Page 13

After three long days, I muster up the courage to enter the kitchen for breakfast. Since I found out Dima lied to me about how dangerous Marv is, I’ve been holed up in my room, thinking.

Since we got married, I’ve come to see Dima as a kind man who gives me the space I need. And yet, to know he claimed me has me questioning whether he would truly be comfortable allowing me to be the person I am.

In my head, despite us having had a fair conversation and him coming clean, I still see him as an extension of who my brothers are. He says he’s not like them, that he made a mistake, but words mean nothing when the past ones used weren’t honest.

Now, it’s only actions that will speak.

Once I reached that conclusion, it became easier to escape from my room. After all, in the spirit of fairness, how can he show me who he is unless I decide to spend time with him?

So, for now, I hold on to my quiet discontentment over what happened but decide to let him have a chance to show me otherwise.

I walk him and see him sitting on the table already, his piercing gray eyes focused intently on the newspaper before him.

"Morning," he murmurs, looking up from the paper. I see a hint of worry and concern from how his eyebrows are furrowed.

"Good morning," I reply, taking a seat.

I sip my tea in silence, hyperaware of Dima's presence. The clinking of silverware and quiet bustle of the staff feel deafening compared to our hushed bubble. I want so badly to bridge this rift, but my pride holds me back.

“Did you sleep well?” he finally asks, closing the paper. I’m relieved he doesn’t address the growing distance between us, but it still looms over us.

“Quite well,” I reply.

"Listen," Dima says, setting aside his plate. "You've been cooped up for days. How about joining me at the club today?"

“The club?” I respond, puzzled. “I’m not really the outdoorsy type.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled, then a chuckle escapes him.

“What?” I squeak, unsure of the joke.

“Not a golf club,” he laughs. “I run a chain of gentleman’s clubs owned by Nikolai. Interested in joining me?”

“La Fantasia?” I gasp, recognizing the notorious chain my brothers frequent.

“La Fantasia is famous, but Nikolai manages that. I’m referring to Travantina,” he clarifies.

“How many do you own?” I lean in, intrigued.

“Over two hundred fifty worldwide,” he replies, deadpan.

“Two hundred and fifty clubs?” I gasp.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins, standing up.

I want to decline, not wanting him to mistake my agreement for forgiveness. Yet, a part of me is drawn to the idea.

Knowing Dima, he’s probably taking me out like he used to when we first got married. He remembers how much I used to enjoy exploring the party scene in Philadelphia, and this could be his way of showing me he cares about what I want.

How can I take away his right to want to make amends?

Besides, this might be just what I need to distract myself from…everything else. This could be the perfect opportunity for me to clear my head and move past the idea of being claimed by him. Keeping busy stops my mind from working in overdrive.

"Okay," I say hesitantly at last, curious but also wary of what he has in mind.

"Great," he responds with a small smile. "Finish your breakfast, and we'll get going."

***

The heavy door to the gentleman's club swings open, and I step inside the expensive-looking property, expecting a lively atmosphere full of music, laughter, and drinks being passed around. Instead, the room is dimly lit and almost eerily quiet—a far cry from the vibrant scene I had pictured in my head.

"Is it always like this during the day?" I ask Dima, who walks beside me.

"Most of our clients come here at night," he explains, guiding me through the empty space filled with velvet couches. "It's when the real action happens. La Fantasia though, is quite bustling in the day since members tend to hold meetings, clandestine lunches with their mistresses and the sorts."

In the corner, I notice a stage with state-of-the-art brass instruments. On the other end, a floor to roof bar display made entirely of crystal. It’s gorgeous, and I can imagine it being exquisite at night.

But if the place is empty at this hour, I can't help but wonder why he brought me here now, instead of waiting until later when the club would be in full swing. What exactly does he have in store for me?

I thought we were here to let loose.

"Come on," Dima says, taking my hand and leading me toward a door marked 'Private’. "I want to show you something."

Curiosity piqued, I follow him into a small office filled with neatly organized papers and filing cabinets.

"This is where I handle the club's operations and finances," he informs me, gesturing to the various documents spread across his desk. "I'm not just some nepotistic posting for the Orlovs—I'm responsible for making sure everything runs smoothly here and at the fifty other chains we have for Travantina across the world."

As he speaks, I find myself becoming increasingly impressed by the level of dedication and knowledge he displays. He goes into every detail, hiding nothing from the operations to the finances. He speaks to me like he wants to impress me, and that observation is accurate when he turns to me and asks what I think.

"Wow," I murmur, looking over the detailed ledgers and spreadsheets. "I had no idea you were so involved in the business. I thought you’d have others to overlook different departments."

