Okay, hey there. Just a little note from the author here: In the movie, the Bourne Supremacy, the super sexxi Karl Urban plays Kirill, the Russian assassin, well in the movie I have noticed that all of his lines... are in Russian, unless I have missed someithing. So writting this fanfic, I have decided that the conversation between the OC and Kirill will be in Russian. In the fanfic, i will not be doing: "jsdhsadjh" he said in russian. "jshfjhdjfs" she replied in russian for the whole damn thing, so just assume that every conversation that Kirill and my OC have is in Russian unless it says otherwise. It gets annoying and I appriciate the time you took to actually read this!

Love you all (XOXO),

FreeNightFall28

Sighing heavily to herself, the brunette waitress picked up the plates from the customers that had just left the restaurant. She took the plates to the kitchen and into the back where Stefan, the dish washer, smiled when she brought the plates to him. She then walked back to the empty table. The waitress tucked a piece of her curled hair behind her ear. She started to clean the table with the rag that hung loosely on her white apron.

The restaurant, Oleg's House of Russian Cuisine, was owned by the well known Oleg Jakovia, an immigrant from Moscow and was located in the area of London occupied by Russian and Ukrainian folk. It was the best Russian restaurant in London, England, not only because of the food or the atmosphere, but because of what Oleg allows in the underbelly of the restaurant. In other words, Oleg's restaurant was a popular hangout for the Russian mafia and other secretive organizations. FBI, KGB, Secret service… you name it, they hang at Oleg's.

Oleg's son, Mikhail, helped run the restaurant along with his father. Mikhail was known as the 'swinger' of the Russian mafia as he was the one who loved to party. He was spotted at local whore houses, sleeping with only the prettiest Ukrainian girls. He was often seen at the bar, drinking vodka or whisky, whatever suited his fancy, and Mikhail was usually drunk by eight o'clock PM. Mikhail was the 'typical' Russian. He had ear length blonde hair and gorgeous sparking blue eyes. Mikhail was tall, with broad shoulders, a thin waist, long legs, and high

cheekbones.

Rebecca was born the daughter of an important Russian gangster, Pavel Gretkov, as Rebecca's mother Rosa (a Latino woman) died from cancer when Rebecca was only nine. Rebecca's brother, Dmitri, was also an important Russian mobster and he was even a member of the vory v zakone, or a special branch of the mafia. Rebecca had long, dark brunette hair with hazel eyes; only a small glint of green was detectable, hardly the definition of hazel, but Rebecca truly didn't care. She was medium height for her age of twenty-five years old. Her body was seductive with its healthy and natural curves; her breasts rather large, larger than most girls that walk the streets. And because her mother was Hispanic, Rebecca's skin wasn't as pale as other European woman, but it was more olive-toned or a light tan-ish. She was smart, both book and street smart, so she knew how to handle herself with all of the gangsters who stepped foot inside the restaurant.

After she had finally finished cleaned the table, Rebecca tucked the rag back into her apron and she brushed her brunette hair off her shoulders. She looked around; the restaurant was a barren eatery. There was one couple, an elderly couple, sitting in the back booth near the entrance to the kitchen. They had already eaten and now they were simply enjoying wine and each other's company. Rebecca glanced down at her wrist (technically, her watch) and she read the time: it was about three o'clock in the afternoon.

A loud crash behind the main door signified the arrival of Mikhail. Within moments, the tall blonde had entered the restaurant with a black haired, Ukrainian woman attached at his arm; giggling, laughing, and exchanging words in Russian. They stumbled over to one of the vacant tables near a painting of a wolf on the left side of the restaurant and took a seat. Both where mildly drunk and to be honest, the woman looked like a prostitute by her outfit and the large amount of make-up plastered on her face.

Mikhail whistled and he snapped his fingers at Rebecca. She turned around since her back faced the two and she walked up to the table casually. She said nothing as Mikhail spoke.

"I want a bottle of vodka, one shot glass, and one regular glass filled with red wine. You got that?" He slurred in Russian.

Rebecca nodded. "Of course Mr. Jakovia." She replied in Russian as well. Turning around, Rebecca made her way to the bar and she told Anton, the bar keeper, what Mikhail ordered. A few moments later Rebecca returned to the gangster's table where she set the bottle of alcohol and glasses down before the two buzzed customers. "Will that be all, sir?"

Mikhail took his glass and poured himself a shot of vodka. He grasped the small glass and he threw his head back, taking the drink and swallowing it quickly. He made a sound of refreshment as he looked at the bottle with a drunken smile on his pale face.

"That's good fucking vodka," He laughed. After he finished laughing, Mikhail looked up at Rebecca and he examined her body quite temptingly. A smirk replaced his drunken smile. The woman at his side was too preoccupied by the wine glass she had in her manicured hands "Are you free tomorrow, Rebecca?"

Rebecca's eyes wondered away from her boss' son as they found themselves staring at the red carpeted floor. "Yes, sir, why do you ask?" She inquired innocently.

Mikhail clicked his tongue against his teeth. "My cousin, a very persuasive young fellow is flying in from Moscow to see me and he will be staying here for a while before he decides what to do with his life. His plane leaves soon and he will arrive here sometime early tomorrow morning. Will you be willing to serve him and show him a good time tomorrow evening?"

