Crash into Me: A BWWM Russian Billionaire Romance (3 page)

When he looked around, it seemed that there was another bar off to the side, servicing the people hanging around near the couches and loveseats of the lounge area. Deciding that he didn’t want to wade through the dancefloor and all the people on it, he made his way over to the less crowded bar and found a stool.

The bartender here was a pretty brunette woman with hazel eyes and a tight black shirt with the name of the club emblazoned across the chest in light blue letters.

Considering how large her chest was, it was good advertisement as far as he was concerned.

She passed a drink to someone further down the bar and then turned to smile at him. “What can I get you?” she asked.

Alexei gave her his best winning grin. “Well, now, that depends,” he said, letting his accent stand out. Women were always intrigued by it, and he had a good idea of who he wanted to end up going home with that night. “How is your vodka?”

The bartender grinned back, eyes lighting up. “I thought that was just a stereotype. Russians and vodka, I mean.”

“Perish the thought,” he replied. “We take our vodka very seriously. There are two things you should never keep from a Russian man.”

“Really? Just two.”

“Only two that matter,” Alexei said. “The first is a very pretty girl and the second is good vodka. And since the first is already here in front of me, now all I need is a good vodka.”

He was gratified to see her blush, and just like that, he knew how the night was going to go.

As it turned out, it didn’t go exactly according to plan.

His plan had been to flirt with the pretty bartender (“Camille,” she’d said), until the end of her shift and then proceed to taking her back home with him or accompanying her back to her place.

The flirting definitely happened, and she was definitely receptive to it. So much, in fact, that they ended up not making it to the going home part. When Camille took her break, she had looked furtively around and then motioned for Alexei to follow her.

He’d done so, and been surprised to find himself pressed against the wall in what appeared to be a supply room.

Before he could suggest that they move to a more appropriate location, she was kissing him and practically tearing his shirt out of his pants, so he decided to just go with it.

After all, she was very pretty.

She kissed like someone who knew what she wanted, all lips and teeth, biting down on his lower lip and sucking it into her mouth, humming with pleasure when his hands slid up her back.

“Don’t rip anything,” she panted. “I still have to go back out there.”

“Likewise,” Alexei said, and he pushed his hands up under her shirt, displaying her breasts, cupped in dark purple lace.

“Touch me,” she breathed, and he obeyed, grabbing twin handfuls and then dragging her bra down over the mounds of her breasts to display her dusky nipples. Dipping his head, he licked one and then bit it lightly, enjoying the soft intake of breath that was the result.

They didn’t have a lot of time for foreplay, but they kissed a bit more. Camille got his shirt open and touched his chest in return, grinning when her hand slipped down to his crotch to palm the rapidly growing erection there.

He bucked his hips into her hand with a low moan and then groaned when she pulled back. Of course, he didn’t have to wait long before she was moving over to a table in the back of the room, shimmying her pants down just enough that she could spread her legs a bit and show off her pert bottom and wet sex.

Alexei didn’t want to think about how many times she’d done this before or how many times this room had been used for similar activities. He didn’t want to think at all, actually. That was the point of this. He wanted to let go of all of his family drama and sadness and just enjoy himself. By looking at what was being offered to him, he was sure there wouldn’t be any issues there.

Without wasting anymore time, he buried himself inside of her, gritting his teeth at the tight heat that engulfed his length as he pushed in.

Camille muffled her moans with her face in her arm and bowed her back in more, leaving no room between them.

It was a glorious sight, and Alexei took hold of her hips and set a quick, hard rhythm, their skin slapping together every time their bodies met. It was fast and dirty and
good,
and by the time the hot pleasure was ready to explode out of him, Alexei’s head was gloriously clear.

Chapter 2: Coping

It had been nearly a week since the funeral, nothing much had changed at all. His sister still wasn’t speaking to him after their confrontation. His mother was still being dramatic. Alexei was in his bed in a tangle of sheets with a redhead, nursing a hangover that made him want to swear off drinking all together; even though everyone who knew him (including himself) knew that was never going to happen.

He was face down in his pillows trying to remember the redhead’s name so he could tell her to leave because he didn’t do mornings after; when his phone vibrated on the night stand against an empty glass, producing a buzzing sound that made his head ache.

“Just kill me now,” he mumbled into the pillows, sighing with relief when the phone stopped buzzing.

Of course that relief was short lived, as the phone started up again two seconds later, and he wanted to throw himself into a lake.

“Your phone is ringing,” said the redhead, and Alexei rolled his eyes. Apparently he hadn’t been thinking very clearly when choosing who to go home with the night before because he never did like people who spent all their time stating the obvious.

“I’m aware,” he said dryly. “Leave, please.”

“Excuse me?” She untangled herself from the sheets and from him and frowned. “I haven’t had breakfast or coffee or anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t do all that,” Alexei replied, flapping a hand at her. “Out.”

She huffed and got out of the bed, stomping around the room as she hunted for her clothes.

The phone started vibrating for a third time, and Alexei swore and snatched it up, not bothering to check and see who it was before he answered. “What? What is it? What in the name of God’s green, though rapidly turning brown Earth is so important this early in the morning?” he snapped.

“Is that how you speak to your mother?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “You never call my cell, Mother. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Is that not why they created that screen that tells you who is calling?” Veronika asked, voice dry and clearly annoyed. “Furthermore, it is after eleven in the morning. You should have been up hours ago.”

