Bloody Lace

13. Dimitri

13

DIMITRI

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

I was an idiot to agree to Evelyn’s stipulation that there be no wedding night, no consummation of our marriage, no physical aspect to it at all. I could have pressed her, could have made it a stipulation that we have at least the one night—but I don’t want it if I have to coerce her into bed. I want her willing or not at all, but my god , I want her.

She had to have picked the dress to drive me out of my mind. The moment the church doors opened and I saw her walk in, her curves hugged by every inch of that lace, I thought I was going to get the hardest erection of my life while standing at the altar of a church.

Everything about her seems made to tempt the darkest parts of me, the parts that want to devour and take and ruin her so thoroughly that she’ll never find pleasure with another man like what she could feel with me. Her hair looks so soft it makes me ache to run my hands through it, her mouth so perfect that all I can think about is kissing her until neither of us can breathe, and then putting her on her knees so I can find out just how those lips look wrapped around my cock.

Her body drives me out of my mind. She’s driving me insane, and we’ve been married for five minutes. As soon as we’re in the car to drive back to the Plaza hotel, it takes everything in me not to pull her into my lap and kiss her the way I wanted to at the altar.

The only thing stopping me, besides the fact that I know she’d tell me no, is that there’s no way I could get the skirt of that dress up. It’s molded to her in a way that I know is impossible to get past, and somehow that makes me feel even more feral with lust.

My cock twitches, thickening, and I grit my teeth, wondering if I can slip away long enough to do something about it. That’s what I’m reduced to now , I think grimly, flexing my fingers against my palm. Considering jerking off in a hotel bathroom, because there’s no chance I’ll ever be inside my wife.

The reception itself feels like a fog. There’s members of the Yashkov family there—my father, cousins, other relatives, and business associates who merited an invitation. The Armand family was invited, of course, but they declined. Pictures are taken, and Evelyn goes upstairs to change, coming back down in a gorgeous satin and feather gown that shows off her long, toned leg on one side, and makes me feel slightly dizzy with lust. I’ve never been so fucking turned on from the sight of a woman’s leg before, but all I can think about the moment I see her again is the way I want to run my hands up her thigh, brush her skin where those feathers lie, slip my fingers up between her legs so that I can hear her sigh and moan. I can imagine pinning her to the wall, hooking that leg over my shoulder as I eat her out surrounded by that cloud of feathers, and my cock hardens until I have to excuse myself for a drink, going to sit down until I can make my way around the room without a visible ridge tenting my fly.

We eat the gourmet meal that was planned for us, duck breast with orange sauce and roasted vegetables with a lemony feta dressing and wedding cake, drink champagne, and watch as the guests mill about. Evelyn is quiet, as I thought she might be, going through the motions, and I feel a heaviness in my chest too, every time I see members of my family and remember that my brother isn’t here.

This isn’t a real marriage, but I would have liked to have him next to me this morning at the ceremony, all the same. And I think he would have liked Evelyn. He was a romantic, so he would have disapproved of a marriage for business’ sake, and not for love. But he would have liked her all the same.

“I think we’re supposed to have our first dance now,” Evelyn says, her soft voice cutting through my thoughts. “Are you alright? You looked a million miles away.”

That startles me. I’m surprised that she would care. “I’m fine,” I tell her quickly, pushing away the thoughts of Alek. For a moment, I’m almost tempted to tell her what I was thinking about, but I push that away, too. There’s nothing to be gained from opening up to her like that, and plenty to lose.

Something crosses her face, an expression that I can’t quite read, but it vanishes in an instant. “Let’s dance, then,” she says, standing up as she tosses back the last of the champagne in her glass, and we walk out to the dance floor.

I know why she needed the drink. I feel like I need something stronger than champagne as I take her in my arms, my pulse beating hard in my ears as I feel the smooth, soft shape of her under the stiff lace of her dress. I’ve danced with her twice before, and every time the feeling of my palm against the small of her back makes me ache with need, lust firing through my veins as I imagine touching her bare spine with my fingertips, sliding them up her back as she rides me.