"You mean… like escorting, Mr. Jakovia?" She asked cautiously. She was unsure about what Mikhail truly meant by his words. She smiled to shield her suspicions.

Mikhail lips twisted into a pout and he shrugged his shoulders. "You could say that. I just want you to serve him whatever he wants here at the restaurant and then give him a little tour of London. You know- show him the clubs and such. You will get paid for your service, of course." He smirked greedily.

Rebecca's smile disappeared and was substituted with a frown. His last statement had fully cleared whatever subtext Mikhail had in store for his words; the meaning behind his intents. Rebecca bit her lower lip. "What if I say no?"

Mikhail's eyes narrowed as he growled. Rebecca gulped as she realized her mistake. Mikhail grabbed the wine glass from his guest's hands, banged it against the table until a sharp shard remained, and he chucked it at the waitress. Rebecca raised her arms in front of her face to protect it as the glass shard made contact with the skin on her forearm, slicing into the delicate skin. Rebecca let out a yelp of pain as shard pierced her arm and the blood oozed out from the wound.

"You stupid whore," Mikhail roared in Russian as he stood up and towered over the brunette waitress. He grabbed her wounded arm and squeezed it roughly, making tears stream down Rebecca's face. "You will do as you're told and I am telling you, you will escort my cousin and show him a good time or your name will appear in the obituary, you got that?"

Breathing jaggedly and licking her dry lips, Rebecca nodded. "Yes sir, I'm sorry." She cried.

Mikhail let go of Rebecca's arm and sat back down. "Good, now get her another glass of wine."

"Of course." She said as she walked back to the bar.

Anton looked at Rebecca and shook his head. "You shouldn't let that punk treat you like that."

"He's the boss' son and he's a part of the mafia, he can practically get away with murder without being suspected."

"You should tell Oleg that he abuses you like this."

"I can't, its Mikhail's word against me. Who do you think Oleg will believe his trusted son or a pathetic waitress?"

Anton raised his eyebrows and gave Rebecca a glass of wine for the Ukrainian hooker. "You are not pathetic, Rebecca. People just don't appreciate you like I do." He said, placing his giant hand on top of Rebecca's head and tussling her head as if she were a child. "I'll clean up your arm once you're done serving that prick, okay?"

"Sure," She muttered under her breath as she picked up the glass and brought it over to the table where Mikhail and his whore sat. Mikhail spat some words at her as she sat down at another table, waiting for Anton and his magical first-aid kit.

He came over within moments with the small, white box in his giant hands. Slowly he opened it and took out the tiny bottle of alcohol and a cotton ball. He poured some alcohol onto the cotton ball and he gently placed it on the top of the cut on Rebecca's arm. She winced suddenly as Anton began to clean her wound. It stung slightly, but nothing too bad. After Anton was finished cleaning the wound, he took the long roll of gauze and he wrapped a thin amount around her forearm where the cut was located. Then, Anton pinned the gauze closed; he placed all the items back onto the box and he shut it until it snapped into place.

"There you go, good as new." Anton smiled as he stood from his seat and walked briskly back to the bar.

"Spasiba," Rebecca thanked the bar keeper in Russian. She received a nod from Anton, a sign of acceptance. Sucking on her lower lip, Rebecca remembered what Mikhail had told her and what she would be doing the next day. She hoped she didn't have to sleep with him, but knowing Mikhail he probably had already told his cousin about her and what she was forced to do. Sighing, Rebecca ambled over to the elderly couple in the booth near the back.

***

The next day Rebecca was at work wearing her regular uniform: black mini-skirt, white top, white apron, and nametag with her notepad and pen tucked inside of her apron. It was Thursday night and the restaurant barely had any customers, as usual. On the weekdays the restaurant rarely had any life to it besides the one Russian couple who needed to get out of the house for a change. The weekends, however, were as lively as a nightclub. Families from all over London would come to Oleg's and have a fun time. Authentic, Russian musicians came in and played the violin and sang in their language. The little girls usually danced with each other or with Oleg and Rebecca would occasionally join in, as Oleg had suggested she try to be more involved with the restaurant besides just waiting on the customers.

Thinking to herself as she sat at an empty table, she began to grow nervous for what the night would bring her. She did not even know Mikhail's cousin's name and already she became weary for their meeting. She was not a whore, so the thought of getting money to show a guy a 'good time' was a very foreign thought and feeling to Rebecca. She was uncomfortable already. She just hoped the night would end quickly.

Glancing down at her watch, she frowned. It was six o'clock. Looking around the restaurant Rebecca noticed there were more customers tonight then there was the previous three nights. The food here at Oleg's was phenomenal and the aura of the eatery was tantalizing, it's just at this time money was tight and people didn't like the idea of spending it on unnecessary things.

Suddenly the sound of Oleg's mighty laughter roared through the restaurant, causing Rebecca to glance behind her. She saw the owner, tall with his large beer belly protruding past the waistband of his pants. He wore a black suite with a red tie, the same shade of red that matched the carpet. There was also a man that stood in front of Oleg. This man was young, with either dark brown or black hair, Rebecca couldn't tell in the dim lighting. He was skinny, but had broad shoulders and, like Oleg, he was tall and high cheekbones.