“Why?” Alexei asked, watching the redhead as she pulled on her pants and enjoying the shapely curves of her hips. Maybe he’d been hasty in telling her to leave. After a conversation with his mother, he was definitely going to need some stress relief.

But she was grabbing up her things and slamming his bedroom door on her way out, so he figured that was probably just a dodged bullet.

“Because you’re not an invalid,” his mother replied. “And what was that noise?”

“Just someone leaving, Mother. What do you want?”

Veronika sniffed. “Some streetwalker, I presume? That’s a filthy habit, Alexei, and your father would be appalled if he knew.”

“Just doing my part to help the economy, Mother,” Alexei said, gritting his teeth and ignoring the part about his father. It was too soon for them to be using his late father against each other, but his mother never did play fair. “And she wasn’t a streetwalker. Who even says things like ‘streetwalker’?”

“Never mind that,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“Not on the
phone.
I only called your cell because Vera said you were more likely to answer that than your landline.”

“Did she?” Alexei asked, unsurprised. Yep, seemed like Vera was still upset with him.

“Yes, she did. Now, I want you to come over for dinner tonight so we can talk.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Mother, I can’t. I have things to do tonight. Plans have already been made, and it would be horribly rude of me to back out of them.”

“I don’t want your excuses, Alexei. I am your mother, and I am telling you that I want you to come over for dinner tonight. Whatever
hoodlums
and thugs you have plans with tonight can see you some other time.”

“Hoodlums and thugs?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what kind of people you spend your time with, Alexei. Your father would be turning over in his grave if we’d buried him to know the way his son spends his time and money.”

“Can we not do this?” Alexei cut in. If left unchecked, his mother would build up to a rant, and his head was already aching from the conversation as it was.

“Do what?” Veronika snapped.

“This thing where you tell me I’m a disappointment to the Alexandrov name or whatever. I get that already, and to be honest, I have a headache the size of Russia, and would like this conversation to be over as soon as humanly possible.”

His mother was silent for a long moment and then she sniffed. “Dinner will be at seven sharp, Alexei. I’ll see you at six.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that it was absurd to expect him a full hour before dinner was even going to be served, but she had already hung up, leaving him muttering to himself as he dropped his phone on the floor and flopped back into bed.

Fine. If that was how she wanted to play it, then fine.

Alexei pried himself out of bed and headed down the stairs from his bedroom to make coffee and breakfast. He’d need it if he was going to have the energy to get through the rest of the day.

His parents’ manor was a bit ridiculous as far as Alexei was concerned. When they’d moved from Russia, he’d been eager to shake off the way they had lived before. He had gone and gotten himself a very nice penthouse apartment in the city. His parents, on the other hand, had apparently loved the drafty halls of the near literal castle they’d lived in back home, and had sought something nearly the same when they’d moved.

The house here was smaller than the one in Russia, and less elaborately furnished, but it was also emptier, which just seemed silly to him.

His sister still lived there in her own wing of the house, and there was a wing that was for him, as well, but he never stayed in it.

The whole house was sprawled out over the grounds, a gleaming concoction of brick and glass that went up three floors, complete with balconies and a couple of turrets. The lawns were elegantly manicured, trees and flower beds and grass alike all groomed and pruned within an inch of their lives to the best effect. It all looked lovely, of course, and yet Alexei was always wary every time he set foot on the grounds here.

He parked in the large garage, sighing when he glanced over at his father’s collection of cars. Most of them didn’t even get driven, and now they never would. His mother didn’t even know how to drive, and it made him sad to think about the cars sitting there just gathering dust.

But he shook that off and got out of the car, heading into the house.

“Good evening, Mr. Alexandrov,” one of the maids said as he walked in, bowing and holding out her hands for his jacket. “Your mother is waiting for you in the Rose parlor.”

“Thanks, Thalia,” he replied, handing it over and then rubbing a hand across his face. He hadn’t bothered to shave before he left his place, and he knew what he looked like. Eyes slightly bloodshot, dark circles under them, hair barely tamed.

He’d put on a nice pair of slacks and a blue button down shirt and that was just going to have to do.

His shoes tapped on the marble floors as he made his way to his mother’s favorite parlor. Along the walls were portraits of their family, and he paused in front of the one of his father.

Everyone had always told him that he was the spitting image of Oskar, and Alexei could see it. They had the same eyes, dark brown, almost black, in the same shape, even. They both had the mop of black curls, though Oskar’s had been going grey quite rapidly since he’d turned forty. In the portrait, his father was younger, maybe thirty or so, and he stood straight and proud, head held high, a fur cape over his shoulders as he looked directly at the camera with his usual stern expression.

Alexei smiled more than his father did, which was a big difference, he thought, and where Oskar had been wide and bulky, he had a slimmer frame. When he was younger, Alexei had wanted to be just like his father, but somewhere along the line that had all changed, much to the displeasure of everyone in his family.

“Sorry, Father,” Alexei murmured softly.

“You’re late,” answered a sharp voice from up the hall, and he looked up to see Vera standing there.

“It’s not even five after yet,” he said as he started walking again.

“You’re late, and you’re wearing
colors,
” Vera sniffed.

Alexei rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Mother will survive. It’s just one color, and it’s not even that bright.” The blue of his shirt was dark enough that it was almost black, after all.

Vera shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you? Everything’s on you now, Alexei. Mother has been through a lot these past few days, and you’re not making this any easier for her.”