My cock stiffens instantly, and I keep an inch of space between us as we dance, not wanting her to feel how hard I am. How badly I want to disappear with her into any room in this hotel, and make her my wife in every single way.

Evelyn notices the distance. “We’re supposed to be selling this, aren’t we?” she murmurs as I spin her and pull her in again, but not too close. “Or does it not matter, now that the vows have been said?”

She moves in closer as she whispers it, before I can stop her, and the front of her body brushes against mine. I see her eyes widen as she feels me press against her, her red lips parting slightly, and I have to bite back a groan as my cock throbs painfully.

“Oh,” she whispers, swallowing hard, and the movement of her throat sends another jolt of hot lust down my spine.

I can see her thoughts racing as we finish the dance, as she keeps the careful space between us now. “Excuse me,” she says as we leave the floor, other couples moving past us, twisting away from the touch of my hand on the small of her back as she heads for the doors of the reception hall. “I need some air.”

“Evelyn—” I start to say her name, but she’s already moving through the crowd. I want to go after her, but it seems abundantly clear to me that that’s very much not what she wants. And so I stand there, watching her go, before I retreat to the sweetheart table to try and calm down my rampaging lust.

The minutes tick by, one after another, and when I glance at my watch and see that it’s been fifteen, I start to worry. I see Dahlia out on the dance floor, being spun around by some man who is clearly hoping to go home with her, so I know she isn’t with Evelyn.

What if she left? It seems nonsensical, but I could feel how nervous she was after she brushed up against me, and felt how much I wanted her. Evelyn is no blushing virgin, and nothing is meant to happen between us tonight anyway, but still?—

I can’t sit and wait any longer. I’m too worried about where she might have gone, and underneath that, I can feel a building fear that she might actually have run out on me. The idea makes me feel slightly panicked, but not for the reasons it should. Not because of the deal, or because it could cause the marriage to be annulled, or because I’ve already spent an ostentatious amount of money on her and this wedding.

It’s very simply because I don’t want her to be gone. And that’s not at all how I should feel.

Still, she’s my wife. A part of our deal was that I protect her, and I fall back on that, rather than admitting the truth to myself—that I miss her. I miss her being in the room with me.

I sweep through the crowd of guests, nodding and murmuring hello and I’ll be right back when I’m stopped, getting more and more agitated with every step. I half expected her to come sweeping back in through the doors before I got to them, but there’s still no sign of her.

I step out into the hall, the heavy doors closing behind me, the music and sounds of the party quieting to a dull hum. I swear I can smell her orange perfume out here, and I glance around, wanting some sign of where she’s gone. I see a sign with directions to the restrooms, and I head that way, with no better clues and assuming she might have gone to touch up her makeup.

Three turns and a step down the hallway that leads to the lounge and restrooms, I see her.

My pulse instantly leaps into my throat, my hands curling into fists. It’s not just Evelyn standing outside the door to the lounge. There’s a man standing in front of her, someone I don’t recognize, with dark hair and dressed in a suit that looks just slightly ill-fitting. Most people wouldn’t notice, but I spend enough time with people dressed in expert tailoring that I recognize someone who wants to look like he fits in here, but just doesn’t quite pass muster.

I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Evelyn’s eyes are wide, her hands pressed against the wall behind her like she wants to get away. She looks terrified, and a red haze washes over my vision, my feet carrying me forward before I even fully realize what I’m doing.

My fist closes around the back of the man’s collar and I yank him away from her, dragging him back sharply and flinging him against the wall behind me. Evelyn gasps, letting out a small cry of shock, but I’m already rounding on the man, my arm pressing against his chest as I grab his jaw in my other hand and press my fingers in.

“Who the fuck are you?” I snarl. “And what the fuck were you doing talking to my wife?”

The man starts to struggle, swinging at my side with his fist, and it connects. But I hardly notice it, I’m so fucking furious. I wrench his head to one side, digging my thumb into the corner of his jaw.

“Evelyn, get Vik,” I snap, still focused on the man I’m pinning to the wall. “Hurry.”