Rebecca watched as the two men talked amongst themselves for a few minutes. The young man was very stoic looking, with very little emotion noticeable on his youthful face. He simply nodded whenever Oleg spoke and occasionally his own mouth would move to the words as they made a conversation. The man glanced away from Oleg as his eyes fell upon Rebecca who was watching the two men intently. Once Rebecca noticed that the man had looked over at her, she turned her head away and stared at the wall opposite of her; her face burned slightly as a blush spread across her cheeks. She then got up to clear a table that was located only a few feet from where she sat.

Sometime later, Oleg had led the man to a table stationed next to Rebecca. In Russian, Oleg told the man that he would be back in a moment. The man sat quietly as he waited for Oleg to come back from wherever he went off to. Turning his head, the man noticed the waitress that was staring at him and Oleg earlier. His eyes studied the brunette girl as she was bent over the table slightly, trying to clean the far end of the surface. His eyes traveled from her arms to her face, her pretty and clear face. From her face, his eyes traveled down her chest and to her legs which were strong but elegant looking underneath her black mini-skirt.

"You, young one," The man called to the girl in Russian. Rebecca turned her head to look upon who called her. When Rebecca didn't budge from her location he pointed at the table. "Come here," he ordered nonchalantly.

Rebecca did as she was told and she approached the table. "What is your name?" He asked.

"Rebecca."

"And your surname?" The man asked.

"Gretkov" The waitress answered.

He casually turned his head to the side. "So you are Russian."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "You doubt my heritage, sir? Well, I am Russian."

"Your skin tells me otherwise." He replied, turning his head back to look at Rebecca.

"My father is pureblood Russian. My mother was Hispanic."

"Is that why you are tan and not pale?" He questioned.

Rebecca avoided his stare. It wasn't until she looked away from the man had she realized that he had dark green eyes. "Yes, that is why. That is why my hair is brunette, not blonde. That is why my eyes are hazel, not blue. I'm sorry my features do not meet your standards." She looked at the man's own physical appearance and she nodded at him. "What about you? You have dark hair and a different set of colored eyes; you don't even meet your own standards."

The man sighed. "There are rules to the Russian way," he stated bluntly, "our kin has blonde hair and blue eyes. But there are some exceptions to the rules. Since we do not comply with the rules, we are the exception, you and I."

Rebecca bit her lower lip as she reconsidered the stranger's words. What he said made her question her first impression of him. "Are you going to order something or can I get back to my job? I have no time for idle conversation, sir."

There was a moment of silence before the man answered. "Two shots of Vodka, please."

Rebecca nodded and made her way to Anton. She told him what the stranger had ordered and he chuckled lightly. She asked him what was so funny and waited for his retort.

"Do you know to whom you were talking to?" Anton asked in English, a change of language since he noticed her whole conversation was in Russian.

"Just a customer," The waitress replied.

Anton chuckled again, this time his tone was husky. He handed me the two small glasses of

Vodka to Rebecca and he nodded towards the man. "That's Kirill Jakovia. He's the boss' nephew and Mikhail's cousin. Didn't he tell you he was staying for a while?"

At that moment Rebecca's eyes had widened. She realized that he had just rudely talked back to the one guy she was suppose to make happy. She closed her eyes and let out a groan. "Mikhail told he was coming in, but he forgot to mention his name or what he looks like. I thought that was a regular customer, not the nephew of the boss." She retorted. "What do I do?" She asked anxiously.

"I would start off by giving the man his drink."

"That's a good idea." She said and grabbed the two small glasses. She walked over to the table where Kirill sat and she set the two glasses in front of him. She folded her hands together and held them behind her back. "I apologize if I sounded cross before, sir. It was my mistake and it shall not happen again." She told him in Russian.

Kirill pointed at the empty seat in front of him, gesturing the waitress to sit down; she did. He then glanced over at Rebecca and he grasped one of the shots. "That was not necessary, your apology, but it was a smart move on your part. I presume you now understand who you are talking to, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you want anything to drink?" He asked suddenly, taking Rebecca off guard. "My treat," he added as he drank his alcoholic beverage.

"If you are paying, then no, for I do not take what I cannot get myself."

"My cousin has given me a great amount of money, not only to pay for your service but for whatever little things you may want: food, drink… whatever you need." Kirill's voice sounded dangerously irritated.

"I am not a whore," Rebecca pronounced confidently. "I am not to be paid for and then fucked like a pathetic prostitute you would find on the streets. I will not have my dignity torn to shreds just because your cousin thinks he owns me."

Kirill studied his unfilled glass, not paying attention to Rebecca. There was silence lingering between the two Russian's for quite some time. Rebecca began to grow uneasy. Had she upset him? Was he as temperamental as his cousin? She didn't want to find out. He took his other glass of Vodka and drank it, this time slowly, letting the alcohol slid down his throat before swallowing.

"To talk to me like that, you must be the bravest girl I've ever met…" Kirill's calm voice trailed off as he set his half-empty glass onto the wooden surface of the table, "or the stupidest."

Rebecca didn't know what to do, or what to say for that matter. She gazed at his youthful face and watched as Kirill stared at her, both studying the other for some time before Rebecca tore her eyes away from Kirill's. He smirked at his own accomplishment.

