Last Gift

Last Gift

Jen Frederick

Jessica Clare

~~ * ~~

To our fans – happy holidays!

Daisy

N
ICK
WATCHES
THE
CARS
HEADING
down the side street of our apartment building. It’s unusually busy, and I can tell it’s making him tense. It’s evident in the stiff set of his shoulders, and the way he ever so gently bends down the mini-blind so he can peer out on the snowy streets, unnoticed. When his hand brushes at his waist as if looking for his gun, I realize just how on edge he is.

I lick my fingers and put aside the Christmas cookie batter I’m making, and move to his side. “Nikolai,” I say softly. “What is it?”

He looks over at me, beautiful eyes dark with worry. “It is nothing, Daisy.”

But I know it’s not nothing. Every inch of his body is telling me that it is something. So I move to his side and peer out the window, trying to see what he sees. There are cars in the street, moving slow, but it’s to be expected. In the distance, there are Christmas lights covering every inch of the nearby buildings, all sparkling and pretty. I see nothing unusual, but I am not an assassin, so perhaps I am missing something. I turn to Nick. “What is it?” I repeat.

He nods at the window. “Many cars. They slow on this street. They watch something.”

I blink for a moment, and then laugh. “Of course they watch something. They’re slowing down to look at the Christmas lights.” I point at the nearby buildings, festooned with green and red and white lighting. There’s even an animatronic nativity that I passed by. It’s garish, but still impressive. “I imagine it’s parents taking their kids out to see the decorations.”

His shoulders relax a little. “
Da
? Is tradition?”

I nod firmly and link my arms around his waist. “Tradition. Nothing to be worried about.”

His breath exhales slowly, and his hands rub my back. “I still think like hitman.”

He does. I imagine it’ll take time for that to work out of his system. My Nick needs a distraction. “Do you want to get in the car and go drive past the lights?” Nick gives me such a disgruntled look that I laugh despite myself. “That must be a no.” I snuggle against him, loving the slow, possessive feel of his touch as his fingers skate down my back. “What Christmas traditions do you have?”

“I do not celebrate.”

This surprises me. I pull back and look up at him, puzzled. “Not at all?”

He shrugs. “You forget my upbringing.”

I do. My face immediately softens in memory. My poor Nick, brought up since childhood by the
Bratva
, raised to be a killer. Any kindness or softness he might have known before me was all an act, something he paid someone to do for him. The
Bratva
trained him to be an assassin; they did not train him to be a normal man.

I was foolish to ask. How could I not know the answer? It’s there in the way his hands have tightened around me. He realizes he is missing a vital part of a normal life, and it bothers him. It is another missing puzzle piece, and he wants to be whole for me.

I feel cruel for asking. I will distract him, instead. I am good at distracting. “I think we should get some mistletoe for our apartment.”

“
Da
?” His voice is musing, almost playful, and it makes me feel achy with need. I love it when Nick is playful. “You wish to hide underneath and surprise me with kisses?”

“Parts of you with kisses,” I agree breathlessly, and my fingers go to his belt. He stiffens again, but when I go down on my knees, his fingers caress my jaw with such love that I ache inside. I unbuckle his belt and pull it free, and by the time I tug down his zipper, he’s erect underneath his jeans and hard at what I’m suggesting.

I slide his clothes down his thighs and his cock pushes free, firm and beautiful and inches from my face. I am learning what pleases Nick as we live together. We practice a lot, I think with a smile, and I’m getting better at driving him crazy. I don’t reach immediately for his cock. Instead, my hands stroke back and forth on the thick muscles of his thighs, and I watch his cock jerk in response to my touch. There is a drop of pre-cum beading on the head, and I want to taste it.

I will, but not yet.

Nick’s hands are moving over my face, my jaw, my hair, frantically touching me but not wanting to interrupt what I’m offering. I know he loves this; it’s because he loves it so much that it gives me such great pleasure to do. I love pleasing Nick. I love seeing his face when my mouth is on him. This angle will make it almost impossible to watch his expression, but I will picture it instead.