"Most people don't," he admits with a slight grin. "But it's something I take pride in. I overlook those meant to overlook, if that makes sense. Anything that goes wrong would be my responsibility now, won’t it?”

I look up in surprise at how serious he looks. In this instant, something becomes glaringly obvious. Dima holds himself responsible for the smallest of small and the biggest of big. He’s the kind of man who won’t shy from it, and I realize now why he is the way he is at home.

Memories rush by of all the sweet things he did for me after we got married, to ensure I’m as happy as can be. He’s the kind of man who views me as his responsibility, and in all honesty, he never failed me.

My anger subsides just a little. It’s a tough thing for a man to be perfect. And while Dima is far from it, in some ways, he’s too perfect.

He’s a paradox, as is our relationship.

“Now, let me show you the rest of the club. We'll start with the bar," he tells me, giving me his arm. With a smile, I take it.

As we continue our tour, I can't shake the feeling that there's more to Dima's decision to bring me here than just a simple distraction. But for now, I'm content to let my guard down and enjoy this rare glimpse into his world.

***

A vivid array of liquor bottles catches my eye as we approach the bar, their colors reflecting off the polished countertop like a kaleidoscope. Dima leans against the counter and gestures to the shelves behind him.

"Here's where we keep track of our inventory," he explains, pulling out a clipboard filled with meticulous notes. "I make sure we're always stocked with the best quality products for our clientele."

He hands me the clipboard, and I eagerly scan through the pages, feeling a spark of excitement ignite within me. This is the first time I've been privy to such details about the inner workings of any business. My brothers always kept me in the dark, never allowing me a chance to learn or contribute. But now, with Dima guiding me, I finally have an opportunity to grow and be a part of something.

"Wow," I breathe, truly fascinated by the level of organization and precision involved. "You really have everything under control here."

"Thank you," Dima says, his eyes twinkling with pride. "But I'm always open to new ideas and suggestions. If you see anything that could be improved or changed, don't hesitate to let me know."

My brothers never cared about my input on the family business. Yet here is Dima, inviting me to share ideas. The fact that he trusts me enough to include me in this process fills me with a newfound confidence. I look around the bar area, considering potential improvements or changes that might benefit the club.

"Actually," I begin, "while I see the positives of maintaining inventory on paper, a computer log can ensure there are no discrepancies. Investing in software and barcode systems will automate inventory, reduce errors, and track popular products, helping you stay stocked, cut costs, and boost profits."

Dima nods thoughtfully, clearly taking my suggestion to heart. "That's a great idea, Lara. Would you be able to find the software we should subscribe to?"

“Happy to,” I say without skipping a beat, genuinely thrilled he wishes to involve me. "I can get us some quotes and shortlist a few programs by next week.”

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," he almost whispers, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, staring right into my eyes. “Things around here have been…difficult.”

The warmth of his touch seeps through my shirt, and my heart races. Suddenly, the image of him kissing me in his car comes barreling at me, and I find my legs almost bucking beneath me. A strange hunger forms in the pit of my stomach, for him.

I forget why I was fighting him when he has the power to bring me to my knees.

My chest heaves as time passes, our eyes locked on one another.

“Come,” he says softly, clearing his throat when the tension threatens to drive one of us over the edge. I notice beads of sweat on his forehead. He looks like he needs us to walk away from this room, from this moment, or he’d lose all control—and so, I step back.

***

“Can you help me with these numbers?” he asks. Together, we meticulously calculate the profits and losses from the past month, and I realize that I've misjudged him. He's not just a man who sees the world to belong to just him, as I once believed. In fact, he's quite the opposite—dedicated, intelligent, and open to collaboration.

"Hey, Dima?" I say hesitantly, my voice breaking the silence that has enveloped the room.

He looks up from his paperwork, his cool gray eyes meeting mine with curiosity. "Yes, Lara?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I just wanted to say…thank you. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to learn and grow, and for treating me like an equal partner."

His gaze softens, and he sets down his pen. "You belong here, Lara. You’ve got a great mind for business, and a mind like that shouldn’t go to waste. On Monday, I will have you on the payroll, too."

“Y…You will?” I squeak, my mouth almost gaping open. With those simple words, he makes me feel capable of anything.

“I will,” he repeats with maddening confidence.

My mouth almost hangs open. Needless to say, he notices.

“Surprised?” he picks up on my reaction, looking confused as to why I seem to be confused.

Of course I’m surprised . My brothers never saw me more than a na?ve sister who couldn’t hold her own. In Dima’s presence, it feels like maybe—just maybe—I have more to offer.

“It’s surprising because I’ve never been offered a salary before,” I admit to him in a rare show of vulnerability.

A strange shadow crosses Dima’s face. He glowers almost, his grip tightening around his pen. Then, he shakes his head, almost like he’s angry at the injustice I’ve faced.

