Russian Teacher
RUSSIAN TEACHER
AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
_______________________
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 98
FLORA FERRARI
CONTENTS
Copyright
A Man Who Knows What He Wants Series
Russian Teacher
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Series
Newsletter
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2019 by Flora Ferrari.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
Book 1: Baby Lust
Book 2: Veteran
Book 3: Built
Book 4: Bambino
Book 5: Rescued
Book 6: Leader
Book 7: Professor
Book 8: Burned
Book 9: Worldly
Book 10: Pistol
Book 11: Policed
Book 12: Driven
Book 13: Lucky 13
Book 14: Lumberjacked
Book 15: Protector
Book 16: Carpenter
Book 17: Italian Stallion
Book 18: Gardener
Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin
Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 21: Cocky CFO
Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th
Book 23: Mechanic
Book 24: SEAL’s Secret
Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch
Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée
Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin Ballerina
Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 29: Veterans Day Daddy
Book 30: Cowboy’s Christmas Carol
Book 31: Police Officer’s Princess
Book 32: Statham
Book 33: Bodyguard
Book 34: Greek God
Book 35: Billionaire Single Dad's Babysitter
Book 36: Mountain Man
Book 37: SEAL’s Justice
Book 38: Royal Romance
Book 39: Doctor Mountain Man’s Special Delivery
Book 40: Crocodile Dan D
Book 41: Mountain Man’s Secret Baby
Book 42: Doctor Bad Boy’s Secret Baby
Book 43: Cop’s Babysitter
Book 44: Nanny for the Cop Next Door
Book 45: Small Town SEAL’s Saving Grace
Book 46: Cop’s Fake Fiancée
Book 47: Billionaire’s Nanny
Book 48: Cowboy’s Babysitter
Book 49: Steamy
Book 50: Brother’s Best Friend
Book 51: Possessive Professor
Book 52: Firefighter’s Babysitter
Book 53: Soldier’s Secret Baby
Book 54: Ward’s Independence Day
Book 55: Doctor Next Door
Book 56: Possessive Policeman
Book 57: Coached by the MMA Fighter
Book 58: Boss’s Babysitter
Book 59: Virgin in New York
Book 60: Rock Star’s Baby
Book 61: Possessive Protector
Book 62: Possessive Australian
Book 63: Best Friend’s Brother
Book 64: Possessive Cowboy
Book 65: Summer Romanced
Book 66: Possessive Prince
Book 67: Lovers’s Enemy
Book 68: Cop’s Best Friend
Book 69: Possessive Firefighter
Book 70: Football Next Door
Book 71: Doctor December
Book 72: Possessive Canadian
Book 73: Blue Collar Billionaire
Book 74: Possessive K-9 Cop
Book 75: Possessive Brazilian
Book 76: Hockey Obsession
Book 77: Possessive Boston Irish American MMA Fighter
Book 78: Halloween Next Door
Book 79: Possessive Russian
Book 80: Baseball Mine
Book 81: Cop’s Caribbean Captive
Book 82: Instalove Island
Book 83: Dad’s Best Friend
Book 84: Thanksgiving with Dad’s Boss
Book 85: Possessive Italian Neighbor
Book 86: Possessive Portuguese
Book 87: Possessive Christmas Cop
Book 88: Russian’s Obsession
Book 89: Possessive Doctor’s Christmas
Book 90: Possessive Parisian Pilot
Book 91: U.K. Boxing Day
Book 92: Jealous Russian Stalker
Book 93: Italian Mountain Man
Book 94: Aggressive Russian
Book 95: Possessive Valentine
Book 96: Possessive Hunter
Book 97: Dad’s Russian Mafia Friend
Book 98: Russian Teacher
Book 99: Australian Obsession
RUSSIAN TEACHER
When I walk in on my mom and my dad’s boss in my parent’s bed, my mom walks out…with half of everything we own, including the modest college savings my dad was working like a dog for eighteen years to save up.
Needing a fresh start, and a new job, he accepts the first offer that comes in, an expat package in Moscow.
Little did I know the biggest part of his benefits package would be the package on the Russian language instructor my dad’s new company hired to help us assimilate.
