by Nicole Fox
“Any change?” I ask, pinching the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I slip out of my jeans.
“No, sorry,” Amanda says. “I’m calling to make sure it’s fine with you if we change a few of her dosages.”
“Oh yeah,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “Whatever you both think is best will be fine.”
Amanda starts saying something else, but my phone beeps to alert me to another call. It’s Fyodr.
“Do whatever you need to do,” I say, cutting her off. “I have another call, but call back later if you need me for anything.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, switching lines. I let Courtney go out for lunch with her friend, and she should still be there. I told the guards to call only if there was trouble.
“We’re coming back,” Fyodr says, his voice deep and obviously annoyed. “There was an unexpected visitor to the table. He appeared to be very … close to her.”
“To Courtney?” I ask.
“I think he was a boyfriend.”
I hear Courtney saying something in the background, but I can’t make it out.
Fyodr starts relaying the events, talking over her increasingly loud commentary, and tells me the man had his hands all over her and they looked very cozy in the booth.
Suddenly, I hear a small struggle and then Courtney’s voice comes through the phone loud and clear.
“That man was a scumbag. I didn’t want to have a threesome or a foursome or whatever with him. I hate him.”
Clearly, I’ve given Courtney too much free rein. One day out of the house, and she’s testing my rules. She isn’t supposed to be with another man for the entirety of the six months. Plus, she’s disrespecting my soldiers.
There is a struggle for the phone, but I’ve heard more than enough. I hang up and grab a fresh pair of pants. I wanted to shower, but there’s no time now. They’ll be back soon, and I want to deal with Courtney right away.
They must have been closer to the house than I thought because I’ve just slipped into my pants when I hear the front door open and close, followed by the sound of Courtney’s voice echoing through the house.
“Get your hands off me!” she snaps.
With every second, her voice gets louder, and I know the guards are hauling her up the stairs.
I pad into the hallway, shirtless, and meet them.
Fyodr and Alexi each have her by one arm, and her legs are bicycling as she tries to reach the ground.
“Get your hands off me,” she shouts.
I nod for the men to put her down, and they let go. Courtney is surprised by this and drops to her knees, scrambling back up and brushing off her shirt.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and huffs. When she sees me, her brown eyes harden. “This is wholly unnecessary. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I move towards her fast, stopping only a few inches away. “Because my guards stopped you.”
“What they didn’t tell you is that I pushed that creep out of the booth and—”
Her cheeks are flushed from exertion, and her lips are glossed and shiny. Being so close to her makes me feel off-center. To ground myself, I wrap a hand around her neck and pull her to my lips.
She hesitates for a moment before her mouth goes soft and she kisses me back. My tongue pushes her lips apart and slides inside, twirling with hers. Courtney drags her hands down my bare chest until her fingers are at my waistband, teasing what she wants—what we both want.
I break away and grab her shoulder, holding her back.
I see my men sneaking quietly down the stairs, not wanting to interrupt our moment, and I’m grateful to be alone with her.
“You are mine,” I growl, grabbing her hip and pulling her against me. “Only mine.”
Courtney lays her hands on my chest like she’s going to push me away, but she doesn’t. She looks up at me with hooded eyes, her gaze unfocused from our kiss. “For twenty-two more weeks.”
The reminder of how little time we really have makes me kiss her again.
Her mouth is sweet and warm, and I walk her backwards until we hit the hallway wall. Courtney throws her arm up over her head, her hand knocking a picture frame askew, and I quickly grab her wrist, pinning her arm down as I claim her mouth as my own.
For twenty-two more weeks.
When I nip at her jaw and her neck, she takes a shuddering breath.
“That guy is a creep. He’s my friend’s friend. I don’t even know him.”
I follow the curve of her waist down to her waistband and around to unbutton and unzip her jeans. With her free hand, she helps me push them down her hips.
“Then why were you letting him touch you?” I ask. “If you remember, I’m the only man who can lay a hand on you. Otherwise, the deal is over.”
She gasps when I cup my hand over the warmth between her legs and arches her back to give me better access. “He cornered me in the booth and touched me, and I didn’t want him to. I tried to get him off.”
Courtney tilts her head back, letting me lick and suck on her neck and earlobe, while her hand is massaging circles in the tight muscles of my back and shoulders.
“I should kill him,” I mutter against her skin, driving my excitement against the front of her lace panties. “I’m the only man who can touch you, whether you like it or not.”
Suddenly, Courtney pulls her hand out of my grip and unbuttons my pants, sliding them down just far enough that she can slip me out of my boxers and wrap her hand around my length.
I hiss as she slides slowly to my tip, and then her mouth is at my ear.
“I’m not exactly resisting, am I?” she whispers, stroking me again.
I pull back, surprised. I knew our sex felt good to her. There’s no way she couldn’t feel the sexual tension between us. Still, I never expected her to admit she wanted this. I never imagined she would admit this is more than a business deal.
And it’s so fucking sexy.
