Page 58 of Shadow Waltz

I turned away, but Dmitri stepped in behind me, close enough that I felt the heat of his body at my back. I could smell his cologne—something sharp, clean, expensive—and beneath that, something animal. I didn’t move as his chest pressed lightly against my shoulders.

“Tell me, Ash,” Dmitri murmured, mouth almost brushing my ear, “do you want me to watch you the way Troy did?”

My breath hitched. I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to—my body betrayed me. He was so close, and I could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my ass, unmistakable through the thin fabric of my sweats.

The room shrank to nothing. Every inch of me was aware of him: the heat, the hardness, the hunger.

“Or maybe you want more than that,” Dmitri whispered, voice a velvet threat. “Maybe you want to see if I can make you scream louder than he did.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg. But I couldn’t hide the way my breath stuttered, or the way my hips pressed back against him—just a fraction, but enough.

“I need a shower,” I muttered, backing toward the bathroom, anything to get some space from his overwhelming presence.

He laughed, low and satisfied. “Go on, then. Run to your shower. Pretend you don't want me to follow. But you know I will.”

His hands didn't touch me, but I could feel the threat of them—the promise that if I asked, he'd pin me to the glass and fuck me until I forgot every other name but his. I bolted for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the shelf as I passed, heart hammering in my chest.

I didn't lock the door. Didn't dare.

Steam filled the room as I cranked the water, desperate for relief. But the heat on my skin was nothing compared to the ache between my legs, or the memory of Dmitri’s cock, hard against my ass, claiming me before he even laid a hand.

A moment later, the door swung open. Dmitri entered, eyes drinking me in—wet skin, the tight collar, every bruise andbite mark left by someone else. He leaned in the doorway, unashamed, one hand resting over the bulge in his pants.

He didn’t speak. Just watched. Daring me.

I met his gaze in the fogged mirror, body trembling with want and shame and the sick thrill of being desired—really, truly wanted, no matter how fucked up it was.

“Orders,” Dmitri said at last, voice rough. “I stay where you are. Even here. Especially here.”

I met his gaze in the mirror, every muscle tense, water sluicing down my body as steam thickened the air. His eyes were shameless, hooded and hungry, fixed on the collar and the lines of my back. He wasn’t moving closer—but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough to make my skin prickle and my breath quicken, anticipation and anxiety twined so tight I couldn’t tell them apart.

I turned, leaning one shoulder against the wet tile, not bothering to hide my body. I watched him watch me—cataloguing the way his chest rose and fell, the slow curl of his fists, the thick press of his cock behind his zipper. I let him see me, vulnerable but not broken, curiosity burning through the haze of want.

“You’re just going to stand there?” I asked, letting my voice drip with mockery and challenge, testing boundaries. “Or is your job description more hands-on?”

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze dropped—neck, chest, down my stomach, pausing at my half-hard cock and then up, slow and deliberate. I could almost see him weighing risk and reward, calculating the angles, just like I was.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” I said, the words almost a whisper, lost under the rush of the shower. “You want me to ask for it. You want me to beg.”

He let out a low sound, halfway between a laugh and a growl. “You’re smart,” he said, voice thick. “That’s why you survived this long. But you don’t have to pretend you don’t want it, Ash.”

I raised my chin, refusing to look away. “I want a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I get them.”

He stepped forward, boots squeaking against the tile. The way he moved was slow, giving me every chance to stop him—but I didn’t. He stopped just outside the spray, looming over me, one hand braced on the glass. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I realized I was biting my lip, hard enough to hurt.

The heat in the small space became unbearable. I saw the way his cock strained against his jeans, the twitch of his jaw as he watched me—hungry, starved. I could almost feel him deciding whether to push further.

“You want me to say it?” I whispered, daring him. “You want me to ask you in?”

Dmitri’s gaze sharpened. “I want you to admit you like being watched. I want you to show me how much you want it.”

A million calculations flashed through my head—how close he was, the way his hand curled around the edge of the glass, the slight tremor in his breath. I could play coy, could push him away, but I didn’t want to. I wanted the danger, the loss of control, the feeling of being seen and wanted and undone.

I stepped closer, letting the water bead on his black shirt, fingers trailing up his forearm, slow and deliberate. “You’re not supposed to touch me,” I murmured, voice soft, taunting. “Luka’s rules.”

He let out a shaky breath, his mask cracking just enough for me to see the man underneath—the hunger, the restraint, the tension pulled tight as wire. “Fuck Luka’s rules,” he growled, voice raw.

He pushed into the shower, clothes soaking instantly, crowding me against the wall. I gasped, the shock of wet fabricand hard muscle pinning me in place. His mouth was on my neck, breath hot against the collar, his hands bracketing my hips with just enough force to warn, not hurt.