When I’m done wiping up the blood and disinfecting the cut, I use a couple of Steri-Strips to bind the skin together and slap a dressing over it. Finished playing nurse to myself, I head to the closet in the corner of the guest room. Most of my clothes are in the walk-in of my bedroom, but a few garments have been left hanging here, as well.
I choose a gunmetal gray shirt and black jacket, then leave the room and walk down the hallway to Vasilisa’s door.
Knock. Knock.
A minute passes.
I knock again, but nothing happens.
“Vasilisa.” I bang my palm on the wooden surface. A sharp pain shoots up my side from the impact.
Silence reigns for a few more moments, but then, the clicking of heels draws closer. The door swings open.
I lose my breath.
And stare.
Fuck me.
“Don’t worry, your dog is ready, Mr. De Santi.”
My brain has checked out, because I just continue to stare like a motherfucker.
Vasilisa puts her hands on her hips and lifts her chin at me. “So, are we going or not?”
“Yes,” I say.
One fucking syllable. That’s the only thing the mush that is my gray matter manages to come up with. I’m too dumbstruck by the sight before me. It doesn’t matter what Vasilisa wears, her beauty is unearthly. But seeing her now—I can’t fucking breathe.
My eyes journey up her slender leg that’s peeking out from between the folds of the gold silk, over her tiny waist and the intricate lace that hugs her breasts and arms, and finally, come to a halt on her face. She doesn’t have any makeup on other than on her eyes. Using an eyeliner and black eyeshadow, she created a smoky look that makes her onyx depths appear larger and more expressive. Her raven hair is gathered into a low bun at her nape, but she left a few strands loose, naturally framing her face. The overall effect is simply striking.
“You’re not my dog,” I manage to utter somehow.
“Oh? So I can say no to going out for the damned cocktails you’ve ordered me to be ready for, and there won’t be any consequences?”
I grit my teeth. “You can say no.”
“Amazing. No!” she barks and slams the door in my face.
I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to calm the fuck down, then knock on the door again. It opens a moment later.
Vasilisa stands at the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are aglow with unhidden fury.
“Would you like to come with me to somewhat of a party tonight? Not an order this time, vespetta. Just an invite.”
“So you’ll be okay with it if I decline?”
“You can refuse, and I’ll turn around and leave. I won’t force you. But I would very much like you to accompany me.” I reach out and stroke her stubborn chin with the tip of my finger. It’s been a long time since I had to work to convince a woman to go out with me. “Please?”
Vasilisa studies me, her eyes wide as she bites her lower lip. Not for the first time, I get lost in her dark magnetic stare for a heartbeat, pulled toward her by an unexplainable force. I move my finger along her jaw, then down her neck, and stop at the dip between her collarbones. “You didn’t like the necklace?”
“I did.”
“But you’re not wearing it,” I lament, caressing the smooth skin below her delicate bones where I imagined the necklace would rest. “Why?”
“This ploy with all the fucking jewelry, Rafael . . . It makes me feel cheap. You know? Like you’re paying me for sex.”
My body goes still. I never wanted her to feel that way. I just . . . wanted to make her like me. To make her want to stay.
“That wasn’t my intention. And I apologize if it came across that way.” I look up, meeting those dark pearlescent eyes. “But I would really like to see that necklace on you.”
“And why is this one so goddamned important? You didn’t have issues with me returning the other things to you.”
“Unlike my previous gifts, I had no reason for buying it other than wanting you to wear it.”
“What other reason could there possibly be?”
“To make you like me.”
“Expensive trinkets will never make me like the man who threatens to kill my family if I won’t dance to his tune.”
“That’s unfortunate.” I snake my hands through the slit of her skirt and grab her butt cheeks, pulling her flush against me. “You like my cock well enough, though.” Lifting her, I carry her into the room and deposit her sweet peach of an ass on the antique dresser. This girl. She fucking slays me. I lean forward, letting our noses touch. “Don’t you, Vasilisa?”
“You have a high opinion of yourself. It’s amazing.” She sneers through her teeth, then . . . mewls as I slide my hands under her panties.
I press my thumb to her clit, rubbing it in slow, tight circles. For a few breaths, I just soak up her soft moans, then hook my fingers on the flimsy string.
“Should I remind you of how your body trembles while I eat your pussy? Or how you beg me for more every night? Lift your gorgeous ass, baby.” She might be glaring at me with disdain, but she does as I ask. I slide the lacy thong down her legs and undo the button on my pants. “Or, maybe, I should help you recall your elated screams as I fuck you senseless?”
