A waiter approaches with a tray of champagne. I take two flutes and hand one to Callista.
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. I need to keep a clear head.”
“Drink,” I say, my voice low.
Her eyes flick to mine, wide for a second before narrowing. “You’re not my?—”
“Daddy,” I remind her, leaning in just enough that my breath ghosts over her ear. “I am. Tonight, you do what I say.”
A flush creeps up her neck. She takes the glass, her fingers trembling slightly as she brings it to her lips. The way she obeys—fuck, it goes straight to my cock.
We weave through the crowd, and I notice the way her smile changes depending on who she’s talking to. Polite for the older donors, warmer for the students she recognizes, reserved for the men who look at her too long. I don’t like that last one.
When a server passes with a tray of hors d'oeuvres, Callista smiles at him, her lips curving in that effortless way she has. “Thank you.”
My hand tightens on her waist. “Stop smiling at him.”
She blinks. “What?”
“You heard me.” I pull her closer, my mouth near her ear. “Tonight, you only smile for me.”
She coughs. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” I drag my thumb along the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse jump. “Or do you like knowing I’m jealous?”
Her voice is scratchy as she opens her mouth and doesn’t answer. She takes a swig of the champagne.
I take her hand, leading her to an empty table in the corner. I take the chair against the wall, wreathed in shadows. When she tries to sit next to me, I growl.
“Not there. On my lap.”
“What?” She looks around in panic, like a deer caught in headlights. “We’re in public.”
“That doesn’t change anything. You listen to me, babygirl. Daddy knows what’s best for you.”
“Sit,” I order, patting my thigh.
Her eyes widen. “Here? Now?”
“Unless you’d rather I bend you over my knee instead.”
She hesitates, but the challenge in my voice does something to her. Slowly, she lowers herself onto my lap, her dress riding up just enough to tease me. I wrap an arm around her waist, my hand splayed over her stomach, holding her in place.
“Good girl,” I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now tell me, do you like when I control you like this?”
She shivers. “I—I don’t know.”
I slide my hand up her thigh, my fingers inching toward the heat between her legs. “Liar.” My thumb grazes the lace of her panties, and she gasps, her hips jerking slightly. “You love it. You love when I tell you what to do. When I make you obey. When I leave you no other choice.”
She whimpers, her body tensing. “Dmitry?—”
“Shh.” I press a finger against her lips. “No talking unless I say so.”
Her breath comes faster, her chest rising and falling against my arm. I can feel the way her body responds to my dominance, the way her thighs tremble when I trace the seam of her panties. I slide my hand under her dress, teasing her wet folds through her soaked panties. God, she’s so cute when she’s squirming on my lap, face as red as a tomato. I have her where I want her.
“You’re so wet for me,” I murmur, my voice rough. “Aren’t you?”
She nods, her face pink, her lips parted.