“Sometimes, people can’t see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of them,” Dima says with such passion that each word burns in my mind. “And you know what? It’s their goddamn loss.”

My breath hitches in my throat because no one has ever looked that angry on my behalf before. No one has ever expressed such loyal affection for me before, and I know, from how he looks, that he feels for me.

My heart begins to race, my hands get clammy and inside my head, I begin to wonder if I’m a fool for having pushed him away for the past three days.

Dima sits up straighter in his chair, his white shirt stretching across his broad shoulders, and I can't help but notice the way his muscles flex when he leans over the table to look into my eyes.

“What?” he whispers, his gaze flickering between mine. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

My heart races and my voice catches in my throat, making it difficult to speak. “I didn’t know…I was looking at you like that,” my voice dims toward the last few words.

Dima remains transfixed on my face, his eyes lingering like he’s soaking me in, etching me into memory.

His words keep playing in my mind. Sometimes, people can’t see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of them.

Am I one of those people? Dima made a mistake, but for that mistake, am I willing to throw away everything good he has to offer?

Do I even have a right to forgive him after the fact that he’s the only man who has ever truly been a pillar of support the way I needed him to be?

No, a voice roars in my head. He doesn’t need my forgiveness. He never needed it. He’s that good thing standing right in front of me and I’ll be a wretched fool to not listen to my aching heart right now.

"Are you okay?" Dima asks, worry plastered on his face when I don’t speak, when I continue to stare.

Without a second thought, I push back my chair. He watches, entranced, as I walk over to his side. Slowly, I place my hand on the collar of his shirt, and I feel him tense beneath my touch and shuffle a little. Slowly, I run my fingers across the lapel until they reach the back of his neck.

“Actually,” I whisper, leaning low into his ear. “I’ve been just a little distracted."

He grabs my hand and swivels his chair until he’s sitting right beneath me, staring up into my eyes. “Distracted by what exactly?” His voice comes out hoarse, a deep desire seeping through his very being.

“This perfect thing right in front of me,” I say, leaning closer until my lips are mere inches away from his. I then take my free hand and glide it to the hem of my skirt, hiking it up centimeter by centimeter. Dima chokes on his own breath, his eyes flittering to my flesh.

“Lara,” he groans, almost painfully. “With everything you know…”

“I forgive you,” I whisper, slowly inching myself on his lap. He releases my hand, his face almost pained from the restraint the gentleman in him is forced to show as I slide my arms across his neck, feeling his bulge expand between my legs.

“After all,” I whisper in his ear, the air from my mouth leaving a prickle of goosebumps on his stubble. “I’m not willing to let a good thing go.”

He sighs and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers leaving a trail of heat on my skin. My breath catches at his touch. There's a tension building between us, like a live wire. I want him to kiss me, but I don't know how to ask. I've never had to before.

But maybe I don’t have to ask.

If he’s claimed me, perhaps it’s time I claim him.

And so, without a thought, I close the gap between us, taking his lips to my own with a feather-light force. The world around us fades away, leaving only the crackling tension between our bodies, and then he moans, clamping his hands on the edge of my ass, pulling me closer toward him, my legs resting on both sides of his. I gasp as he kisses me with ferocity now, his tongue parting open my lips, warring with my own.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer and digging into my skin as if he's afraid I might disappear. The kiss deepens. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as if I'm afraid to let go.

“God, Lara,” he talks through his kisses, his hands now reaching for the buttons of my blouse. He undoes each one in a rushed hurry, his fingers trailing over my skin with such light touch, that I almost feel angry he’s not being fiercer. I’ve been denying myself too long, and I can feel the hunger in my skin.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this…” he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down the back of my neck.

“Me too,” I pant, reaching for his belt with a firm grip. I slide it off, throwing it across the room.

He stops, following the progression of the belt, before looking back at me. “Impressive,” he pouts playfully.

“Oh, wait until you get me naked,” I tease. “Then we’ll talk impressive.”

A devilish grin crosses his face, and I hear a rrrrip . He’s torn off my blouse, giving up on wasting time on the last three buttons. “Tease me more, and you might have no clothes to walk home in,” he growls. Heat pools in my belly, and my legs almost tremble for more. “Who said I’d mind?” I nip his neck.

With me on his lap, straddling him, my heart races as I feel his erection press against me. He runs his hands through my hair and pulls my body away from his, hungry eyes reveling in the sight of me on his lap, in nothing but a skirt and my bra.

He cups his hands over my bra, feeling the weight of my breasts. “You have no idea,” he whispers, tracing his fingers over the fabric of my bra, “how mad you drive me.”

I lean in, the heat of his breath against my neck making me shiver. “Dima,” I play hard to get, my voice low and seductive. “I bet you’ve been fantasizing about this moment for a lot longer than I have.”

