Page 118 of Vittoria


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"I told him I was marrying the smartest woman in Chicago." His mouth quirks.

Before I can respond, his hands are on me.

One arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. The other cups the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. I barely have time to gasp before his mouth crashes into mine.

His tongue slides past my lips and I moan into his mouth. His fingers tighten in my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wants it.

God.

When he finally pulls back, I'm panting. My lips feel swollen. My entire body hums like a live wire.

Dmitri doesn't say a word.

He just turns, walks to the front row, and sits down in one of the velvet seats. Legs spread. Arms relaxed. Those eyes fixed on me like I'm the only thing worth watching.

I stare at him, still trying to catch my breath.

"Take off your clothes."

The words hit me like ice water.

"What?" I laugh because surely I misheard him. "You're joking."

"I don't joke." His expression doesn't change. Not even a flicker of amusement.

Oh.

He's serious.

"Dmitri, I'm not—" I gesture vaguely at the empty theater around us. "We're inpublic."

"We're alone." He tilts his head, studying me. "Take them off."

"No." I cross my arms over my chest. "Absolutely not."

"If you don't do it yourself," he says, "I'll do it for you. And then you'll have to go home naked."

Heat floods my core so fast it makes me dizzy.

That shouldn't turn me on. That absolutely should not turn me on.

But my thighs press together anyway, betraying me.

Dmitri notices. Of course he notices. A ghost of a smile curves his lips as he lifts his arms and rests his hands behind his head. The picture of casual arrogance. Like he has all the time in the world.

Like he knows I'll give in.

Bastard.

My fingers find the zipper at my side before my brain catches up. The sound of it sliding down echoes in the silent theater.

What am I doing?

I don't stop.

The dress pools at my feet. I step out of it, standing in nothing but my black lace bra, matching underwear, and four-inch heels.

"Keep the heels on." Dmitri's voice has dropped an octave. Rougher now.