Almost.
Vittoria
It was a mistake.
I knew it the moment I slid that thing inside me this afternoon, standing in my bathroom like an idiot, telling myselfhe won't know. He can't see through fabric. He can't read minds. I'd wear it just to prove I wasn't afraid of him, then take it out before dinner and laugh about how pathetic his little power play was.
Except I didn't take it out.
And now I'm sitting across from Dmitri Baganov in a Michelin-starred restaurant, my thighs clenched together so tight they're cramping, my pulse hammering between my legs, and my brain screamingwhy the fuck did you do this to yourself?
The vibrations stopped thirty seconds ago, but my body hasn't gotten the memo. I'm still wound tight, still hovering on that edge he dragged me to with nothing but a press of histhumb on that goddamn remote. If he'd kept it going another ten seconds—maybe five—I would have come right here. At the table. With Elio sitting fifteen feet away.
Good girl.
His voice echoes in my skull.
I hate how much I want to hear it again.
"This is the last time," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel. Small victory. "The last time you pull something like this. Ever."
Dmitri tilts his head. The remote has vanished but I can still see the outline of his smirk. Not quite a smile. Something darker. More satisfied.
"Is it?"
"I mean it." I reach for my water glass, grateful my hand doesn't shake. "Whatever game you think you're playing?—"
"I'm not playing anything, solnyshko." He leans back in his chair, completely at ease. Like he didn't just edge me in public. Like this is a normal Monday. "You wore it. I rewarded you. Simple."
Rewarded.
Heat floods my cheeks. I want to throw my water in his face. I want to climb across this table and?—
No. Absolutely not.
"I didn't wear it for you," I snap.
One eyebrow lifts. Just slightly. "Then why did you?"
The question hangs between us, and I don't have an answer. At least not one I'm willing to say out loud.
Because I was curious.
Because I've never owned one and I wanted to know what it felt like.
"I don't know," I admit.
Dmitri's expression doesn't change.
"Try again."
"Excuse me?"
He leans forward. "You know exactly why you wore it. You just don't want to admit it."
"And what's your theory?" I match his posture, refusing to back down. "Since you seem to know everything about me."
"You wore it because you want to take orders." His voice drops low. "You want to obey like the good girl you are."