I slide my hand down her smooth stomach and inside her panties. She widens her legs, letting me flick my finger against her and massage until she’s moaning, her hips bucking against my hand.
“You want this?” I growl. “You like this?”
She bites her lower lip and nods.
“Tell me,” I demand.
“Yes,” she breathes. “I want this. Yes, please.”
I slide a finger inside of her, curling it up and towards myself, massaging her inside until she’s panting.
“More,” she says, throwing her head back against the wall.
I add a second finger.
Courtney lifts herself onto her toes and then lowers down on my finger, riding my hand, and it’s too hot to handle.
I pull my fingers out of her and capture her mouth again.
“Please,” she mumbles against my lips. I’m in no mood to deny her.
I know we should go into my room, but it’s ten feet away and too far. I can’t wait. I need her now. Here.
Not caring how much the skimpy lace panties she’s wearing cost, I tug at the sides, tearing the delicate material, and position myself at her opening. She inhales, ready for me to impale her, and I do just that. All the way to the hilt because the fire of need inside of me is raging. I have to put it out before I explode.
“Dmitry?” a voice from the stairs asks.
Courtney gasps and throws her arms over her chest, and I lean forward to pin her against the wall, covering her body with mine.
“I’m obviously busy,” I bark, looking over my shoulder to see Fyodr staring straight ahead, trying not to look at us.
“I know,” he says with a wince. “But the police are here. I don’t think they’re willing to wait.”
9
Courtney
Dmitry waits until the guard is gone and then he pulls me into his room and shuts the door. Without a word, he rifles through his closet for a shirt, tugs it on, and buttons up his pants. Then, on his way out the door, he stops and looks back over his shoulder.
“Get dressed.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m not sure he notices.
Obviously, I’m not going to hang out half naked in his room while the police are downstairs.
My panties are ruined, but I pull up my jeans anyway and try to get used to the feeling of denim against my rather sensitive skin. Then, I move to his walk-in closet to check my appearance in the full-length mirror.
My dark hair is tousled from his hands and my shirt is rumpled. I try to smooth it out, but there’s no use. So, I do what I can with my hair, and clean up the edges of my eyeliner with my finger.
As I’m leaving the closet, I notice something hanging halfway out of a small trash can. I almost walk right past it, but then I see what looks like blood splatter.
I bend down and pull the fabric out of the trash can, pinching it between two fingers, and realize it’s a shirt. There are drops of blood around the collar and a smear of it on the hem where it looks like someone tried to wipe their hands.
I drop the shirt on the floor.
What kind of man am I living with?
I just begged him to fuck me in a hallway, and there was a bloody shirt a few feet away in his bedroom. He mentioned murdering Devon, but I thought it was mostly an act. Now, I’m not so sure.
Dmitry is dangerous. I knew it from the moment I saw him punch my dad in the shop, then when he kidnapped me, but I somehow managed to push aside for a little while, caught up in the red-hot sex and chemistry between us.
Now I know the truth and it scares me.
More than anything, it scares me that I still want him despite it all.
Suddenly, there is a knock on the door and it cracks open. “Courtney? May we come in?”
It’s Dmitry, his eyes wide in warning.
I quickly kick the bloody shirt to the back of the closet and pull the upholstered bench in from the middle of the room to hide it.
Just as I finish and walk out of the closet, Dmitry opens the door wide and lets in two police officers.
They’re both portly men, their hands resting on their belts, eyes narrowed and searching. They scan me up and down.
“Can I help you?” I ask as sweetly as I can.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” the bald officer says, puffing out his chest. “We heard a report that you might be being held here against your will.”
Dmitry’s eyes flare and then crinkle at the corners in a friendly smile when the officers look in his direction.
I could tell the officers I’m here against my will. I could tell them everything Dmitry has done—to me, my father, and probably scores of others. The bloody shirt is sitting in the other room as proof.
Except, what if it isn’t enough? What if they can’t arrest him and then he kills me and my father just as he said he would?
Or, what if it is enough? What if they cart him away in handcuffs and arrest him?
I hate that both options seem equally unthinkable.
I laugh, the sound so genuine I almost fool myself. “Who on earth told you that?”
“Your friend, Sadie,” the other officer says. “She called and said you were dragged out of a diner by two large men.”
“There has been a misunderstanding,” I say. “Those were my bodyguards.”
The bald officer raises a pale eyebrow. “Bodyguards?”
“I hired them to watch over her,” Dmitry jumps in, walking over to curl his arm around my waist. “And lucky I did, because a man at the diner was groping her.”
“I managed to push him away, but my guards got me out of there before he could make a scene,” I finish.
Both officers narrow their eyes and look at one another. I can’t tell whether they’re buying my story or not, but I lay my head on Dmitry’s shoulder just in case.
“Would you like to file a report?” the bald officer asks. “If a man was assaulting you, then—”
“No, no,” I say, waving them away. “I don’t plan to ever be near that man again, so there’s no need for that. I’m just glad we could resolve this misunderstanding. I’m sorry you had to take the time to come all the way out here.”
