My stomach flips. "That's not?—"
"You want me to rule your body." He says it like fact. Like something so obvious it doesn't need debate. "You're just afraid to admit it."
"No." The word comes out too fast. Too defensive. "I wore it because?—"
"Because I told you to."
I open my mouth. Close it. My brain scrambles for a response that doesn't prove his point.
Because you wanted to see if you'd follow his orders.
Because some part of you liked being told what to do.
"This was a test," Dmitri continues. His fingers trace the rim of his whiskey glass. Slow. Deliberate. "I didn't know you would actually wear it. I hoped. But I wasn't certain."
My throat tightens. "A test."
"Mm." That almost-smile again. "And you passed. Or failed, depending on perspective."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He leans back. Studies me like I'm code he's finally cracked.
"It means I was right about you, solnyshko. You're submissive." The word lands between us like a grenade. "You want someone to take control. To make the decisions. To tell you exactly what to do and when to do it."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't—that's not?—"
"And I'm going to give you that." His voice goes rough. "I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt. Push you pastevery limit you think you have. Give you the best sex of your life." He pauses. "Every single time."
I stare at him.
My pulse pounds in my ears. Between my legs. Against my ribs.
Submissive.
The word echoes in my skull. I know what it means. I'm not an idiot. I've seen things online. Read articles. But I've never... I don't...
Do I?
The crystal plug still sits inside me. Heavy. Present. A constant reminder that I followed his order. That some part of mewantedto follow it.
But that doesn't mean?—
"You're processing," Dmitri observes. Like he can read my thoughts scrolling across my face. "Good. Take your time."
"I need—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat. "I need a minute."
He nods once. "Of course."
I push back from the table. My legs feel unsteady as I stand, but I force them to work. Force myself to walk normally past the other tables, past the piano player.
The bathroom is marble and gold. Soft lighting. Fresh flowers in crystal vases. I lock myself in a stall and press my back against the cool door.
Breathe.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror opposite. Flushed cheeks. Bright eyes. Kiss-swollen lips even though he hasn't touched me.
Submissive.