I see her move out of the corner of my eye in a flash of white, and the man struggles, making a choking sound as he tries to swing at me again.

“If my men have to get the answers out of you,” I warn, “you won’t fucking like it. I suggest you tell me now.”

He rears back, and for a moment I think he’s going to try to headbutt me. But he doesn’t have the range of motion, and instead he sucks in a breath, hawking a glob of spit at me just as I hear footsteps pounding down the hall behind me.

“I’ve got him, boss.” Vik’s voice carries through the air behind me, and I step back just in time for Vik and two more of my men to grab him, hauling him away from the wall. “We’ll figure out what’s going on here. Get back to your wedding.”

Evelyn is standing there, stunned as she watches Vik and the other two drag the man away. She blinks at me for several long seconds, then turns towards the door of the lounge, ducking inside just long enough to come back out with a handful of paper towels.

“Here,” she says, and her voice sounds hollow. “Your face is a mess.”

“Thanks.” I start to wipe the man’s spit away, and as I do, I see that Evelyn’s hands are trembling. I throw away the wadded towels, looking at her with concern. The anger over seeing some man on the verge of putting his hands on my wife is still surging through me, but my worry for her is fighting for priority. I should be worried about what he wanted, I remind myself, and take a breath.

“What did he say to you?”

Evelyn tugs her lower lip between her teeth. “He said that it didn’t matter if I married the son of the Yashkovs. That all that meant is that I’d made myself a better target. That they attacked the first time because I was an easy target, but now they can strike at your heart.”

I frown. “What did you say?”

“That you can’t strike at someone’s heart if it’s not a part of the deal.” She shrugged. “He laughed at me and said I’m a fool to think that I haven’t made it all worse.”

It takes me a minute to absorb the second part of what she just said. The first part, about striking at someone’s heart, jabs at mine for reasons I can’t begin to let myself think about. Because she’s right, of course. This marriage, this deal, has nothing to do with anyone’s heart, and everything to do with what is practical. With what we need from each other.

So why does it bother me so much to hear her say it out loud.

I clear my throat. “Vik will get him somewhere that he can’t bother you again. We’ll find out what’s going on here. And in the meantime—” I try to catch her gaze, but she keeps looking around nervously, as if she doesn’t want to look right at me. “Do you want to leave?”

“And make this the second party I’m embarrassed at because some enemy of yours runs me out early? No thank you.” Her voice quivers a little despite the attempt at humor, and I take a step forward, as if to go to her. But she steps back, shaking her head, and I see her smooth her hands nervously over the feathers of her skirt.

“This might have been a mistake.” That shaking at the edges of her voice intensifies a little. “All of this. This isn’t going to stop, is it? Just because we’re married?—”

“I told you that I would protect you. Whether it stops or not, that’s still true. And you need my protection. Without it, they’ll still come after you. We’re too far into this now, and you can’t handle someone like him alone. You know you can’t, Evelyn.” I appreciate her strength, and her independence, but I need her to understand that she’s in over her head. That this is beyond what she can handle without my help.

Evelyn bites her lip, shaking her head as her fingers tug at the feathers. “That was—” Her voice falters, and she glances back towards the reception. “I shouldn’t have made this deal. I don’t belong here.”

“We just have to get through this. And then I’ll take you home, and you can focus on the shop. The worst is over.” I try to reassure her, but I can tell that it’s not getting through to her. That she’s on the verge of running, and that makes me feel panicked in more ways than it should.

I don’t want to lose her. I shove the thought away as soon as it flits through my head, because it makes no fucking sense. I’m going to lose her, eventually, when our deal is done. There’s no question about that.

“Home.” She rolls the word over on her tongue, looking at me with an expression that, for the briefest second, looks hollow and sad. “I’m not going home tonight, Dimitri. I’m going to wherever you live.”

Of course . It was a slip on my part, and one that I need to watch, just like I need to shove that feeling of not wanting to lose her away and lock it up tight. My home isn’t hers. It won’t ever be. It’s just a place where she’ll live until our deal is done.

