“You definitely have a shot,” Ilya agrees. “But if anybody is mean to you, tell me. I’ll set them straight.”
The words make me smile. “No one’s going to be mean to me,” I tell him. “They’d let me down gently.” I pause, then add, “And all that would mean is more practice. Maybe I need to enroll in a music program. There’s this coffee shop that’s hiring, and between that and what I earn at the restaurant, I can probably make it work.”
“Mishka, I will pay for your program,” Ilya says sternly. “You don’t need to work more.” After a pause, he adds, “Unless you want to. I don’t mean you aren’t allowed to work.”
I can’t deny that it would be much easier to let him pay for the program for me, and the idea of being able to practice more instead of juggling classes and two jobs while still trying to findtime to spend with Ilya is appealing. “We’ll see what happens with the audition,” I tell him. “Then we’ll figure it out?”
I’m not likely to make a fortune playing, but it would augment what I do make already. Ilya already refuses to let me pay for more than the grocery bill each month, insisting that I put the rest into savings. With a little more income, I could earn enough to make sure that I’ll never be trapped again.
It’s such a change from how I’d been living under Adam’s thumb.
We make it back to Ilya’s condo, and Ilya carries my cello all the way back to what is now a music room.
He’d converted a whole room of his condo just for me, something that I feel warm about each time I think about it. It’s peaceful, and it’smine, my own sanctuary in a world that doesn’t give much by way of safe spaces.
I go to him and wrap my arms around him, leaning up to claim a kiss. “Do you really think I did well tonight? I still want to make a few changes to the piece I performed, but I think it would be good enough for the restaurant soon.”
“Your music is always good enough for the restaurant,” Ilya says. He leans down to return the kiss, holding me closely. When he breaks the kiss, he whispers, “I also have surprise…asurprise for you. It’s in the bedroom, if you’re in the mood.”
I tilt my head, studying him as I try to determine what it might be. Whatever it is, after the high of performing to such a response, I’m definitely in the mood. I nod. “Show me?” I say, taking his hand and letting him lead me toward the bedroom.
The comforter is arranged at the foot of the bed, with an extra sheet spread across the rest of it. In the center of it all lies a bright red rope, neatly coiled.
My breath quickens.
“You’ve been wanting to try something more elaborate,” Ilya says. “I’ve been reading and practicing.”
“Practicing?” I ask with a startled laugh. There’s a brief flutter in my stomach of jealousy, and I want to ask,with who?I don’t, though, not wanting to spoil the moment.
“Yes. On a mannequin. It was very accommodating.” Ilya lets out a laugh. “And Silvano helped me too. He made me tie the knots five times in a row.”
“He sounds like a very exacting teacher,” I say, the feeling of relief flooding me. I should’ve known that Ilya wouldn’t have done this on someone else, but even so, it’s nice to know. I take a deep breath, torn between excitement and anxiety. “Do you… want me to strip?”
“Yes.” Ilya kisses the top of my head. “Show me your beautiful body, Mishka.”
My stomach flutters strangely, but I start to strip for him. It doesn’t take long to shed my shirt, my pants, and my underwear, then I’m standing before him nude. I meet his eyes, melting at the emotions I see there.
He cares about me as much as I care about him.
Is it simply caring? Or is it something more?
I hold my tongue, but I hope that my expression conveys everything I’m feeling.
Ilya walks around me, lightly trailing his fingers over my skin. His touch is warm on my stomach, on my arms, and down the length of my spine. He stops to kiss the back of my neck.
“Gorgeous,” Ilya repeats. He huffs a small laugh. “I need to learn more English words, so I can praise you properly.”
“You don’t even need words to do that,” I tell him, my cheeks filling with color when I realize how cheesy it sounds. But it’s true. I feel praised and adored simply from his eyes on me.
Ilya chuckles again, then he gives my ass cheeks a quick squeeze. “Kneel on the bed so I can get to work.”
I hurry to obey, getting up onto the bed and onto my knees. I stay upright so I can give him plenty of room to work, my heartalready beating faster as I anticipate how it’ll feel to be utterly bound by him. “You aren’t tying me to the bed this time?” I ask.
“No.” Ilya takes the length of rope and folds it in half. It’s a lot longer than the last rope he’d used, and so much prettier. “I’m going to make a pattern.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure of what to make of that. I tilt my head, watching him as he handles the rope with confidence.
I trust him.
