But it's not just rage.
It's the way his command echoes in my head. The way my body responds to those three words like he's trained it to. The memory of his mouth near my ear at the restaurant, promising he'd have me begging.
I will never beg.
I type back:I don't take orders from you.
His response comes in seconds.You will.
God.God.
I throw my phone on the bed and pace to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Somewhere out there, Dmitri Baganov is sitting in his club or his penthouse or wherever monsters spend their evenings, smiling at his phone like he's already won.
He hasn't won.
I won't wear it. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten under my skin. That right now, my body feels like a live wire, sparking and dangerous, because a man I've known for weeks sent me asex toywith instructions.
What kind of person does that?
The same kind who admits to stalking you. Who promises to murder anyone else who tries to marry you. Who calls you "little sun" while describing exactly how he'd take you on a restaurant table.
I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse. Behind my eyelids, I see his pale grey eyes tracking my every movement. Feel his breath against my neck. Hear that deep voice dropping into a growl.
My reflection stares back at me from the window, cheeks flushed, lips parted. I look like someone who's already lost.
I haven't lost.
I refuse to lose.
But I also can't stand here vibrating like a plucked string while he sits across the city, satisfied with himself.
Cold shower. That's what I need. Ice cold water to shock this insanity out of my system and remind my body that it doesn't get to make decisions without my brain's approval.
I strip off my clothes and step into the bathroom, turning the handle until the water runs frigid. The first spray hits my skin like needles, and I gasp, forcing myself to stay under the assault.
Think about code. Think about firewalls. Think about Valentino's security protocols.
But my mind keeps drifting back to that velvet box. To the weight of the plug in my palm. To the way he expects me to walk into dinner tomorrow with that thinginside me, knowing, while I sit across from him pretending nothing is different.
He wants me off-balance. Distracted. Thinking about him when I should be thinking about anything else.
And damn him, it's working.
I stay under the cold water until my teeth chatter and my skin turns numb. Then I wrap myself in a towel and pad back to my bedroom, deliberately not looking at the box on my nightstand.
My phone buzzes.
I shouldn't look. I know I shouldn't look.
I look.
Sweet dreams, solnyshko.
I throw the phone across the room.
It lands on my pillow, screen up, his message glowing in the darkness like a taunt.
I'm not wearing it.
