I cry out and arch my back as he slides in and out, pleasure shooting up and down my body.
“You’re mine, Clara Benson.”
My brain can hardly decode the words and their meaning as Dmitri pounds into me again and again, pushing me into thewall with each thrust. My body shakes as he drives me higher and higher, closer to the edge.
His fingers dig into my ass, and I barely notice when he moves us to the bed. He lays me on my back, and I wrap my legs around him. When he plunges in again, we both cry out as he sinks deep.
Dmitri is above me, his moans of pleasure causing raging sensations to course through me as he thrusts in and out, like wild storm waves on the beach. I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands finding my hair, raking through it as I writhe.
The orgasm crashes over me, the strongest yet, taking my consciousness with it. I float at the crest for a second, for a minute, for an hour, I have no idea. The scream it rips out of me echoes inside my head, so loud it nearly blots out the moment Dmitri comes, groaning as he spasms inside of me.
He collapses forward and off to my side. We bothliethere, breathing hard, entirely spent.
“You’re mine, Clara Benson,” he says again into the dark silence of my apartment, over the sound of blood still rushing in my ears.
And we both know it’s true.
11
CLARA
When I wake up and reach over, Dmitri is gone.
Not that I expected him to stick around. He doesn't seem the type to snuggle before a bagel run. In fact, I was surprised he stayed at all, instead of immediately gettingout ofbed after sex and leaving. But that doesn't mean there isn't still a faint feeling of disappointment.
It's better this way, anyway. I can't form any kind of attachment toDmitri. He is my boss first, second, and third. That's all he can be, and my body is just going to have to learn that. I'm going to have to figure out how to hold the line when he is around. Moments like last night cannot happen again.
I get up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Unexpectedly, I feel a wave of nausea, and I have to stay there for a moment.
I have been feeling like this on and off lately, and I really don't know what it’s about. Could it be some kind offalloutfrom my messy breakup with Dean? Or is this some sort of new anxiety disorder rearing its ugly head? I always feel nervous before I gointo a courtroom, and I wonder if this is a delayed reaction to yesterday's chaos.
I manage to swallow the nausea down, stand up, and get ready for the day. As I enter the kitchen, I see a pot of freshly brewed coffee waiting for me. Beneath the mug set beside is a note, scrawled quickly on a notepad I got with a freemailer.
The happy cartoonpenguinis in stark contrast to the sharp,no-nonsensemessage scrawled underneath the bubble letters.
Ihaveto get to work. I'd better see you in the office today. You agreed to be my employee, just as I agreed to be your employer. I don't like it when people go back on their word.
I rollmy eyes as Icrumplethe piece of paper up into a tight ball and toss it into thetrash can, thinking to myself:Realromantic. Super-sexy note. Makes me want to jump all over you.
The worst part is that despite the coldness, that’s exactly what I want to do. I'm craving what only Dmitri can give me, craving it badly enoughthatthe pulse is back between my thighs, even as my stomach continues to churn.
I throw up twice while I'm getting ready. It can't be the stomach flu—I don't feel sick and I don't have a temperature—none of the hallmarks of a stomach bug or food poisoning. I'm not glued to the toilet, and I'm still able to function. I don't think I’ll be putting my coworkers at risk if I go into the office. I'm not letting that note get the best of me, nor am I going to let Dmitriwin by not showing up for work.
Screwhim and his stupid business, his stupid lies, and his stupid secret life. If I'm going to do this, it's going to be on my terms. Iabsolutely refuse to be controlled by another man. If I am there, it's because I want to be. And he better not drag me into anything illegal and screw up my future career either. I warned him about that last night.
I skip breakfast but grab a piece of dry toast on my way out, just in case. Then I swing by the bodega on the corner to grab some ginger ale, which helps me through the train ride to work.
Ithrowup twice more once I get there, but I'm feeling better by mid-afternoon. I manage to keep a small amount of food in me, which helps. And the best part is, I don't see Dmitri all day.
I don't feel sick again until I'm on my way home. I manage to make it to my apartment, dumping everything by the door and sprinting to the bathroom just in time.
When I look up, I see Emily hovering in the bathroom doorway, a concerned frown on her face.
“Ihave a bottle of ginger ale in my purse.”I wave in the direction of my front door.“Canyou get it for me, please?”
My best friend disappears, then comes back clutching two bottles of ginger ale—the nearly empty one and the full one.
“Whyare youdowningginger ale? If you're that sick, why didn't you stay home today?”