"So, are our plans ruined for the night?" He asked abruptly.

"What plans did you have in mind?"

"Just to go out, enjoy the night air. Walk around and sight see, that's all I ask for."

"Nothing more?" Rebecca asked hastily.

"Nothing more," Kirill reassured coolly.

Rebecca thought for some time. She was unsure if she could rely on this man she did not even know. Thinking for some time, Rebecca finally spoke. "If that is what you want, then fine, we can still go out. That is, if you are still willing."

"Get ready; I want to leave within ten minutes." He ordered indifferently. "How long will you take to redo your make-up and such?"

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe ten minutes or so-"

"Well you have five." He said emotionlessly.

Rebecca got up from her seat and briskly walked to the back of the restaurant where a door was located. She opened it and ran up the staircase the lay behind the entrance. It led to the apartment-like environment area upstairs above the restaurant where Rebecca, Mikhail, and Oleg all lived in separate apartments on the same floor. Mikhail occupied the room right next to Rebecca's while Oleg's was across the hall from the two youths, but still there were two apartment areas that where unoccupied by people and remained empty. She ran to hers, grabbed the keys from her apron, slid the appropriate key into the hole and unlocked her apartment door; she went inside and she changed out of her uniform, except for her mini-skirt.

She went to her closet and pulled out dark purple long sleeved, V-neck shirt and slipped it onto her body. She went to her dresser and grabbed a pair of black tights. As she tried to put them on quickly, she hopped over to the closet once again and searched for her purple leg warmers and black heels. When she had put on her leg warmers and heels, she made her way to her small, but cozy bathroom. She reapplied her dark, black eyeliner and applied some clear, shiny lip gloss on her luscious lips. Once that way done with, Rebecca opened her drawer and picked up a bottle of hair spray where she uncapped it and sprit zed some into her hair to keep the curls intact during the night. Looking at her reflection in the mirror and thought that she was presentable, she hurriedly walked into the front room, grabbed a light black jacket and rushed out the door and back down the stairs.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs and closing the door behind her, Rebecca saw that Kirill was waiting for her in foyer of the restaurant. He wore a black trench coat and his back was facing Rebecca. She lightly tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around to face her, Rebecca slid his arms through the long sleeves.

"You ready?" She asked.

He nodded and opened the door, holding it for Rebecca. She thanked him and walked out into the chilly, London night. Kirill followed behind her. He tugged on a pair of leather gloves over his rough looking hands.

"So," he spoke suddenly, "where do you want to go to first? You are the one who lives here, you show me the way."

Rebecca thought for a moment and looked at the street signs that hung above her head. Without thinking, Rebecca gently grabbed Kirill's arm and began to pull him down the sidewalk. "I know this marketplace just south from here, it has a lot of cool things there and all of the shop keepers are really friendly. I'd think you'd like it and besides, maybe you'll find something you'll like, something you can take back to Moscow when you return home."

"What if I do not return to Moscow?"

"Well then you can remember this little trip you took with me."

Kirill looked down at the brunette woman, who was at least a foot shorter than him, as her words echoed through his mind. She seemed less hostile than she did when they first met not thirty minutes ago. He liked the change. In order for Kirill to get what he wanted from Rebecca, she need to be one hundred per cent comfortable being around him.

Only five minutes had passed when the two young Russian's made it to the outdoor marketplace. The whole street acted as one giant store with a multitude of smaller shops, each having little trinkets from wherever the shop keeper had originally hailed from. There where tiny knick-knacks from Russia, Mexico, Germany, and Spain. There were also knick-knacks from more exotic countries like New Zealand and Australia.

The night was relatively warm for an October night in London. Rebecca watched as Kirill took a special interest at the Spanish shop. She walked with him, with her still holding onto his arm, to the wooden counter where Kirill examined a miniature, clay figure of a Spanish flamingo dancer. The figure was wearing a frilly, bright pink dress and a matching pink rose in her hair which was tied up in a bun. In one hand the dancer held a fan and in the other she held the end of her long dress. The figure looked as elegant as the real thing.

"Do you like the figure, Mr. Jakovia?" Rebecca inquired politely.

"You can call me Kirill." He said taking Rebecca off guard suddenly. "It's nice," He replied quietly, referring back to the figure.

"Well then buy it for yourself."

"I do not want to waste my cousin's money on an insignificant doll."

"Well if you like it, it's not insignificant, now is it?" Rebecca's grip on Kirill's arm tightened, but it was still gentle.

Kirill glanced down at Rebecca who was looking up at him; a small and tender smile was spread across her lips. What she said made sense to him. It was simple, but it was meaningful. He reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"How much for the doll?" He asked the cashier.

The man shook his head and said something in Spanish. Rebecca looked at Kirill and saw the confused expression on his face.

Rebecca then asked the man how much the doll was is Spanish. The man responded and Rebecca turned to the man beside her. "What kind of currency did Mikhail give you?"

"English pounds,"

Rebecca continued, "Good, he said the figure was four English pounds."

Kirill took out the appropriate amount and paid the man. He grabbed the clay figure, wrapped it in some bubble wrap, and placed the securely wrapped model into a plastic bag. The shop keep handed the bag to Kirill who took it as Rebecca thanked the man in Spanish.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish." Kirill exclaimed as they continued down the street.

