I wish he were wrong.
The air between us hums with something I can’t name. Then my phone rings.
My stomach plummets when I see the name on the screen.
Dad.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “I can’t?—”
I hesitate too long. I bite my lip, hoping that the phone stops ringing. My father wouldn’t call me until he had bad news to deliver and I’m not in the mood for bad news.
Dmitry takes one look at me and snatches the phone from my hand.
“Dmitry, no?—”
“Hello,” he says, tone smooth, confident.
I lunge for the phone, mouthinggive it back,but he steps out of reach and hits speaker.
“Who is this?” my father’s voice booms through the room, clipped and cold as ever.
“I’m Callista’s boyfriend,” Dmitry says, steady as stone. “Dmitry Antonov.”
I freeze. The room tilts.
My father goes silent for three long, horrifying seconds. “Herwhat?”
Dmitry doesn’t flinch. “Her boyfriend. It’s nice to finally speak with you, sir. Callista’s busy right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll pass it on.”
I shake my head violently, mouthingstop it, but he only watches me, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
My father clears his throat. His voice is tight, controlled, the way it gets when he’s forcing himself not to shout. “Tell her that her stepmother has generously decided to invite her to the party we’re hosting before Selina leaves for art camp in Paris. Some of our guests were asking about her, and it would be… impolite if she didn’t make an appearance.”
I can picture him: sitting in his study, tie loosened, whisky glass sweating in his hand, every word measured and heavy.
“It’s the Sunday after next,” he adds. “Six sharp.”
Dmitry’s tone doesn’t change. “Should I assume I’m invited as well?”
The silence that follows stretches like wire. When my father finally speaks, I can hear his teeth grinding. “If you must.”
Then the line goes dead.
I stand frozen for a second before I move. When I do, I tackle him onto the bed. He’s like a wall of bricks. Pushing him onto the bed, flattening him, takes the wind out of my lungs. I sit on top of him so he can’t move, pinning him in place.
I glare at him.
“Are you out of your mind?” I grab my phone back and push him. “You can’t just talk to him like that!”
He’s laughing quietly, the sound low and infuriating. “Relax, princess. He invited me. Also, I love you on top of me.”
I move my ass, but it only grinds against his hard abs. I stay on him, not wanting to move. He said he liked it, and the submissive side of me wants to please him, wants to give him what he likes.
His chest expands and contracts under me. I feel his breaths. And his hand caressing my ass slowly, the kind of slow that makes my pussy water and my breasts feel tingly.
“You pervert!” I scream, unable to admit how much I like it.
“Don’t blame a guy for liking a plump ass on his cock.” I choke at Dmitry’s filthy language as his hands cup my ass cheeks. I should be alarmed, but I’m not. His possessive touch feels playful rather than invasive. My blood heats, flowing slowly to my pussy, making my inner walls throb in time to his breaths. “Why are you so mad?”