I let out a heavy breath. “Let’s get back to the reception. We’ll finish out the evening, play the good hosts for a little while, and then we’ll leave.”

Evelyn hesitates, and for a moment I think she’s going to say no. That she’s going to tell me she’s changed her mind. That she wants an annulment. And then, with a gesture that makes me feel more relief than it should, she nods.

“Alright.”

She takes my arm, and we head back to the reception. We drink a little more champagne, and talk to guests, and make it through the night, until it’s time to leave and we walk out to the waiting car. Evelyn is stiff and tense, and I don’t have to pretend that I don’t know why.

“I’ll stick to our agreement,” I tell her quietly. “Nothing will happen between us tonight.”

She licks her lips nervously, but nods, turning to look out of the window as the city rolls by, dark except for the twinkling of holiday decorations and the warm lights of the businesses still open at this hour. The car takes us to the Upper East Side, where it pulls up in front of a high rise and I hear Evelyn swallow audibly.

“I wondered where we’d end up going,” she says softly.

“My family has a mansion outside the city. But I want you around my father as little as possible, and I thought you would probably feel the same. So I decided to bring you here, instead. It’s just the two of us.”

I realize too late that might not be as reassuring as it sounded in my head, and amend, “and my security, as well.”

“Of course.” Evelyn gathers up her skirt, sliding out behind me as the driver opens the door for us. He starts to hand me her overnight bag, since her things will be delivered tomorrow, but Evelyn reaches out between us before I can take it, grabbing it herself. “I’ve got it,” she says tightly, and the driver looks at me nervously, uncertain of what to do. No wife of a man in my position should carry her own bag, and I can tell he’s afraid he’ll be blamed for letting her take it. But he doesn’t know Evelyn, and I have no doubt she’d stand her ground right here if I tried to take it back.

It’s a small thing to allow her, I decide, since I know she must feel that a lot is out of her control right now. Not least of which, where she’s going to live for the time being.

I lead her into the gleaming black and gold lobby of the building, touching the small of her back lightly as I guide her towards the elevator at the back, nodding at the doorman as we pass by. Her heels click against the black tiled floor, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m waiting for her to make a break for it at any minute. She follows me to the elevator, and I catch a glimpse of her reflection in one mirrored wall, her face pale despite her makeup. Her fingers are tugging at the feathers of her skirt again, and I can see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat.

It takes everything in me not to close the space between us, and press my lips to that spot.

I slide my black key card into the penthouse slot, and we stand there in silence as the elevator takes us all the way up. Evelyn is completely silent as the doors open and we step out into the private hall, and I unlock the front door.

“Welcome to my home,” I tell her, as we both step inside.

I see her stand there for a long moment, taking it all in. The first floor is open-concept, with three of the walls floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over the balcony at one side and the city beyond. The furniture is arranged around the room, a thick rug in the center of it, and towards the back is the large, open kitchen with black appliances and brass fixtures. “There’s a door that leads to the entertainment room back there,” I tell her, gesturing. “And the downstairs bathroom. If you go out to the balcony and take the stairs up, it’ll lead you to the rooftop pool and hot tub. And that staircase—” I gesture towards the black iron, spiraling staircase that leads up to the next floor. “That leads to the bedroom.”

Evelyn flinches, just a little. “There’s only one bedroom, isn’t there?” she whispers, and I nod.

“Yes. And I’m afraid I’m not enough of a gentleman to offer to sleep on the couch. Nor do I want a housekeeper or anyone else coming by and being given reason to think that my wife and I don’t share a bed. Appearances,” I clarify, and Evelyn only looks slightly reassured.

“Our deal holds,” I promise her. “I won’t touch you.”

She licks her lips nervously, sending a jolt of frustrated desire through me, and I feel my cock twitch. But I do my best to ignore it, and she nods, her jaw tensing as she grabs her bag again and heads for the staircase.

I follow her up, intending nothing more than to give her a brief tour and then leave her to let her get changed, showered, or whatever she likes. She pauses in the middle of the loft-like bedroom, looking around as I walk to one wall and press the button to open the blinds, showing her the view of the city from this room as well.

