Always calm, always in control.
But tonight, he’s watching me for cues, not giving them. Because tonight is different.
Tonight, we let someone in.
“No,” I say. “I want to take it off him.”
Vitaly’s standing just beyond the bed now.
The lights are low.
His eyes are locked on me like he’s starving and can’t decide if I’m food or fire. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, trying not to tremble.
“Come here,” I purr. “Let me taste you.”
He steps closer.
I sit on my knees, thighs already damp and parted on the plush pink duvet.
I reach for his shirt, fingers brushing the firm line of his stomach.
He’s warm. Buzzing with tension.
“This is where I usually make a joke,” I whisper, “something filthy or unhinged.”
He swallows. Lets me peel his shirt off.
My hands explore first.
Up his chest, over his ribs, nails just biting as I drag them down.
“You’re perfect,” I say. “And you’re mine.”
I undo his belt next. Button. Zip. He doesn’t move, just breathes. I pull his pants down slow and lean forward to mouth over the fabric of his briefs, inhaling.
He groans. He’s already hard.
My mouth waters.
Behind him, Callum mutters, “I swear to God…”
“Touch yourself and Elliot gets the crop,” I warn him without looking.
Callum makes a strangled sound.
“Good girl,” Elliot whispers.
I look up at Vitaly. “Lie down for me. Head at the pillows.”
He hesitates only a breath before obeying.
When he lays down, the bed barely dips. He’s solid, sculpted, eyes wide and dark as he watches me crawl between his legs.
“You’re sure?” I ask him, fingers curling around his waistband.
“Da,” he rasps. “I want… I want everything.”
I drag his briefs off.