The smile remained on the woman's face. "Well now, you know." Her voice was not aggravated or irritated, but soft and sweet. "My mother taught me, right before she died…"

Rebecca let go of Kirill's arm as her voice trailed off. She ambled over to the Ukrainian shop where she looked at small ornaments and pendants of various decorations. He noticed that she took a particular interest in a silver coin pendant. Kirill Stood behind the brunette woman and observed the diminutive adornment. Rebecca took a glimpse at the man behind her, but he paid her no attention as his eyes scanned over the coin locket. It was sterling silver with an engraved image of St. George, the dragon slayer.

"It reminds me of home," She whispered lovingly, her eyes dancing over the silver charm.

"Do you want the pendant, Rebecca? I'll buy it for you if you want it. " Kirill suggested as he still towered over the brunette waitress. She noticed it was the first time he has said her name.

Rebecca shook her head, but Kirill could see the disappointment shimmer in her hazel eyes underneath the artificial lighting. "No, I said earlier that you are not going to spend money on me. I intend to keep it that way."

Kirill sighed in annoyance. "You obviously want it, why do you deny me like this?"

"Because," Rebecca snapped suddenly, "I've already had a man pay for me once and I don't want it to happen again."

Kirill was confused by her words to a certain extent but he shrugged it away. Again, the Russian man reached into his pocket at pulled out some money.

"How much for the pendant in my friend's hand?" Kirill asked the Ukrainian woman in Russian.

She told him the price as Rebecca tugged at Kirill's coat. "I said no, Kirill!" She whispered angrily at him.

He nudged her away lightly and paid for the pendant. The Ukrainian woman packaged up the tiny necklace, placed it in a velvet box, and handed the decorated paper bag to Kirill who placed the package into his coat pocket since it was small enough to fit inside of there. Rebecca thanked the woman but then glared at the man beside her.

"Did you not hear a single word I just said?" She barked at him, only causing him to smile slightly.

"I did, but you can't see a good deed when it is done." Kirill was silent for a moment before he turned to Rebecca. "What did you mean when you said that the pendant reminded you of home?" He asked, intrigued for what answer Rebecca might provide for him.

"I was born in the Ukraine," She honestly said. "My parents and I lived there until my mother died when I was nine; we moved here after the funeral. The charm just reminded me of the jewelry my mother use to make for extra money. And then when I was old enough I worked for your uncle at the restaurant. He took care of me when my own father couldn't, I owe him a lot."

Kirill grabbed Rebecca by the arm lightly. She whipped herself around to look at him when he spoke suddenly. "Are you hungry?"

Rebecca shook her head as her face softened, despite she was lying. "No," she said calmly, trying to persuade him otherwise. He nodded his head- the lie worked. Rebecca smiled to herself as they continued down the street.

For the next few hours, Kirill and Rebecca walked down the streets of London. They passed by numerous shops, restaurants, and areas of entertainment as the sun had fallen to the east. They talked a little, but it was better than nothing. They had finally made it to the street on which the restaurant was located. Rebecca had sighed, but it was one of relief. They night was coming to a closing. Part of her did not want the night to end for the man was attractive and absolutely intriguing, but the other (more sensible) side wished it to end already.

Upon walking down the sidewalk side by side, Kirill had noticed a gang of hooligans that he had recognized. They were, like most people in this area of London, Russian- but these youngsters had created their own gang and own set of laws to live by. Kirill noticed the way the younglings looked at Rebecca's body with unholy eyes. Jealousy grew inside him and as the gangsters approached, Kirill grabbed Rebecca by the waist and pulled her until she was in the curve of his body; he glared at them with eyes of warning, as if telling them to back off. The gangsters snickered nervously and breezed past the two slightly older Russians and continued on their way.

Rebecca looked up at Kirill with confusion hinted on her face. "What was that all about?" She asked causally.

"They were looking at you with lust tinted in their eyes. I could see their sick intentions behind their fixated orbs."

The brunette girl smiled and placed one of her hands over Kirill's. "Spasiba," she whispered.

Half-way to the restaurant Kirill couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Rebecca by the shoulder and threw her into the closest ally and followed her in. She looked at him with eyes of fear, but when he looked at Kirill, there was no harmful motivation behind his plans. He gently set his bag with the Spanish figure down on the pavement and then pinned Rebecca to the brick wall of the alley, the neon lights illuminated both of their faces. Kirill then pressed his firm chest to her breasts, his groin gently brushing up against her own sensitive, southern area. She moaned feeling his manhood tease her womanhood through the materials of their clothing. Kirill leaned in, but did not kiss Rebecca. His lips hovered over hers for a few seconds as he watched the woman opposite of him close her eyes and her mouth part slightly. After a moment, his lips touched her soft ones as they kissed. The kiss was dominate, it was demanding, but above all it was passionate. Kirill bit down on Rebecca's lower lip as she had done to herself all night long, tasting her before breaking away from the kiss. His own lips trailed over to her ear.

"Let's take this back up to the apartment my cousin has so graciously let me stay in for my little visit." Kirill whispered huskily; he kissed the area behind her ear as Rebecca sighed with pleasure.

