Page 161 of Ruthless Rustanovs

Six days after the night of the wolf attack, Sola woke up just like she’d been waking up every morning since that harrowing experience…happy, with a sore pussy, and wearing her glasses.

The happiness she had no explanation for.

She was in the same situation she’d been in since she’d arrived at this house, but now she didn’t even have The Thirsty Wolf to distract her.

She was way too scared to leave the house at night after getting attacked by that wolf.

And it wasn’t like she could always count on being saved by her Russian captor.

Which brought her to the issue of the soreness.

She’d obviously been sleep masturbating.

Again. And though she’d had no proof that this latest round of masturbation had been brought on by the man who’d accused her of watching him six nights ago, she knew he had to be the reason she kept waking with her sex and breasts throbbing and sore.

Because of him, she must have spent most of the night with one hand deep in her pussy, and the other groping her own breasts.

And it wasn’t the first time this had happened. Scott had once angrily shaken her awake in the middle of the night after her loud moans woke him from a deep sleep. She’d obviously been pleasuring herself after a less than satisfying session with him.

It had been a pretty messed up way to have your boyfriend find out you have a sleep disorder.

And she’d had to think fast to come up with a plausible excuse.

She told him she’d wanted him again, and hadn’t realized what she was doing.

She pointed out that if she hadn’t been in a state of animated sleep, instead of putting on her glasses and pleasuring herself, she would have just reached over and asked him to have sex with her again.

Well, maybe…

Truthfully, as appealing as Scott was on paper—perfect face, perfect smile, perfect body—he left a lot to be desired in the bedroom. It was always missionary-style with no talking whatsoever. He didn’t believe in oral, and he only fingered her until she got wet enough for him to slip inside.

He had a pretty low sex drive anyway, often treating sex like something he needed to check off his to do list. Like: fifteen bicep curls, fifteen push-ups, fifteen minutes of sex with Sola.

Afterwards, he’d usually turn on the TV and watch a movie—like there, that’s over with, now let’s reward ourselves for a job well done!

Scott had some different notions about sex.

That they shouldn’t do it too much until they got married, because it really should be reserved for what nature intended: making babies.

But he was also a man, he’d explained to her when he first introduced the subject of her taking birth control so they could take their formerly chaste—at his insistence—relationship to the next level.

And he already knew she was the girl for him—even if they’d both given their virginity to others in what he’d called the “indiscretions of youth.”

So they’d begun a sexual relationship consisting of conventional sex with a little fingering to warm her up.

It rarely ended in an orgasm for Sola unless she was super horny, but she’d accepted the situation for what it was.

Mostly because she’d only been in her very early twenties when they’d first met.

She’d been young and na?ve and completely stunned that a pro football player would choose her, lowly Marisol Carillo, to be his girlfriend.

Also, as they say: cold pizza is better than no pizza.

To Sola, who’d never had a serious boyfriend before Scott, it hadn’t seemed like too much to put up with.

And though sex with him could be frustrating at times, she could usually hold out until he fell asleep at which point she would sneak into her bathroom with the battery operated boyfriend she kept hidden there in a drawer.

Or if she were staying at his place, she’d tide herself over with a glass or two of wine to ensure a deep, undisturbed sleep.

But the night she woke Scott with her moaning, she’d fallen asleep in front of the TV before she remembered to have her nightcap.

And that mistake resulted in the second biggest argument she and Scott ever had. No, she thought, remembering their last and final fight with a wince. Make that the third biggest.

Anitra had seen right through him from the very beginning. “I don’t care what everyone else says,” she said after that one disastrous dinner. “You deserve a hell of a lot better.”

Back then, she’d just folded her arms and said something vague.

She loved her best friend, but sometimes Anitra just didn’t get Sola’s situation.

For girls like Anitra, there was no pressure to find someone to marry as quickly as possible.

For girls like Sola, not so much. Unlike Anitra, Sola was a Dream Act student, and as life-changing as that program had been for her, it wasn’t a direct path to citizenship.

