Now, we’re here. And it looks like reality is dawning on her.
She looks around at the bustling city—a steep contrast from the sheltered, mountain-side estate in Alemont City where I’ve been keeping her. Cars flash and honk, people hurry places, shops blink with lit signs. I watch her take it in, before taking her delicate hand in mine.
“Thinking about running, love?”
She keeps silent for a moment, staring at the sidewalk. Then her lips part, and without looking at me, she says, “I know you well enough by now to know you’d find me. Drag me right back and start all over.”
Had she said this a few weeks ago, I would’ve thought she’d given up, like that week she refused to eat and get out of bed. I hated seeing her like that. Breaking her wasn’t nearly as interesting as I thought it would be. But now? She’s not giving up. She’s accepting defeat graciously, making the best of what she has.
My lips curve upward. “Let’s go inside.”
Victoria’s heels click softly against the pavement as I take us into the restaurant. I look over my shoulder at the trail of my men following close. Usually, there’s not so many of us when I come to New York for business. But with Victoria here, I didn’t want to take any chances.
Rival families are always looking for opportunities to put a bullet in my head. I won’t give them the satisfaction when I’m out with my wife.
Le Ciel Noiris a restaurant I always come to whenever I'm in the city. I’ve known the owners for the past fifteen years, and they’re possibly the only two people in the world who smile when they see me. Even if they know who I am and what I do.
Coming here is like coming home for a warm meal after being on the road for too long. Which is why I never bring anyone with me—not for business, not for fun, and especially not for show.
“Good evening, Mr. Rykov,” Julian, the usual server, greets us. He looks at me with a plea in his eyes, and I nod, letting him know it’s fine to address her. “Mrs. Rykov,” he says, bowing his head. “Please, follow me. I’ll show you to your table.”
I pull her gently behind me, scanning the restaurant with my eyes. It’s already been cleared by Ivan, but I take the extra precaution. When we get to our table, facing Central Park, I pull her chair out, and she takes a seat, whimpering a little from the object still in her ass.
The sound shoots right to my cock, giving me an erection I’ll have to hide by sitting the fuck down.
Before I do, I lean down to her ear. “You make that sound again, and I’ll have no choice but to kick everyone out. Even in my favorite restaurant, you’re still the only taste I crave in my mouth. Remember that.”
Her eyes widen, then glance around as I take my seat opposite from her. It’s kind of romantic, you could say, with the sunset falling over the city, leaving trails of burned orange all around the pristine tables and the candle-lit space.
Julian comes in, pouring us my favorite wine and taking our order before I’m alone with her again.
“You haven’t looked at me once since we arrived,” I tell her.
Her fingers are steady as she reaches for her glass, eyes wandering everywhere else but in my direction. Is she being shy because of the plug? No, that’s not it. She always blushes when that happens.
“I’m just seeing who’s here.”
“You think I’d bring you somewhere I can’t protect you?”
“No.” Her eyes slide slowly over to mine. “I think you like the idea that someone might try.”
I leave out a hum of what I can only describe as satisfaction. She’s not wrong. Not one bit. But that’s not what drives thefeeling. It’s the fact that she’s starting to know me. Understand who I am. If given the choice, would she choose to stay? Or would she bang her fists into my chest, demanding I let her go? I guess we’ll never know since I don’t intend to give her that freedom.
“Did you wear that to test me?” I ask.
Her face leans on her palm, as if she’s bored, a sly smile spreading on her full lips. “If I wanted to test you, I would’ve worn less.”
My nostrils flare. I sip my wine, hoping to cool off. But it only makes the fire in my veins burn harder.
One moment she’s sweet, obedient, and licking herself off my thigh. And the next, she’s slow, deliberate, cunning—letting me see all facets of her. I’m finding it difficult to decide which one I like more.
“You told me something,” she says, her finger drawing a large circle against the rim of the glass. “Last night. In Russian.”
I pause, wondering where she’s going with it. Of all the things I’ve said to her—threats, commands, filth whispered into her skin—she rememberedthat.
“I remember.”
Her lips twitch. “So do I.”
