Teddy from a small town who trains clients by day and dreams by night.
And then there’s Kirill…
My cheeks burn as I remember dropping to my knees in that alley. The way he tasted, the low groan he tried to hold back, the sharp smacks of my own hand against my butt while I pleasured him.
The secret we now share makes me feel deliciously naughty and small and wanted all at once. Every step sends a little reminder of the warmth still lingering on my skin.
By the time I reach my apartment door, I am overstimulated in the best and worst ways—heart racing, body buzzing, thoughts refusing to slow down.
I need to come down gently or I will never sleep.
I lock the door behind me, kick off my shoes, and head straight for the tiny kitchen. Brando waits on the couch where I left him, his floppy ears flopped over one eye like he is winking at me. I scoop him up and hug him tight against my chest while I warm a mug of milk in the microwave. A splash of vanilla and a littlehoney go in—just the way my mom used to make it when I was little and couldn’t settle.
With the warm mug in one hand and Brando tucked under my arm, I pad into my bedroom. I change into my softest sleep romper—the pale yellow one with tiny white stars—and climb under the covers.
My iPad is already on the nightstand. I prop it up on a pillow, open my comfort film, and press play on101 Dalmatians.
The familiar opening music wraps around me like a hug.
I sip the warm milk, letting the sweetness soothe the edges of my racing thoughts, while Brando sits nestled against my side. On screen, Pongo and Perdita run through London, and I mouth the lines along with the narrator, voice soft and sleepy.
The overstimulation slowly melts away.
The wild energy from the stage, the shock of meeting a real producer, the secret heat of the alley—all of it softens into something warm and hopeful. My eyelids grow heavy as the puppies tumble across the screen in their spotted chaos.
I doze off with a smile on my face, thoughts drifting in that hazy space between awake and asleep. One day I could be starring in a sitcom—making people laugh every week, seeing my name in the credits.
And maybe, just maybe, I could have a family of dogs someday. A whole house full of spotted puppies running around while a tall, strong man with the devil in his eyes watches from the doorway, arms crossed, that faint approving smile on his lips.
Kirill.
Even in my half-dream, he feels solid and safe. Protective. Commanding in the way that makes my stomach flutter and my bottom tingle at the same time. I imagine him scooping me up after a long day, calling me his good boy, correcting me when I get too sassy, then holding me close while we watch silly movies together.
My life suddenly feels like it might be coming together.
The audition. The possibility of real acting work. The thrilling, terrifying pull toward a man who makes me feel small and cherished and alive.
I snuggle deeper into the blankets, Brando tucked under my chin, the gentle barks and music of101 Dalmatiansfading into the background.
For the first time in a long while, the future does not feel like an endless hustle.
It feels bright. Possible. Even a little magical.
With that warm, hopeful thought curling around me like the milk in my belly, I drift off completely, smiling, content, and dreaming of spotted puppies, spotlights, and a certain commanding Russian who might just want to share it all with me.
Chapter 10
Kirill
The phone vibrates on the nightstand, dragging me from a restless sleep. The apartment is still dark, the Gothic building across the way barely visible through the tall windows. I reach for the device, already knowing who it is before I see the name.
Ivan.
I answer with a clipped, “Speak.”
“Coffee shop on the corner of 8th and Mercer,” Ivan says, his voice low and urgent. “Twenty minutes. We need to talk.”
The line goes dead.