"Where's that?" Rebecca whispered back.

"Above the restaurant, the same place you are currently living."

Rebecca's eyes shot open as the words spilled from Kirill's mouth. "So you're staying in one of the unoccupied apartments?"

Kirill nodded as he stepped away from Rebecca. He grasped her wrist and led her out of the alley and down the street towards the restaurant. When they reached the giant oak doors, Kirill opened it and let Rebecca slid in with the man following behind her. Apparently, there was a special party being held because there was a large group of people sitting at conjoined tables in the center of the restaurant. The customers ate, drank, and gabbed as a musician played the viola and a young woman sang a song.

Kirill nudged Rebecca and held her hand. She looked up at him and he continued to lead her towards the back of the eatery. He opened the door and practically dragged Rebecca up the stair case. Reaching his apartment, the one across from Rebecca's, Kirill unlocked his door and pulled Rebecca inside.

Once the door was shut and locked up again, Kirill peeled off his trench coat along with his suit jacket. Rebecca followed his lead and slid her black jacket off, throwing it on the couch. Kirill did the same with his garments and placed the bag with his Spanish figure onto the table beside the couch.

Without warning, Kirill picked Rebecca up and threw her over his shoulder. She smiled and giggled lightly as he carried her over to his room. The room was simplicit to say the least. The walls were painted red with random and various pictures that hung on them. The floor was wood with a Persian rug in the center, the bed ending about an inch away from where the rug lay. He set her down lightly.

"You don't know how bad I want you right now." Kirill muttered sensually.

"Show me then," Rebecca retorts, attaching her lips to his jaw line. He growls and slams her into the wall of his bedroom, pressing his body against hers and attacking her collarbone with his lips and teeth. She moans and tilts her head back, giving him better access, while her hands travel down his body and start unbuttoning his shirt. She pushes his shirt off of his body and he steps away from her briefly to pull her purple top off. He takes a second to sweep over her body appreciatively.

"Black lace," he observes, "my favorite." He presses his body to hers again and takes her lips with his. He lightly nips at her bottom lip to gain entrance; she opens her mouth slightly and his tongue slips in to dance with hers. As they're kissing, her hands are running all over his well-muscles chest, lean stomach, and strong back, just to feel his skin and to reacquaint herself with each and every part. He slides his hands up her arms to her shoulders and moves them slowly down her body, caressing every curve. After awhile, they break apart, gasping for breath.

Rebecca smirks at him and moves away. She runs her hand down her body to her tights and skirt and slowly strips them off, sliding them to the floor. He watches hungrily as her skirt slides down to reveal the matching black lace bottoms. She sits on the bed and slowly moves backwards to the top, lying back and propping herself up on her elbows.

He takes a moment to examine and memorize the love and lust-inspiring vision in front of him. Her hair is wildly fanned out behind her and her breasts are voluptuous, practically spilling out of their lacy, black containment. His eyes move over her flat stomach, to her hips, and finally down her long, toned legs. "Beautiful," he mutters distractedly, as his eyes return to her face. She smirks and quirks a finger in his direction, beckoning him to join her on the bed. He returns her smirk and slides his pants off to reveal black silk boxers. He watches her eyes sweep over him appreciatively, pausing over the large tent in his boxers. He slides the boxers down and off before crawling up the bed towards her, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Once within reach he sits back on his feet, towering above her, his eyes watching her reactions carefully. She gasps lightly as his fingers trail lightly up her calves, dancing up her thighs to her hips. He smirks slightly and grips her hips, suddenly pulling her body the short distance to his, her legs on either side of him. He leans down; gaze locked to hers, and places his lips just below her bellybutton. She gasps and arches slightly into him as his tongue darts out to trail lightly upwards. He moves up her stomach, trailing light, feathery kisses along the way. He pauses just below her breasts, his hot breath washing over her sensitive skin, and briefly gauges her reaction to him thus far. She is breathing quickly, her pulse obviously accelerated substantially in anticipation, as her chest heaves slightly. He touches his lips lightly to the valley in between her breasts and flicks out his tongue, dragging it slowly up towards her neck. He is rewarded with a throaty moan and her supple body arching up towards him. He leads a trail of hot kisses up her neck, pausing slightly at her ear.

"I've wanted this," he whispers huskily to her, "seeing you come undone beneath me. You have no idea how incredibly gorgeous," he places a kiss below her ear, "and sexy," he lightly nips her earlobe, "you are." He trails his lips down her jaw to her lips. He leans over her further and presses his lips fervently to hers, drawing her tongue out to dance with his. As their lips mold to and move against one another, his hands slide upwards from her hips, fingers following the same path as his lips had previously, her goose bumps and shivers trailing behind. He slides his hands over her shoulders, along her back, and to the clasp of her bra, swiftly undoing it. He sits back on his feet, leaning his upper body over her, and slides the straps off of her shoulders and down her arms. Smoothing his palms across her heated skin along the way, he slides the bra off her arms completely and throws it somewhere behind him. His heated gaze travels over her once again, taking in her perky breasts, now freed from their lacy containment. "Utterly perfect," he mutters, hands trailing up over her sides and coming to rest on her breasts, fingers lightly kneading and playing with the already hardened nipples. She gasps, arching unconsciously, and actively pushes herself up into him.