Scott had been her single best chance to gain legal status until his behavior became so intolerable, she just couldn’t see a future with him.

Of course Sola wasn’t a complete snake. She really had thought she loved Scott, and had hoped to spend the rest of her life with him.

Becoming a legal citizen was only a perk of what she imagined would be a wonderful future as his wife.

But then the hair episode had gone down and she’d been so happy not seeing him last semester.

Eventually, she’d come to see the writing on the wall as far as their relationship was concerned…

and she just couldn’t bring herself to use someone she disliked more and more each day for citizenship.

So she felt she was doing what was best for both of them when she tried to break up with him.

But that was when Scott, the perfect All-American football player, had shown her his true colors.

And Sola might be undocumented, but she knew she deserved better than that.

Better than Scott. Better than her captor, who was obviously only looking for someone to replace the hookers who could no longer drive up to the house thanks to the snow.

Yet here she was, waking up happy and relaxed after a night spent fingering herself over a guy who, wolf punch notwithstanding, had made it clear he was a total dick from the moment she’d first met him, at the door of a cell he was keeping her mentor and friend locked up in.

So why was she thinking about him that morning in bed? And later, when she took a shower? Wondering what it would be like to have him, instead of her hand, between her legs. Wondering what it would be like to run her palms over his chiseled body as she rode him—

Seriously, what is wrong with me?! she asked herself, cranking the shower spray nozzle to the right to cool the water temperature.

First order of business—a cold shower to clear her mind of sex she shouldn’t be wanting with Ivan, even if he had punched out a wolf for her. And then breakfast.

The shower was easy. Breakfast, not so much.

It was the week leading up to Christmas, and Gregory and Hannah had requested the entire week off, wanting to spend the holidays with their grown children and grandkids in town.

Sola completely understood why the couple would prefer to spend the holidays with their extended family rather than their grumpy Russian employer and the woman he’d taken prisoner.

But it meant she was on her own for breakfast. This wouldn’t have been so bad, except it also meant she actually had to leave her room after avoiding Ivan and her body’s reaction to him for six days straight.

It was just a peck on the cheek, she’d been reminding herself since the night of the wolf attack…but her body clearly hadn’t gotten the message. She felt a zap of sexual energy go through her at only one touch from him, and she’d been waking up feeling sore and happy ever since.

Sola crept down the back stairs and inwardly cheered as she dashed past the entryway with the Ivan-free armchair under the front stairs.

She rushed into the kitchen, seriously hoping he’d stay wherever he was hiding until she finished making breakfast. Something simple and super American, since she doubted Hannah had so much as a black bean in her pantry—

She stopped short, just inside the kitchen door, when she found Ivan inside said pantry, rooting around it, like a bear going after honey.

“Do not run away, I need you,” he called out, when she started to quietly back toward the door.

She stopped short again. “Oh, I wasn’t running away, exactly,” she lied.

Ivan only narrowed his eyes at her over his shoulder, making it clear he didn’t believe her.

“You will stop avoiding me now and help me find the cinnamon.”

Curiosity brought her further into the kitchen in spite of herself.

“Well, most people would put cinnamon on a spice rack, not in the pantry…”

She walked over to the large Viking stove and pulled down a big container of cinnamon from the collection of spices nestled in the heat-proof rack above the stove.

“What do you need cinnamon for anyway?”

“To make breakfast. I found a recipe on that box for caramel apple pancakes,” he said, indicating a collection of ingredients he’d placed next to a box of Bisquick on the butcher block island.

“Yum! That sounds good,” she said, her stomach all but standing up and cheering as she walked to the island to set down the cinnamon.

But then she took a good look at the ingredients he’d already gathered and frowned. “The recipe called for vanilla ice cream?”

“Yes, it said vanilla.”

She picked up the box and chuckled. “Um, actually it just asks for plain old vanilla.”

“Yes, plain vanilla ice cream,” he said, coming to stand next to her at the counter. “I have everything I need now.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. “So…how many times have you actually cooked before?”

He frowned down at her and grabbed the box. “Never. But how hard can it be?”