He stumbles back, clutching his face, eyes wide with shock.
Callista gasps, hand over her mouth. I can see the terror and disbelief in her eyes.
But I can’t regret it. I saw the way he looked at her, the way his words crushed her, and I couldn’t stand it another second.
For the first time in her life, someone needed to defend her.
And as I stand there, breathing hard, watching her shake in front of me, I know I’ve just crossed a line that changes everything.
Because I’m no longer pretending to be her boyfriend.
I’ve become something else entirely.
THIRTEEN
Callista
The rideback to campus is quiet. I see the blood on Dmitry’s knuckles as he grips the steering wheel hard. It has dried. It’s not his blood. It’s my Dad’s. He broke a tooth, and then we left. He grabbed my hand, said he couldn’t stand seeing me get insulted, and dragged me back to the car.
I didn’t protest. I was too shocked to do anything. But I let him start the engine. I let his rough hands put on my seatbelt and I let him whisk me away from the home I detest, from the family I hate.
A soft patter presses against the windshield, gradually intensifying into a full-fledged downpour. Dmitry’s jaw is clenched, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The tension in the car is thick, almost tangible. The windshield wipers hum, their mechanical whir intensifying the silent tension between us. I can feel my skin crackling from proximity with Dmitry. He’s suppressing so much. I can tell from the tight jaw, the veins protruding at his temples, and his refusal to look at me.
“Why are you so angry?” I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “I should be the one who’s angry. You fought with my dad, and now I can’t face my family. They might cut me off completely.”
Despite the prospect that my dad might call tomorrow and disown be for ‘dating’ someone like Dmitry, I’m not afraid. With him by my side, I feel stupidly strong, like I can handle anything the world throws at me. He’s like my anchor.
His gaze doesn’t waver from the road, but his jaw tightens further. “I’m angry because of the way they treat you. You don’t deserve that. Every single family member treated you like crap today. It was fucking painful to watch.”
A pang shoots through my chest. His voice is harsh, filled with emotions. He’s angry on my behalf. He hates seeing me put down. Nobody has ever felt that way before. Nobody has believed that I deserved better. “I’ve been putting up with it for years. I’m used to it. It wasn’t going to be for much longer anyway.”
He glances at me, his eyes dark with an emotion I can’t quite name. “No one should have to put up with that crap. They don’t see how hard you work, how exceptional you are. They don’t deserve you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The intensity in his voice, the protectiveness—it’s more than I’ve ever had from anyone. “Dmitry…”
“If they cut you off,” he says, his voice firm and unyielding, “I’ll take care of you. You won’t be alone. You work for me now. I take care of my people. My family.”
The word family sends a shiver down my spine. My pussy trembles at the word. A heavy weight settles in my stomach. I know that in the bratva, the soldiers who work for the organization are seen as a part of the family. Is it the same for me? Or did Dmitry mean something more?
The rain is pouring down now, the wipers working overtime to clear the view. The world outside is a blur of gray and green, the road slick with water. Suddenly, Dmitry pulls off the highway and into the parking lot of a small, rundown motel. The neon sign flickers intermittently, casting an eerie glow over the wet pavement.
“What are you doing?” I ask, turning to look at him.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he unbuckles his seatbelt and then mine, his movements deliberate and precise. Before I can react, he leans over and kisses me, his mouth hungry and demanding. His hands cup my face, holding me in place as his tongue delves deep, exploring every corner of my mouth.
I gasp, my body responding instantly to his touch. His hands move down to my breasts, groping them roughly, his thumbs circling my hardening nipples. A moan escapes me as he slides one hand under my dress, his fingers finding the lace of my panties and stroking my clit through the thin fabric.
“Dmitry…” I whisper, breathless.
“On my lap, babygirl,” he commands, his voice low and rough. “I need to feel you.”
He lifts me effortlessly, pulling me onto his thighs. I feel his strong, masculine muscles, and they offer my ass support. His fingers slip under my panties, finding my slick folds. He groans, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”
I can only nod, my body aching with need. He thrusts two fingers inside me, stretching me, filling me. His other hand moves to my breasts, plucking at my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he growls, his hips grinding against me, his hard cock pressing against my ass. “You love this, don’t you? Being fingered in the car, in the pouring rain.”
I whimper, my body shaking with the intensity of his touch. His fingers move faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside me thatmakes me see stars. His thumb circles my clit, the sensation almost too much to bear.