“Oh, you bet,” he lets me have it.

His hands begin to work on my bra, undoing the clasp with expert precision. He eases it apart, revealing my breasts for the first time to his eyes. He stares down at them reverently, and for a second, I feel shy, bending down into myself. He looks up and shakes his head, as though to tell me I’m crazy to think I’m anything but beautiful, before proceeding to kiss me across my jaw, down my neck, to my breasts. His teeth graze my flesh, reaching for my nipples, making me gasp.

"I want you," he growls, sucking on one breast, fondling the other with gentle motions, my breasts filling the cup of his hands. I arch into his touch, wanting more.

"Yes," I breathe, my legs already quivering for more. With deft fingers, I remove his shirt, feel the chiseled lines of all those hard muscles, and revel in the sight of ink across his arms. For a moment, I forget why I’m here. With his perfect body, this Adonis of a man, makes me forget why he’s sitting in front of me, naked. I lose my breath, my thoughts, my reason for action.

In a smooth motion, he gets off the chair and pulls me out of my revelry, my legs wrapped around him, and lays me back on his desk, scattering papers, not caring.

He sheds off his unbuttoned shirt and pulls down his trousers. His fingers reach for the hem of my skirt, sliding it up, revealing my panties.

He slides a finger through the band of my panties and twists it in a knot before releasing it. I jerk when it slaps my skin.

“Fuck,” he moans, sliding it down.

He stands above me now, watching me writhe on his desk, almost naked, save the skirt pulled up. I clench my arms above me, suddenly shy from how I might look.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, gently tracing the outline of my breasts, moving down to my waist, over the thin spread of the skirt, to my hips. I lurch when he parts my thighs, and his fingers find their way between my legs, reaching for my folds. I watch as he bends low, sits on his knees, and places his head between my lips.

In one motion, his lips are on the nub of my pussy, and his finger rams in.

“Dima,” I moan, lurching off the table. He places a hand on my stomach and holds me down firmly, anchoring me to the hardwood with his strength.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growls, his voice textured by my arousal.

“Yes,” I pant, my body desperately craving more. I feel him suck harder at my folds, his tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves there. I arched my back at the sensation of his hot breath against my clit.

His finger thrust in and out, reaching deeper, him becoming more intense, his tongue fucking me with the same rhythm, his vibrations causing an orgasm to build.

“Fuck me, Dima,” I moan, wanting to hold off, to feel him, wanting to control when I cum for him. “Now!” I scream with urgency.

I barely register the sound of him standing and shedding his boxers, but then hot, slick flesh enters me, stretching me further than anything ever has. I gasp, my eyes wide in surprise and ecstasy.

"Fuck," I moan, my body immediately adjusting to his size.

He pulls out and thrusts back in, his shaft sliding in and out of me, filling me up like nothing else ever has. The sensation is incredible, overwhelming. Dima's body covers mine, his hands gripping my hips, holding me tight as he pounds into me. Our skin slaps together, the friction nearly electrifying. I claw at his shoulders, my nails digging into his flesh, my screams subsiding into rough, dirty murmurs.

"You feel so good, Lara," he groans, his eyes locked on mine.

"Oh, Dima," I breathe, my voice trembling. "I never knew…I never knew it could be like this."

And I didn’t. Never has a man made me feel this…insatiable. Hungry. With Dima, I think I’ll always want more.

His thrusts become more frenzied, his breaths shallow. He leans down, his lips brushing against mine. I taste myself on him, and I moan into his mouth, my body bucking underneath him.

"I need you to cum for me, Lara," he growls, his voice rough and needy. "I need to feel you around me."

The words send a jolt of pleasure through me, and I arch my back, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "Make me cum, Dima," I beg my voice barely a whisper. "Make me yours."

He doesn't need to be told twice. With one final, powerful thrust, he pulls out, and with one swift motion, he aims his shaft and thrusts back inside me. I whimper at the sensation, my body trembling in anticipation.

"That's it, Baby," he coos, his eyes locked on mine. "Cum for me, Lara. Let me feel you."

The words push me over the edge, and I cry out his name as I cum, my body convulsing beneath him. Dima groans, his hips pumping harder and faster, and then, I feel him shudder, and he erupts within me with my name on his lips, his eyes locked on mine as he feels me tighten around him.

I close my eyes. I see stars and lights. I forget where I am. I forget the world exists.

All I feel, breathe, hear is Dima.

And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I feel him drip down my legs, but he remains inside, catching his breath as I do mine.

Finally, he slows his pace, pulls out, and collapses on top of me, his breath ragged. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. In this moment, I know that I chose to see the perfect thing in front of me, and I don’t have a single regret.