Silence stretches. Then his voice, sharper now. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll find out.”
I hang up before he can answer, staring at my phone as if it can tell me why my heart is racing. The room is still dark, but I feel a new kind of heat rising in me. Not fear. Not entirely. Something else. Something I don’t have a name for yet.
Friday comes to soon.
I don’t have enough time to psychologically prepare myself before I’m forced to be in the same space as Dmitry again.
He looks even more devastatingly handsome this time. He’s dressed in formal attire. The dark colors bring out the starkness of his features, the subtle charm of his tattoos that creep over the neckline of his unbuttoned shirt.
Dmitry Antonov in a black suit that fits him like it was sewn directly onto his body. No glasses tonight. His eyes are sharper without them, his cheekbones carved in gold light, his hair neat enough to make sin look formal. I can’t stop staring. He has a chiseled body. It was drowned by his sweatshirt the first night we met, but I can see the visible bulk of muscle on his arms and thighs now.
He looks hot. Not in a ‘hot nerd’ kind of way, but in a ‘hot Daddy’ kind of way. In a way that makes me want to be pushed against the wall and taken by those strong arms. My core hums in approval. Flames lick my groin. Fuck, this man is making my stomach flip. He’s confident, stunning, but there’s anedge of darkness that adds that perfect hint of roughness to his masculinity.
He catches me looking and his mouth curves. “Enjoying the view?”
“Can you even see without those glasses?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Contact lenses,” he says, spreading his arms. “Satisfied?”
“You cleaned up nicely,” I admit.
“I had to. I wanted to look like the perfect boyfriend for Callista Vale.” His voice is smooth, quiet, dangerous. “And that meant I had to look like the golden boy to your golden girl.”
The compliment lands like a touch. His gaze sweeps down my body, unhurried, deliberate. He drinks me in like I’m a goddess and he’s trying to commit all the details of my angles and curves to his memory.
“The shoes were a worthy investment,” he says, and something inside me melts. Men usually mock my taste, call me superficial, say I care too much about appearances. Dmitry’s voice carries no mockery, only approval.
The ballroom sparkles like money itself. Gold light pours from chandeliers, catching the sequins and the wine glasses. Laughter glides across the room in polished accents. The kind of laughter that hides teeth.
I tug the hem of my black dress lower, even though it already fits like a second skin. Dmitry told me to wear this one, and I hate that I listened. I hate how obeying us command made my pussy wet. How, as I dressed, all I could think of was him praising me, calling me his good girl for listening to him.
The spot between my thighs buzzes, cramping with yearning.
I know I shouldn’t expect anything. This is not a BDSM scene, nor did Dmitry sign up to be my Daddy Dom. But my nerves have been tight with anticipation all evening, waiting for him to notice that I followed his instructions.
“I wore the dress you mentioned,” I say, cringing internally. I’m acting so desperate for his attention. I doubt he’s going to tell me I’ve been a good girl. I’m only his fake girlfriend. He’s not here to validate me or help me live out my fantasies of being a submissive. Or maybe Dmitry Antonov is too vanilla to be into things like Ddlg.
“I noticed,” he replies. He doesn’t say more.
I pout, but he has already turned his head. He’s scanning the crowd.
“Come on, it’s time to socialize.” My breath catches when he places his hand on the small of my back. It’s just a touch, barely there, but my whole body lights up. The crowd is all around us, but in that moment, he feels like the only real thing in the room.
“Ready to play the part?” he asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
He leans close enough for his breath to brush my ear. “Not tonight.”
Before I can reply, a pair of students from the Finance Society walk over. One of them, a senior named Julian, grins wide. “Callista, you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend. And this one’s a ten.”
“Yeah, where’d you find him?” another girl laughs. “Is he imported?”
“All the way from Russia. Can’t say I have a taste for foreign stuff, though.” My first instinct is sarcasm. I know it’s crazy to feel betrayed because he didn’t praise me for wearing the dress he wanted, but part of me craves validation. I never get any from my dad, and if I’m going to have a fake boyfriend, the least he can do is make me feel like I’m playing my part well.
Dmitry laughs softly, his arm tightening around my waist. The possessive touch satiates the ache in my core, but only for a moment. I need more from him. More than I he can give. Morethan I have a right to expect. “She’s always like this. Pretends she doesn’t like me. But she does.”
