I move down the hall away from her as she goes to the kitchen and puts the supplies on the counter.
“I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll be working in my home office. I don’t want to be disturbed.” That’s not entirely true—I wouldn’t mind her disturbing me—which is why I say it. I keep putting up boundaries between us and then tearing them down with my own hands. It’s time for that to stop.
But as I strip and get into the shower, I can’t stop thinking about her just outside my door. Warm water runs over my shoulders and I imagine her fingers tracing the same path down my body. I brace myself against the wall and slowly stroke my cock, wondering if her pussy is still as tight and wet and addicting as it was all those years ago. I remember her below me, gazing up at me with those wide, trusting doe eyes no matter how brutal I was to her. I remember how she screamed my name with no regard for who might hear us.
I squeeze myself punishingly tight, stroking harder and faster, grinding my teeth together. I hate how much I’ve missed her. Hate the fact that I’ve compared every woman since then to her and found them lacking. It isn’t long before pleasure pulses through me, and I spill my cum onto the tile wall. She still makes me lose control. Every. Fucking. Time.
After I get out of the shower, I dress and go down the hall to my home office. I can hear Valya moving around in the kitchen. I don’t know what she’s cleaning—I barely use it—but I don’t say anything to her. Instead, I shut my door, and for the next few hours, work in relative peace.
Around lunchtime, there’s a tentative knock on the door and it cracks open. I’m on the phone with a contractor at a building site. He’s rambling on about budgets and time constraints while I lament Dom Royal’s death—his crew never gave me any shit, mainly because they were using the job to launder money. But I didn’t care, because the work got done and I didn’t have to hear any shit. The Royal family has gone dark since his death, though. My guess is they’re fighting over leadership, and even I’m not stupid enough to get involved with a crime family in upheaval.
“This is the last room,” she says in a whisper.
I motion for her to come in and lean back in my chair, propping my feet on my desk so that I can watch her work. She moves around the room with a duster. I know she feels my eyes on her, but she pretends not to notice. At the bookshelf, she kneels to reach the bottom shelf, and the voice on the other end of the phone fades away. Even in those shapeless khakis, her tight, round ass calls to me. The pants gape open slightly, revealing pink underwear and the dimples at the small of her back.
Damn it. I jerk my feet back to the floor, and in the process, knock my cold coffee to the floor. She turns around, startled, and sees the mess. The contractor is still talking, so I can’t say anything. Instead, I snap my fingers at Valya and motion to the spilled coffee. I expect her to balk at being treated that way, and for a second, I think I see defiance flash across her face, but she takes a breath, picks up a rag, and rounds my desk.
She picks up the cup, wiping it off and putting it on my desk, and then stares at me for a second, as if she expects me to move. When I don’t, she sighs and kneels in front of me, mopping up the mess with the rag. In spite of it already getting attention this morning, my cock twitches to life in my pants, swelling against my leg. I wheel my chair closer to her and part my legs, trapping her between them.
“Uh huh,” I say into the phone, not sure what I’m agreeing to. “Sure.”
Valya goes still and looks up at me, those wide eyes raking down my body until they find the bulge in my pants. I imagine her turning away, offended. Or maybe she’ll hit me. Smack me across the face. Push me away, once and for all.
But of course, she doesn’t. Valya is too good for that.
Instead, she drops her gaze back to the floor and continues to clean up the mess that I made. It isn’t until she’s finished cleaning the room that I manage to get off the phone.
As she’s walking out, I ask, “Will you ever stand up for yourself?”
She turns back, her hand on the doorknob. “Yes, when I have to. But I trust you, Andy. I know you’re working through some things.”
Trusts me? Why the hell would she trust me after everything I’ve done? Instead of denying it, an idea occurs to me. “Will you help me work through them?”
This time, I seem to have caught her attention. Her face brightens with what I think is hope. “What? How?”
“Let me take you out on a date, so we can talk.”
She cocks her head at me. “A date? When?”
“Tonight. To the Club.”
She looks hesitant, so I continue before she can turn me down.
“Last night was not a fair representation of what goes on there.” I lean forward, my elbows on my desk. “Surely as an Oakwood City business owner, you’re curious.”
Her lips tilt up in a small smile and I know I’ve got her. “Yes, okay. As long as we don’t go to the strip club.”
She doesn’t say anything about the dungeon, so she either doesn’t know about it, or she isn’t ruling it out as a possibility. “Fine,” I agree, my own smile playing on my lips. “I’ll pick you up tonight. Elya will send you the details.”
With a nod, she says, “Okay. See you tonight.”
She leaves, shutting the door behind her. As I get on my next phone call, all I can think about is how she has no idea what I have in store for her. I’m going to break her tonight, prove to both of us that she’s no better than I am. And I’ll get her out of my system, once and for all.
Chapter Eight
Valya
I’m back at the office, finishing up some paperwork and trying to recover from my harrowing day at Andrej’s house, when Charity knocks on my door.
“A courier brought over this package for you,” she says, putting a white garment box on the edge of my desk.
“A courier? That’s strange. Thanks, Charity.”
She nods and turns to leave as I examine the box. It’s wrapped with a gold ribbon, but there’s no indication as to who it’s from. Even still, I know who it’s from, and my heart flutters rapidly in my chest. I untie the ribbon and pull off the box top. Tissue paper covers the contents, so I fold them aside and lift the dress from inside.
“What is that?” Charity gasps from the door, where I see she’s returned holding two cups of coffee.
“It’s a…dress,” I answer unhelpfully.
I feel heat creep up my cheeks as we stare at the white and gold bodycon dress. The skirt is beautiful, with a ruffled hem, and the back and sleeves are done in a lace detail. But the neckline is cut low, practically to the waist. It’s more revealing than anything I’ve ever worn.
“A dress for what?” Charity asks, putting the coffee cups on my desk and rubbing the white fabric between her fingers.
There’s a note in the bottom of the box. When I pick it up, I recognize Andrej’s handwriting immediately, even though it’s not signed.
Wear this tonight. Nude heels. Earrings. And nothing else.
“For a date,” I answer Charity, unable to hide my grin of excitement.