Back home I was always overlooked, but this sexy Russian can’t take his eyes off me. I tell him my lips should be learning how to pronounce these strange Cyrillic sounds, but he tells me his lips need to learn every curve of my body instead.
If my dad finds out our lessons consist of a little less talk and a lot more action, will he pull us out of Moscow for good? Or will my Russian teacher, who constantly has me screaming vowels, tell me there’s no pulling out…not now, not ever…making me his and filling me full of babies as he breeds me in the land famous for bears and borscht…forever?
*Russian Teacher is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
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CHAPTER 1
Nina
I jam my hands into my pockets and keep walking as fast as I can. I’m careful to keep my feet flat footed so I don’t catch a piece of black ice and fall, although I’m not sure what’s worse at this point…landing on my tailbone or spending another second out in this face-numbing wind and cold.
It’s my first morning in Moscow, and a big part of me is wishing it was my last too.
I have no idea how I’m going to make it here for three years, the length of the expat package my dad signed that brought us here.
I knew it was cold, but I didn’t know it was this cold. Then again nothing will compare to the ice in my mother’s heart. I can’t believe the audacity of that woman, having sex with my dad’s boss in the bed she and my father shared for the entirety of my eighteen years. I was probably conceived in that bed, and now she was using it to fornicate with the man my father despised, the one who did everything he could to keep him from being promoted, ensured he had the worst months for his annual two week vacation, and just generally made his existence a living hell.
But my dad tolerated it all, because he was doing it for me. The job paid pretty well, all things considered, and he was putting away a big chunk of his paycheck for my college fund. I loved him for that, and I hated my mom for wiping it out entirely, when she walked way with half of everything we owned. It’s not that she took all the money, but when my dad was forced to move out of the house, yet still pay the taxes on it, the car payments, the utilities…basically subsidize her life, the money disappeared real quick.
I was seventeen at the time, so my mom made out like a bandit, claiming child support and making all kinds of other demands, despite the fact that I would turn eighteen in another month. Eager to get her out of our lives, and stop the bleeding from our checking account due to the lawyer fees, my dad wired her the money with one click from his online checking account, and the next click immediately started checking job boards. When an opportunity to move nearly half way across the world from her popped up he took it without a second thought.
But right about now I’m sure having second thoughts about passing on those insulated gloves. I thought my winter clothe
s would be fine for Moscow. Not even close. There’s cold and then there’s this.
Trying to save money by walking, and not taking the metro, was probably a bad idea. I remind myself we have to pinch pennies for these first few weeks until my dad’s paychecks start coming in, and mine too.
With college now out of the picture I need to get a job quick. In order to get a job I’m going to need to know some Russian. That starts with the language instructor that was included in part of my dad’s benefits package.
I pull my jacket tighter, wanting to dig in my pant pockets for the directions to this language institute place, but not wanting to take off my gloves to do so.
I walk for another minute, finally owning up to the truth that I’m lost. I try and leave my glove inside my jacket, only removing my hand, so I can slide it back inside immediately after I double check where I am. The last thing I want to do is to remove my other hand from my pocket. At least keep one of my hands from freezing in case I need to use it to grab a handrail or open a door.
I quickly shove my hand in my pants and pull out the little piece of paper, only for a gust of wind to snatch it from my numb grip and carry it across the street and up into the air before I even have a chance to protest. Can anything go right this morning? Please.
I jam my hand back into my pants and pull out my phone, but the screen doesn’t activate. I shake it a few times trying to wake it up. I tap the power button figuring maybe I accidentally shut it down while I was walking. When it doesn’t turn on I realize what’s really going on. It’s frozen.
I try not to curse under my breath but fail. I go to jam my phone back in my pocket and notice something hanging out of it. The directions!
I take them and scan them quickly, looking for the landmarks that I wrote down. Despite the fact that I’m terrible with directions I see the big orthodox church I had as my main landmark, and the shapes of the Cyrillic letters on the street sign in front of me seem to match. Jackpot.
I stuff the directions back in my pocket and then the little breaths I’m taking in, trying to avoid inhaling this air as best I can, catches. If I lost a paper earlier that I thought was my directions, but it turns out I do have my directions now, that can only mean… I curse again. That five thousand Russian Rubles note, which is worth about seventy-five dollars, is gone. I’d written the directions on a pink post-it note, and the five thousand-ruble note is also pink. That seventy-five dollars was supposed to get me by for a week in one of the most expensive cities in the world.
