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“Dinner is in an hour, Miss Ricci.”
“I’m not hungry,” I murmur.
“Nonsense,” she says. I blink twice, taken aback.
Nonsense?She’s never openly scolded me. Given me occasional looks of displeasure, maybe, but nothing so blunt. “You need some food in you. Come downstairs, or I’ll tell Mr. Volkov you no longer need my food.”
Blackmail?
Does everyone in this house have it out for me?
7
ROMAN
I can still smell her.
I watch my fingers as they dance on the dining table, the lingering scent on them.Sex.That’s what she smelled like. Even before I turned, I could tell she was aroused.
For a moment, I thought about telling her to leave. It wasn’t how I planned—taking her to bed and making her mine. I want her to beg for it. To watch her eyes roll back as she takes my cock. To see her spent, speechless afterward.
But the smell. It wrapped around my senses, dug under my skin, and worked its way into my head until I struggled to breathe and think.
And I would’ve fucked her there, against the wall, if Polina hadn’t interrupted.
“Mr. Volkov.” Polina appears. “Apologies for the delay. I’ll be serving dinner in a moment.”
“Tell me—” I stop her before she can leave. “Why did you ask me to eat here?”
She shrugs. “It’s a dining room, sir. It should be used. And I thought Miss Ricci could join you tonight. It’ll make it easier to serve you both and ensure that nobody skips dinner.”
Isabella?
“She’s coming?”
Polina nods. “Yes. I informed her. She should be down any moment.”
My fingers stop drumming as my eyes dart toward the only entrance into the dining area, half expecting to see her. When I look away, Polina’s staring at me with curiosity.
She clears her throat when I arch a brow. “I’ll set the table.”
I inhale as she walks away, pressing my fingers into the hollows of my cheeks. “It’s just dinner,” I mutter as my mind fills itself with images of her clinging to my arm and the tight feeling…wet with my finger inside her.
My dick twitches, and I sigh again, flattening my palm on the table. It might be near impossible to eat in this state—a state of being undone by how much I want her—but I have to maintain a semblance of control.
It’ssex.
I don’t need anything more from her. Not emotions or feelings or affection. When she’s in my bed, it will be because I want to see the way her eyes roll back and her legs tremble.
It’s solely because I want to fuck her. Nothing more.
“Miss Ricci. Glad you could join us.”
My fingers dig into the polished wood, and I force my head to keep from turning when Polina announces her presence. I keep a flat expression as Isabella comes into view. Her hair is swept into a quick updo, and she’s wearing something simple—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.
A basic fucking outfit.
And yet, my thoughts still find a way to veer off, especially when she sits, and it becomes obvious that she’s wearing nothing underneath. The her nipples are visible under the shirt, poking against the cotton.