He thinks he broke me, reduced me to a begging, moaning mess he can control with a button.
He's wrong.
This wasperfect. This was exactly what I needed to understand him. He showed me his hand tonight. His need for control, his obsession with my reactions, his weakness for my surrender.
Information is power. And Dmitri just handed me a loaded weapon.
I turn on the faucet and wet a paper towel, pressing it against my heated cheeks. The cool dampness helps clear my head. I clean myself up as best I can, grimacing at the slickness between my thighs.Drippingwasn't an exaggeration.
My hand pauses at my hip.
The vibrator.
I should take it out. The logical part of my brain screams at me to remove the evidence of his control.
But where would I put it?
This dress has no pockets. My clutch is the size of a credit card. I can't exactly stroll back to the table with a rose gold vibrator in my hand while Elio watches.
Cazzo.
I adjust my dress, smooth down the silk, and decide the vibrator stays where it is.
I check my reflection one final time. Perfect. Composed. Like nothing happened at all.
Game on, Baganov.
I push open the bathroom door and step into the restaurant.
The ambient noise washes over me. Everything looks exactly as it did before. The other diners have no idea that ten feet away, a Russian mobster made a Sartori princess come so hard in the toilet.
I keep my spine straight, my chin high.
Then I see him.
Dmitri sits at our table, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, a glass of wine in his other hand. He looks completely relaxed. Satisfied. Like a predator who just finished a successful hunt.
Our eyes meet across the room.
His gaze tracks my approach, cataloging every detail. I watch his expression shift, just barely. A flicker of surprise. Then something darker. Hungrier.
Good.
He expected me to come back shaken. Embarrassed. Maybe even angry enough to storm out.
Instead, I'm walking toward him like I own this restaurant and everyone in it.
I slide into my seat across from him, reaching for my wine glass like nothing happened.
Elio is standing closer now. He's sensed that there is tension between us.
"Elio," I say sweetly, not breaking eye contact with Dmitri. "Could you give us a moment?"
My guard hesitates. I feel his confusion without looking at him.
"Just five minutes," I add. "I promise I won't stab him with a butter knife."
Elio mutters something under his breath but moves to a table near the entrance, far enough to give us privacy but close enough to intervene if needed.