The realization that I won’t be eating lunch this week, nor will I be taking the metro anywhere, hits me like a ton of bricks.
“It’s only temporary,” I repeat three times, just before I hear someone lay on a horn.
I turn to my left and see a Lada sliding right towards me. I go to dive out of the way, but the surface beneath me provides no traction, and I just slip.
I feel the crack of my tailbone on the ice as the car slides right toward me as something inside me clicks and I drop my head all the way back and straighten my arms at my sides, making my body as low to the ground and as compact as possible.
My eyes shut tight. Every muscle in my body tightens. I prepare for the car to slide over the top of me at best, and more likely to run over at least part of me.
I brace for impact preparing for my time on earth to likely end about as unceremoniously as humanly possible.
At least the cold will disappear as will the huge financial hole my mom put my dad and I in. Maybe dad will get some sort of insurance payout which will help him get back on his feet, it’s only fair, because I’m flat on my back, and unlikely I’ll ever walk again…or even survive.
CHAPTER 2
Nikolai
“When will you give me a grandchild?” my mother asks, as I try and duck out of her apartment.
“You can’t rush these things, mother.”
“I’ve been waiting for thirty-eight years. My patience is up,” she says.
I feel my phone buzz, knowing it’s the office. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Maybe I’ll run into someone today. You never know.”
“I know you’re going to keep feeding me this line of garbage until I’m dead, Nikolai.” She pauses. The pain on her face is so intense I wince at the sight of it. “Please,” she says, taking my face in her hands. “It’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”
“I know, mother. I know. It’s just that I don’t want to bring you a grandchild, I want to bring you the only grandchild.”
“What?”
I realize she thinks I’m negotiating now, as if I’ll bring her one and that’s it. That’s not it at all. “The first part is finding the one woman who was meant for me and me for her. You know it’s not easy.”
She breathes out. “You are right,” she says, squeezing my cheeks like I’m five years old again. “But she is out there and you will find her…maybe even today,” she says with hope in her voice, as if she’s trying to will it to happen. “Just make sure to keep your eyes open always.”
“I will, mother. I promise. When I find her I’ll know right away,” I say, assuming that’s what she wants to hear. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt that kind of a jolt from meeting a woman. I just imagine what they must say in those stacks of romance novels she has lining her bookshelves.
She pulls me in for a hug and I feel my phone vibrate again.
“Go,” she says. “Do your work, but remember…all that money means nothing if you don’t enjoy it…with your family.”
“I know, mother. You’re right.” I step away from the door and start down the first few stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. I stop, hearing my mother’s door shut and then nothing. “The lock, mother!” I say, and then hear her footsteps back to the door and the deadbolt drive home.
I purse my lips and quickly move down the stairs. I need to get some sort of motion sensor, or timer, so that thing locks automatically. The thought of her in that apartment by herself with the door unlocked drives me crazy.
I’ve moved her to one of the best buildings in Moscow. It’s safe and there are multiple cameras and a doorman, but at the end of the day I will always be Russian. I trust no one, including the women that live here. I should ask them what their methods are, because they seem to know every time I arrive. It’s like they come out of the woodwork, trying to introduce me to their daughters and granddaughters the minute I step foot inside the building. I managed to sneak in this morning for my daily checkup with my mother, but the stairs are definitely my best bet to get out of here without being stopped dozens of times while I have to politely look through pictures of these women’s relatives. I’ve never know what’s better. I hate taking their numbers knowing I’m not going to call and the hell I’m going to catch from that. But the reactions I got the few times I tried to tell them on the spot that I wasn’t interested made it seem like the women took the rejections personally. I lose either way, and put my mother in ill will with her neighbors in the process.
I reach the curb and find a parking ticket on my Rover. I wad it up in my leather-gloved hand and want to toss it on the ground, but leaving such details out in the open, even on a day like this, is only inviting identity theft or worse. Someone will pull the plate number. Someone will figure out who I am. And someone will try and impersonate me. The first place they’ll try? The bank.
I jump in the driver’s seat and shove the ticket into the console. Even on the coldest day of winter the parking ticket police are out working. Unbelievable.