Page 53 of Cruel Russian Monster
“Okay, so I've got everything planned out for the next few days.”
I lifted a brow. “Go on.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, Vera ran through her five-day agenda of resort activities she wanted us to try.
When she was finished, she looked at me.
“Is there anything you want to add?” she asked.
“You mean add, or take away?”
She looked at me slyly. “No, I mean add. Because of everything listed, I will be doing. And knowing the type of man that you are, you won't letyour wifedo these things on her own, in a new place. Unless you don't mind my arms around another man's waist while jet skiing.” She smiled sweetly.
Hearing the term ‘your wife’ coming from Vera's lips activated every possessive bone in my body. Then, hearing her talk about her arms going around another man's waist unlocked an animalistic predator from within me. I knew she was baiting me, but I didn't mind.
“So, now you're my wife? I thought you were my hostage?” I asked with a smirk.
“A girl's gotta use them interchangeably to get what she wants.”
I chuckled. “As far as the plans go, I don't have anything to add.”
“Great!” she hopped up off the sofa. “The instructors will be here in…” she checked her watch. “Ten minutes. So go change.”
Fifteen minutes later, we stood on our private stretch of beach in life jackets while the instructors went through how to operate the jet skis.
I noticed Vera had slipped on her wedding ring. Not that it mattered, since one of the instructors was eyeing her like he didn’t give a damn that I was standing right there. He tried to be subtle about it, but by the way he kept adjusting his cock in his pants, he wasn't subtle enough.
Couldn’t blame the guy, though. Vera’s ass in those boyshort bikini bottoms had me two seconds from dragging her back inside and making sure those legs were locked around my damn waist.
After the instructors had finished, she walked over to me, grinning.
“Wanna take a picture together?” she asked.
I nodded. She handed her phone to the instructor, and we posed on the jet ski, my hand either wrapped around her waist or slanted across her chest.
After a few shots, she thanked him and took her phone back. Her fingers flicked through the images until she paused and shot me a look.
“Really? Not one smile, Jaroslav?”
“You asked for a picture,” I said, smirking. “Didn’t hear you say anything about smiling.”
She rolled her eyes and dropped the phone onto the beach chair, right on top of the towels we brought out.
Vera walked over to one of the jet skis and climbed on. I mounted behind her, my hand resting lightly on her hips, while one of the instructors took the second.
“You ever ridden one of these before?” I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Nope. Afraid?”
“Not even close.”
She started the engine, and it jerked beneath us. After about a minute, she got the rhythm, her confidence growing with each passing wave.
By the time we made it back to shore, Vera spotted a group playing volleyball on the public side of the beach.
“Let’s go join them,” she said, already heading over.
She asked if we could jump in, and they said yes. Then they decided to split the group: girls versus guys.
