rubbed at the bumpy spot on the inside of her pussy. She reached up and grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my head down to meet hers, and kissed me. She bit my lip as I positioned myself between her knees, then lifted one of her legs and pressed into her. My dick sunk deep into her, and I pressed hard against her insides, driving her into the sheets. She writhed around begging to be fucked hard, and I wasn’t going to disappoint. I leaned back and picked her up, her legs wrapped around my waist, and carried her across the room, setting her on the table next to the TV and pounded her into the wall.
Anya bit her lip, but I couldn’t tell if it was the cold air getting to her, or if she was just over the top horny, as her nipples hardened and stood as small peaks on her perfect body. I pulled out and looked at the hole where my dick just was and stroked myself as Anya stood up and touched herself, her cum smeared around my cock and her pussy. She pressed her fingers into herself then tasted them with a grin.
“Titanic you say,” she said looking at the fog on the window.
She slid her perfect ass from the table and walked over to the window and wiped her hand across the glass, leaving a huge handprint just like the one from the Titanic as she bent over. She pressed one hand against the glass and with the other, held herself open and invited me to finish what I started. “I want you in me,” Anya said coyly.
I pressed my dick against her ass as she looked out over the city, through the foggy windows and pumped had into her. I could see her hand forming into a fist as she grabbed hold of the curtains. Her knees buckled and she struggled to stand. I could feel her pussy squeezing me.
“Do it!” she gasped, her handprint now across the glass. I could feel it; I was about to blow and I slammed into her one final time. I could see her neck arch as if I had gone too deep. She smacked the glass patio door a few times with her palm then I stumbled backward, still inside her and pulling her with me back onto the bed. I knew it wouldn’t be long until the heat of our actions were replaced by the chill of the air, so I pulled the covers over us and lay there holding Anya, feeling her shake through her afterglow.
I had to convince her to remain steadfast in her pursuit of peace. That—or she had to come be with me.
There were no other alternatives.
11
ANYA