Slowly, gently, I move my massaging hands up his thighs and curl them around his heavy balls. He groans as my fingers stroke them, and I feel his body twitch again. When another drop appears on the head of his cock, I lean in and lick both of them up, not wanting to lose that precious flavor.

My love makes a sound low in his throat, and it is beautiful to hear. “Daisy,” he breathes, and follows it with a nonsensical rapid-fire comment in Russian that I can’t make out. I’m taking Russian in one of my classes at school, but he’s speaking too fast for me to pick it up.
I close my mouth around the head of his cock, and my hand goes to grasp the base of him. Nick can stand it no longer. His hands tangle in my hair and then he’s pushing deeper into my mouth.

I loosen my jaw to welcome him, to take him as deep as I can, and moan deep in my throat when he thrusts into my mouth. He’s a little rough, but I love it. I love him losing control; it’s not something Nick does easily, and it’s not something Nick does around everyone.

But I love it.

Then he’s fucking my face, his cock thrusting into my mouth, the head pushing at the back of my throat, and I do my best to take him. He’s big, though, and I’m still inexperienced, and so when I pull away, my gag reflex working, he lets me. I cough a little, and then give him a faint smile to let him know I’m okay.

Nick takes his cock in hand, wet and gleaming from my mouth, and begins to rub the head of it against my lips, watching me with intense, fascinated eyes. I part my lips, feeling the hot, soft skin brushing against my own, feeling him glide the pre-cum on my face.

Then, he pumps himself hard in hand and he’s coming on my face, splashes of heat spattering on my cheeks, my mouth, my lips. I lick them, because he likes the sight, and I love the taste of Nick. So wonderful.

He groans at the sight of me, face upraised to him, covered in his come. Then, he strips off his t-shirt and begins to mop at my face. “You are too good for one such as me, Daisy, my love.”

“I love you, Nikolai.”

I’m rewarded by that intense satisfaction in his eyes.

I’m pretty sure I burned the cookies in the oven. I’m pretty sure I don’t care, either.

Tomorrow, I decide, I will go to a gun shop and look for the perfect present for Nick. Something dangerous and beautiful, just like him.

~~ * ~~

Nikolai

“Y
OU
SEEM
PREOCCUPIED
TODAY
,”
a soft voice on my right says to me. It is some girl whose name I cannot remember or, more honestly, a name I do not care to learn. She’s the interrupter. All she does is constantly interrupt me while I draw, while I dream. Today she has broken up my replay of last evening’s decadent lovemaking.

I try not to be angry with her. Perhaps she has no Daisy in her life, no one whom adores her and she adores back. Another person would feel, I suppose, sympathy because of her lack so I try not to scowl at her. Daisy would tell me to be polite.

“I am occupied with thoughts of my beloved,” I tell the interrupter. There. That is polite. I smile at myself. Daisy would be proud of me. I will tell her of this later when I pick her up from class.

Thoughts of my vehicle turn my smile into a frown. We are driving a rental because we have fierce arguments over the type of vehicle I want to buy for us, for Daisy really. I want to buy a Maybach with armored sides and bullet proof windows. Daisy screamed when she looked up the price for one on the internet. I think it is just the right price but her face was like a little thundercloud when she shook her phone at me, the one I have bought her.

She tells me she cannot drive yet because she has no license and unlike lingerie or fur coats, I cannot buy her one. She must take a test. I tell her she drives fine, but she demurs. Public transportation is fine, she says. There are buses that can take us everywhere, not to mention the train that runs from the interior of the city out to the suburbs.

Public transportation would be fine for me, but not for Daisy. There are other people who could touch her and even harm her.