"Kirill," she moans his name aloud as her center brushes against him, sending a shock of pleasure straight to his aching cock.

"Rebecca," he growls, leaning down towards her and capturing her lips. As he slips his tongue into her mouth, he slides his hands down her body to her hips and slowly lowers his body to rest on hers, carefully settling his hips onto hers. She gasps against his mouth, arching into him as his hardened member, placed over her panties, presses into her mound. He smirks against her lips and slips his hand around to her lower back, gently arching her up further and pressing her more firmly to him. She moans lightly into his mouth and he grins against her lips once more before gently releasing them. He locks his lusty gaze with hers for a moment.

"Do you feel that?" He asked her seductively. She nods and he shifts his hips, pressing himself into her again and causing a moan to escape from her lips. He lifts his other hand to her face, gently cupping her cheek and gaining her lust-filled attention once more. "That, my dear, is hours of desire," he practically growls, kissing her behind her ear, before speaking into it, "want," he kisses the side of her neck, bringing his face back to hers, "and need." He hungrily possesses her mouth, roughly pulling away with an audible 'smack!' "All for you," he explains huskily. "Do you want it?" He asks her, shifting his hips against her and causing his member to slide sensuously down her panty-clad clitoris. She moans loudly and immediately arches her body up towards him, gripping the sheets and practically cumming on the spot. "Darling," he says almost mockingly, his deep voice drawing out the word teasingly. "I asked you a question," he teases mercilessly, "do you want it?"

"Yes," she replies breathlessly. "Please," she pleads desperately, driven by the need for gratification. A slow smile spreads across his face and the fire in his eyes nearly triples upon hearing her plea. He leans down to her again, attaching his lips to hers. He caresses her skin as he slides his hands down to her hips. He moves his hips a short distance from hers, slipping a hand in between them to cup her mound. He swallows her moan as she grips his shoulders, nails digging slightly into his flesh. He smirks against her and, as his lips continue engaging hers, trails his fingers once down her panty-clad slit before slipping underneath. She tears her mouth from his, moaning loudly as his fingers caress her drenched folds.

"So wet," he murmurs lustily, leaning away from her and moving his hands to her hips to play with the waistband of her panties.

"Kirill," she moans, frustrated. He grins playfully and slips his fingers under the lacy material, slowly dragging her panties down her shapely legs, pulling them off and throwing them somewhere to the side of the bed and onto the floor. He turns his attention back to her, a feral grin gracing his features. She shivers in anticipation as his predatory gaze meets her eyes.

Holding her attention, he drags his index finger down her dripping slit and slides it inside her, slowly pumping it in and out. She moans blissfully and her hips buck slightly. He adds another finger, still pumping them at the same slow pace, in spite of her moaned pleas for more speed.

As he adds another finger, a shudder runs through her body. "Please Kirill," she pleads, "I want you inside of me. We both have been waiting much too long for this." He nods slightly and withdraws his fingers, moving towards her and closing the distance between their hips. Placing the head of his swollen member at her entrance, he slowly slides into her, his groans mixing with her moans as their bodies meld together. He pauses for a moment, relishing the feel of her surrounding him. He slowly slides out and thrusts, just as slowly, back inside her, the feel of her walls enveloping and gripping him inch by inch emblazoned upon his senses.

"God, how good this feels," Kirill chokes out, struggling to maintain control over his slow and steady movements. Rebecca bucks her hips upwards to meet him as he thrusts into her.

"Rebecca," he groans as a shiver of pleasure runs through his body.

"Let go, Kirill. I want you to," Rebecca practically begs him, "I need you to." She leans upwards, placing her lips close to his ear. "Fuck me, Kirill. Fuck me with reckless abandon. You can see how much I want this," she whispers seductively into his ear, her lips brushing softly against his earlobe and her hot breath flowing sensuously across his skin. She leans back and smirks at him, challenging him. His eyes darken considerably, the feral, lusty gaze entering them once more. He smirks and slowly pulls out of her until just barely the tip of his member remains within her. He pauses dramatically and she inhales an anticipatory breath, her eyes gleaming excitedly.

Suddenly, he slams back into her, sheathing himself completely, and leans down to roughly bite her collarbone. She moans loudly as he sets a pace of slow, but forceful thrusts, pulling out of her almost completely, tantalizingly slow, and then immediately slamming back into her. He groans as her walls grip him tightly. As he pulls out of her, he runs his hands down her hips to her thighs and then back to her hips; he grips her hips and roughly pulls her to him as he slams back into her, the force of the thrust rocking the bed against the wall. As he increases the speed of his thrusts, he releases the grip on her hips and supports himself with his hands on either side of her head, allowing him to penetrate deeper and faster.

"Rebecca," he groans. She throws her head back, bucking into him, and wraps her legs around his waist, pushing him even deeper, as he thrusts wildly. Sweat begins to form on both of their bodies as each barrels closer to climax.

"Kirill," Rebecca moans, "Mm, I'm so close. Don't stop." She bucks her hips into him desperately. She matched his thrusts and grips his shoulders. He thrusts into her relentlessly with renewed vigor, the slamming of the bed into the wall simply making background noise.