“This place is incredible,” Evelyn says softly. “It really is.”

“Thank you.” I watch as her gaze drifts over the room, to the king-size platform bed, the heavy wooden furniture, the door on the far end. “The master bathroom is in there. Free-standing shower, soaking tub, all the pleasures you could want.” My cock twitches again at the word pleasures , and I grit my teeth, wondering if I’ll have a chance to ease that particular urge tonight. I’ll have to find some measure of privacy, in the shower, maybe. Right now, the urgency of it is beginning to feel as if it borders on desperation.

It’s only worsened when I see Evelyn catch her lip between her teeth, as if mulling something over, and then she turns to me with a reluctant expression on her face.

“I need your help with the back of my dress.”

Of course she does. One look at it could tell me that—the back is made up of dozens of tiny buttons running down her spine into the feathers of her skirt. I felt them against my palm when we danced, making me imagine how it would feel to run my fingers up the small bumps of her spine instead. But I didn’t think about the fact that she would need help unbuttoning them.

Or how the hell I’m going to keep my hands off of her after I do.

She’s standing there, glowing in the moonlight coming in through the window in her cream-colored dress, black hair falling like pools of ink over her shoulders, feathers draping over her hips and legs like an exotic bird. On most women, I feel sure the dress would look ridiculous, but not on her. On Evelyn, it looks like she was made to wear it.

“I just want to shower and get into something comfortable.” She looks away from me, as if she’s just as aware as I am of the tension of the moment, and wants to break it. But what she’s saying does nothing to achieve that.

The thought of her in the shower makes me instantly, painfully hard. I want to find out what she looks like naked more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire fucking life, and the thought of that bare skin wet, soap sliding over her breasts, her dark hair heavy with water and slick against her skull— fuck . My cock throbs as I walk towards her, and I can feel it straining against my fly, pre-cum sliding down my shaft. I need to fucking get off, and soon. My cock feels so hard I half think it might snap.

Evelyn turns away from me, pulling her hair over one shoulder so I have access to the buttons on the back of her dress, and I grit my teeth, trying to focus on the task and nothing else. Not the way the sharp wings of her shoulder blades press against her pale skin, begging for me to trace my fingers over them. Not the way I’m aching to brush my fingertips over the edge of the top of her dress, making her shiver before I start to undress her. Not the fact that this feels like the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with any woman, and it’s with a woman that I absolutely cannot touch more than necessary.

Even though she’s my wife.

I tug the first button free, and I feel Evelyn tense. I reach for the next, what blood that’s left in my body that hasn’t gone straight down to my cock pounding in my ears, humming as that fog of lust threatens to cloud my better judgement. I want her so fucking bad it hurts, and it’s not just a desire for sex, a desire for release, it’s a desire for her . I want to find out what she looks like bare, I want to discover the sounds she makes when I touch her, when I taste her, when I make her come. I want to find out how she feels wrapped around my cock, every part of her, and I want to devour her until she’s part of my skin and blood and bones.

The lust that I feel for her is fucking powerful, beyond anything I’ve ever felt before, and I know in that instant that Evelyn was right earlier.

This was a mistake.

But it’s one that’s too late to undo, if we want to get what we both want. What we both need .

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the tightness in my balls, the intense throbbing in my groin as I undo each of her buttons. I force myself not to drag my fingers down her spine, not to think about the fact that there’s no bra under her dress, that if I slid my hands into it and around, I could cup her bare breasts in my hands. I try not to think about the fact that I feel as if I’m on the verge of coming without even having touched myself, like I might actually come just from unbuttoning Evelyn’s dress.

I’m a grown man, not a teenager who’s never fucked before, and that’s unthinkable. But in this moment, it feels like one wrong thought could make my cock explode.

When the last button is undone, I feel her pull away from my hands instantly. “Thank you,” she starts to say, but I’m already pivoting away from her, heading for the bathroom door, only one thought in my mind.

I have to fucking come, before I end up fucking my wife.