"Your mother will hunt us down."
"True." Finally, reluctantly, he pulls out. I feel the immediate loss, followed by the sensation of his cum starting to leak out.
He pushes the cum back in, and then brings his fingers to my mouth. "Taste us."
I shouldn't. It's dirty and wrong and I open my mouth. Let him slide his fingers inside. Taste the mixture of him and me together.
"Fuck. You're going to be the death of me." He kisses me hard, tasting himself on my tongue. "Come on. Shower. Before my mother breaks down the door."
***
The kitchen is pure chaos.
Yelena is at the stove cooking what looks like enough food to feed an army. Dimitri is at the table with coffee and a newspaper. Anya is cutting fruit. Natasha is sitting on the counter eating a cookie for breakfast. There are other people too, cousins and relatives whose names I don't remember.
The smell of eggs and coffee fills the air. Christmas music plays softly. Sunlight streams through the windows, making the snow outside sparkle.
It's perfect. Like a Christmas movie.
Except this is the Russian mafia, and I'm here because I was kidnapped.
The conversation stops when we walk in.
"FINALLY!" Yelena abandons the stove and pulls me into a hug. "I think maybe you sleep through breakfast! Come, come, sit! You must be hungry!"
She's not wrong. I'm starving.
Konstantin pulls out a chair for me, then sits beside me close enough that our thighs touch. Yelena immediately starts piling food onto my plate—blini that smell like heaven, eggs, sausage, fruit.
"Eat, eat! You are skinny! My Kostya needs to feed you better!"
"Mama, she's perfect," Konstantin says.
"She IS perfect! This is why she needs good food! To stay perfect!" Yelena beams at me. "You sleep well,devochka?"
I choke on my coffee. Konstantin's hand finds my thigh under the table, squeezing.
"Very well, thank you," I manage.
Dimitri raises his coffee mug at Konstantin with a knowing smirk. Anya rolls her eyes but she's smiling too.
"So!" Yelena sits down with her own plate. "Today we decorate tree! Is tradition—everyone helps, we drink cocoa, we make beautiful!"
"It's actually really fun," Anya tells me. "Even though Yelena has very specific opinions about ornament placement."
"Is not opinions! Is art! Is proper way!"
"It's dictatorship," Dimitri mutters.
"I HEAR YOU!"
Everyone laughs. The conversation flows around me—warm and chaotic and overwhelming in the best way. People ask me questions about where I'm from, what I do, how I met Konstantin. I stick to the sanitized version.
After breakfast, everyone migrates to the living room. The Christmas tree is massive—easily twelve feet tall, standing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the snowy grounds. It's already strung with lights but not yet decorated. There are boxes of ornaments everywhere.
"Okay!" Yelena claps her hands. "Jemma, you help Natasha with the bottom branches, yes? And Kostya, you are tall, you do the top!"
For the next hour, I decorate a Christmas tree with the Russian mafia.