Rebecca's body suddenly tenses and a strangled cry hoarsely erupts from her throat as she is catapulted into the throes of orgasm. Kirill groans as her walls contract around him and he continues to thrust into her. With a low grunt, he stiffens suddenly and cums deep inside her. He continues to thrust into her, riding out both of their orgasms, before slowing and then stopping completely. She is still shaking slightly from the after-effects of her orgasm as he gently pulls himself out of her. She arches slightly at the pleasurable friction before relaxing back down onto the bed. He lies to her side and brushes the back of his hand along her face, before sliding his arms around her and pulling her tired body into his. Rebecca grabbed a handful of sheets and was able to maneuver them from underneath their bodies and over them until they rested on their waists.

"God, that was good." Kirill whispered into her brunette locks.

Rebecca simply smiled and laid her head upon his chest. "That was more than good, that was amazing." She was slightly out of breath.

Kirill glanced out the window for a moment before looking down at Rebecca. His arm that was wrapped around her neck gently stroked her hair. "Earlier, when I bought you that pendant, you said that you have had one man pay for you and you didn't want it to happen again. This man, does him name happen to be Mikhail, my cousin?"

"Yes," Rebecca muttered. She closed her eyes and let her free (and movable) hand travel to Kirill's stomach where her delicate fingers dancing over his tender skin. "I've known your cousin since I was about eleven years old. I grew up in this restaurant. Growing up, I thought I had fallen in love with your cousin and so, one night when we were much older, I had sex with him. The next morning Mikhail kicked me out of his apartment and threw a twenty dollar bill at my feet. I don't think I was ever as heartbroken as the moment he called me a whore. Now I have an instinctual hate for him even as I fear him."

"Well," Kirill kissed the top of Rebecca's head, "I am not my cousin."

Rebecca smiled as she was reassured. Within a half an hour, the two Russian lovers fell asleep.

***

Kirill, due to his jet lag, kept waking at random times during the morning. He woke up at one AM to find Rebecca still asleep in his arms. This surprised him to a great extent. For every woman he had slept with, paid for and otherwise, they had always seemed to leave him in the middle of the night. They would just get up, get dressed, and leave Kirill while he woke up to an empty bed.

He went to sleep and then woke back up at three AM, and then again and five AM, and then finally at nine AM. Each time we awoke he found something quite interesting. Rebecca was still in the same position she was when they had fallen asleep hours ago, in the curve of his body with one of his arms wrapped around her neck and another over her waist. But each time he awoke, she seemed to inch closer and closer to his body until she was practically on top of him. It was a new experience to him when she remained with him the entire night.

He smiled to himself when she yawned the next morning. She kissed his chest and looked up at him, he responded by kissing her forehead. They remained silent, keeping the moment for themselves special. Rebecca slid away from Kirill's warm body and sat up, brining the bed sheets up to her chest, covering her breasts. She bent down and grabbed her purple shirt that lay on the floor. She slipped it on, without putting on her bra, and searched for her panties, which were under the bed (somehow).

Kirill, without getting up from bed, reached over the edge and grabbed his button-up shirt. He pulled it on and buttoned only the last three buttons. Rebecca finally found her panties and put them on; she then sat back down on the bed, running a hand through her brunette hair. She watched as Kirill put on his boxers and black pants. He seemed quite different from when she first met him. He was emotionless and acted like a drone, but now he was more sentimental.

Kirill looked around his room until he realized he had left something in the front room. "I'll be right back," he said, glancing over at Rebecca.

She nodded as he walked passed her and exited the room. She waited patiently and it wasn't long before Kirill returned with his trench coat. He reached inside, but was unsuccessful in finding whatever it was he was looking for.

"I hope this won't be a one time thing..." Kirill's voice trailed off as he continued to search the the item in his coat pocket.

Rebecca's heart sank as she understood what he was searching for. Kirill lied to her the night before: he was exactly like his cousin. She was enraged.

"I told you once," she spat in disgust, "I am not a whore so you can keep your damn money!"

Kirill turned around to face her. He saw the tears that had streamed down her cheeks, staining them. Rebecca lowered her head and avoided eye contact with the man. Kirill walked over to Rebecca and crouched down in front of her. He placed two fingers underneath her chin and lifted her head to look him in the eyes. He saw that her hazel eyes glistened with sorrow. He removed his fingers from Rebecca's chin and opened up the package that he had grabbed from his coat pocket. He picked up the chain and showed Rebecca the pendant that he bought her from the Ukrainian shop the night before. He unclasped the hook and reached around her head. He re-hooked the chain and pulled her hair away, resting in on her shoulders. Rebecca stared down as the pendant hung from her neck. She reached up and lightly touched the silver charm with a small smile. She looked up at Kirill as one more tear fell from her eye.

Kirill leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I never called you one," he whispered and kissed Rebecca on the lips.

Rebecca held back a sob and wrapped her arms around Kirill's neck as she rested her forehead on his shoulder. "Spasiba," she muttered, letting her fingers caress the skin on the back of her lover's neck.

"Pozhaluysta," he replied as his hands rested on Rebecca's hips. She pulled her arms away slightly and leaned in, kissing Kirill passionately.

Translations:

Pozhaluysta: You're Welcome

Spasiba: Thank You