They both shake their heads like they’re having the same thought.
“Please tell your friend she was mistaken. She seemed very worried about you.”
“I will, right now,” I say earnestly.
The bald officer nods and then turns to Dmitry. “Sir, do you think we could speak with Ms. Palillo alone for a moment?”
Dmitry squeezes my waist and then presses a kiss to my cheek. His breath is warm, and I feel a rush of cold when he moves away from my side and walks into the hallway.
The officers move closer to me and lower their voices. “If you are being held against your will, you can tell us. We will escort you out of here right now.”
I smile, but it’s more strained now. “I’m being honest with you. I’m in total agreement with everything that’s happening here.”
Technically, it’s true. I agreed to this deal.
“If I didn’t like it, I’d tell you.”
Also true. Part of me feels like Dmitry may have hypnotized me with his touch. Why does it feel so good? And why can’t I get enough of him? Maybe if the sex was worse, I’d risk my life and tell the police the truth.
“Okay,” the bald officer says, raising his hands. “We just had to do our due diligence.”
“Of course.” I smile and lead them towards the bedroom door. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s wholly unnecessary.”
They step into the hallway where Dmitry is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. I didn’t notice before but his hair is disheveled, his lips are swollen, and there is a bite mark on his neck.
The officers nod to him to let him know things are fine, and then I see the other officer glance down at his feet.
Where my ripped panties are lying.
He turns back to me, his cheeks red, and then makes a beeline for the stairs.
One of Dmitry’s men shows them out, and Dmitry stays in his position against the wall until the front door is firmly shut and locked behind them. Then, he bends down and picks up my panties.
“Do you think they bought your lies?” he asks, twirling the torn fabric on his finger.
I reach out to grab them, but he yanks away and then tucks them in his front pocket. “I’ll keep these, thanks.”
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “I hope so. I’m a terrible liar, so I did my best to tell the truth as much as possible.”
“Clearly, since your friend sent the police here on a welfare check,” he grumbles. Then, he seems to register what I said, and his eyebrows quirk up. “You’re telling me you actually believe you are here of your own accord? And you … like it?”
He bites his lip on the last words, and I ignore the flutter of nerves in my stomach.
“You weren’t supposed to be eavesdropping.”
He shrugs. “I had to make sure you weren’t betraying me. Now, back to you liking it here. What exactly do you like?”
I swat at him, but he catches my hand and presses it against his chest, stepping forward until there is no space between us. Until we’re breathing the same air. Until I don’t need to breathe at all.
“What do you like?” he whispers.
I try to keep my composure. Dmitry doesn’t need to know exactly how much he affects me. Because I’m certain he’s the kind of man who would abuse that power.
“I’ll tell you what I don’t like,” I say, prying his large hand off my waist. “I don’t like being questioned by the police. How often can I expect that to happen?”
“Ask your friend,” he snaps. “She’s the one who brought them to my house, after all. I should end our deal for that reason alone. You’re already a risk to my operation.”
“Your operation must be pretty flimsy if I’m a risk,” I retort.
Suddenly, Dmitry’s arm is around my waist, and he’s bending over me, his mouth moving an inch from my f
ace. I can’t see or smell or feel anything but him. Everywhere.
“I control more than one law enforcement agency in this city,” he whispers. “You say the word, and I could have those two cops who were in here murdered within the hour. My operation is bigger than you can even imagine.”
He’s trying to scare me, and it’s working. Though, I’ll never let him know that.
I roll my eyes. “You don’t strike me as a cop killer. You seem to be more honorable than that.”
Dmitry lets go of me all at once, so suddenly that I nearly fall over and have to catch myself on the wall. “There you go again, talking about things you don’t understand. I’m not honorable.”
Most people would take that as a compliment, but I’m learning quickly that Dmitry doesn’t like being called on his soft spots.
“You’re right,” I admit with a shrug. “After all, how many honorable men have bloodstained shirts lying in their closet?”
He doesn’t say anything, so I walk back into the bedroom with Dmitry following slowly behind and grab the shirt from behind the small bench. I hold it up between two fingers like a piece of evidence.
“That’s trash,” he says, grabbing it out of my hand and throwing it in the trash can. “And it’s nothing.”
I cross my arms, one hip pushed out to the side. “You seem to want to convince me how bad you are. So, convince me. Whose blood is that?”
He stares at me silently, his face blank and unreadable.
I wonder why he isn’t telling me, but then a horrible thought crosses my mind.
The words are stuck in my throat, and I have to lick my lips to even get them out. “It isn’t … it isn’t my dad’s blood, right?”
Dmitry runs his hand through his hair, looking over my shoulder, and I feel my heart drop into my stomach.
It’s my dad’s blood.
I wish I could call the police back and change my answer.
“I guess I did convince you I’m not honorable,” he says bitterly. When he finally looks at me, his jaw is tight. “No, the blood doesn’t belong to your father. We have a deal and if you don’t break it, then I won’t either.”