It is perhaps paranoia, as she calls it, but I think it is just good sense, like leaving the house with a small revolver in my boot or Ka-Bar knife in my backpack. I have only a few tools of my former trade in our apartment—some of them are known to Daisy. Others I have failed to tell her about, such as the handgun in the closet and the one in our kitchen and the one I have taped under the front hall table. I will not leave Daisy undefended but I know she would feel uncomfortable with all the firearms. She asks, “where are all your guns, Nick?” and I tell her sadly “There is gun in nightstand and I have this small one.”

This is not a lie; more like not bothering her with unnecessary details. I am in charge of protecting my sweet Daisy so that she can give me all her tender love. I smile to myself, happily lost in the dream of her once again. I pick up my pencil and begin anew.

“Your beloved,” I hear the interrupter say. “That’s so old fashioned but sweet.

“Yes, sweet.” What would Daisy have me do? She would want me to smile at the interrupter. Daisy smiles at everyone. I try to smile at the interrupter. Is her name Patty? Dotty? Kitty? I cannot recall.

“You’re very devoted, aren’t you?” I finally look at the interrupter. Her dark hair is curled and lies in waves around her shoulders. She has very long eyelashes, like the legs of a spider. I think some would think she is attractive, but she looks nothing like Daisy. “What’re you giving her for Christmas?” she asks.

Giving her for Christmas. The words strike a chord in me and I slowly turn toward the interrupter. “Giving for Christmas…?”

“Yeah, I mean, she’s your beloved so you’re getting her something, right?”

I nod. Yes, I am, I think. Gifts for Christmas. Beaming at the interrupter, I ask, “What would you like, if you could have anything?”

She blinks at me and places a hand over her chest. “God, what I wouldn’t give for a guy like you to be so over the moon over me. Where’d you two meet?” Spiderlashed lady sets her face on one of her hands and moves closer to me. I’m uncomfortable by her nearness and by her strange eyelashes. I may draw these in my next work, giant long-legged wisps of black, like whiskers on the eyes.

“We meet…” I trail off and think of what Daisy would like me to say because the truth is that I spy on Daisy while researching a hit, a kill. I know Daisy would not want to me to tell the truth. “We meet in coffee house.”

“Your accent is just delicious. Do you have any brothers?” Flick, flick, go the eyelashes.

“Nyet, no brothers. No siblings.” I check the clock. Our time in class is almost up and I have not yet completed my project. Sighing, I begin to pack my things so I am not late to pick up Daisy. Last time I lingered overlong speaking with the professor about the darkness in my sketches and how I needed to incorporate lighter shades. By the time I arrived at Daisy’s campus, there was a horde of males surrounding her. At least two or three. Daisy says she is making new friends and so I hid my dismay.

“Well, if you and your girlfriend ever want to hang out, you should call me. Want my number?”

At first I shake my head in the negative, but Daisy would like more friends…so perhaps yes? “Da, you write it down for me.”

“Just give me your phone and I’ll put it in. “

I frown, unsure of whether I should do this, but then think of Daisy’s laughing face when she was talking to the other students. I hand over my phone, the public one—not the one I use to text Daisy. That phone has private images and private texts that no one should ever see but me.

The girl smiles at me and the legs of the spider flutter up and down. Once my phone is back in my hand, I see her name is Callie. “Thank you, Callie.” I hold out my hand to shake hers. She looks at it strangely and then shakes her head.

“You’re an odd duck. A hot one, but odd. Good thing I like odd.” She takes my hand and squeezes it tightly, holding on a little too long. “God, your hands are so big.”

My hand looks normal, I think, holding it up in front of me.

She laughs. “You’re so literal!”

“Thank you,” I say and try to bring her attention back to the Christmas gifts. “You are a woman, Callie,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “So nice of you to notice.”

Of course I notice. I notice everything. “Yes, I notice.” Impatiently I continue, “You like Christmas?”

Her eyes light up. “Who doesn’t?”

“What is it you like the best?” I ask. Traditions are important to Daisy. I want to start our own traditions.