I also hate Mikhail for that, but he’s my husband. I have to learn to like him. But with Irina, I can hate her all I want.
Mary gives Irina a disgusted look before heading back into the kitchen. Irina waits in the foyer, but still, Mikahil doesn’t come.
Before I know it, I’m on my feet, heading downstairs and walking toward her.
Irina tenses when she sees me.
“Hello,” I say.
She shifts on her feet. In six-inch stilettos, I notice. My own feet are bare right now, making me much shorter than her. I wear heels, too, but they’re never that tall. They’re never so … sexy looking. All the clothes Mikhail picked out for me are more innocent. Pastel blues, pinks, and whites. Summer dresses that aren’t too revealing. Cute rather than sexy. Heels that are classy but not trashy.
Mikhail wants me innocent while he’s spending time with a woman who doesn’t look like she has an innocent bone in her body.
“Hi,” Irina finally says, her accent heavy. She sets her bag down—it’s not a normal purse. It’s a bag from a coffee shop. She either loves coffee or works there. But I tell myself not to worry about what Irina gets up to in her spare time. I’m not interested in getting to know her.
“You’re waiting for Mikhail.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.” She eyes me over. “What are you doing up? Shouldn’t you be in bed with your blankie?”
I blanch. “I’m his wife.”
“So? I’m the one he spends his nights with. He wants me. Not you.”
“Maybe I can give him what you can.” Though even as I say it, I know how wrong I am. I can’t give him what Irina can. I’m not sure I ever can.
She scoffs. “He will eat you alive. He needs a woman like me. I’m his sub. Not you.”
“If you’re so submissive, then why aren’t you acting like it?’
“Why aren’t you?” she fires back.
“I don’t want you here.”
Irina laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“I. Don’t. Want. You. Here,” I enunciate.
“Poor little thing.” She flicks her finger against my nose. I jerk back. “You’re jealous. It’s not a good look. It makes you ugly.”
I want to slap her. I haven’t wanted to slap many people before. Probably only Vik, in fact. And now, Irina.
But before I do something I’ll regret, Mikhail walks into the foyer. “What’s going on? Sofiya, shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“I don’t want her here,” I tell him. I feel silly in my blue summer dress and bare feet beside Irina in her skintight black dress and stilettos. I feel like a child.
Mikhail looks between Irina and me. “All right.” He turns to Irina. “Go home. I’m no longer in need of your services.”
Irina’s mouth gapes open before she quickly shuts it. “Yes, sir.” She walks out of the apartment with her head held high.
Now, it’s me and Mikhail again. My plan didn’t get this far—honestly, I didn’t have a plan at all.
“Come with me,” Mikhail says, taking my hand and guiding me into his dom room.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Well, I sent Irina home. I figured you were ready to play.”
“I’m …” God, I think I might pass out. I’m not ready for this. How can I ever be ready for this?
Mikhail’s eyes soften. “Take off your dress.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sofiya. In fact, I’m not even going to touch you. Do as I say. I think you’ll see how much better you feel. Take off your dress.”
I have to believe him. I have no other choice.
With trembling fingers, I slip my dress off my shoulders and let it fall at my feet.
“Now, take off your bra and panties. I want to see you naked.”
I’m intensely aware of his body. His suit. His hands. His eyes. Him.
I keep my eyes ducked down as I let my bra and underwear slide off me. The air is thick. The silence is even more thickening.
“Lie over the bench with your back on it.”
It takes my body a second to move, but I manage it. I’m acutely aware of his eyes on me as I lie down. My own eyes are glued to the ceiling. In this draped-over position, my back is arched, pushing my breasts up. I’ve never heard my breathing be so loud before.
