20. Evelyn
20
EVELYN
D imitri is in a strange mood this morning. I can tell he’s still upset with me. I’m upset with him, too—I woke with my skin tender from the spanking yesterday and my hips sore, and I haven’t forgotten how he made me feel. I haven’t forgotten the fact that he hurt me. And I’m shocked to my core at the knowledge that he thinks it would be a reasonable reaction to kill my bodyguard because I managed to slip past him.
It’s clear that this life, this world that I’ve been brought into, isn’t one that makes sense to me. I don’t want it to make sense. I don’t want to be dragged further into any of this. But the way Dimitri is talking, he makes it seem like it’s too late for me to walk away. As if, even if I were willing to give up on my shop, the danger is too great for me to leave this situation without walking into an even worse one.
“Open it,” he repeats, irritation coloring his tone, and I know why. Dimitri made it clear yesterday that he’s not a man who enjoys repeating himself, or having to tell someone to do something more than once.
Unfortunately for him, I’m not good at obeying orders.
I eye the box. It’s damp around the bottom, and something tells me I’m not going to like what’s inside it. But I reach out all the same, a perverse curiosity leading me to open the flaps and peer inside.
The moment I see what’s inside the small plastic baggie of melting ice, I shriek, dropping it back onto the desk and jumping back, my hand pressed to my rapidly beating heart.
Dimitri’s expression is unchanged.
“Dimitri.” I try to take a breath. “That’s a finger. A human finger.”
“It is.” He nods.
“What—” I swallow hard. “Why is it in a box? On your desk? And why did you make me…look at it?”
“That finger used to belong to the man who followed you through the park.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his expression still calm as ever. “The same man who confronted you during our wedding reception.”
I blink, trying to absorb that information. “And you…cut his finger off?”
“I cut a lot of parts of him off.” He says it as casually as if he’s explaining the weather report to me. “That was the only finger. But I took some nails off the others. A few teeth. Two inches off his tongue, for the lies he told me?—”
“Dimitri.” I feel like I can’t breathe. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am.” His gaze locks onto mine, and fear ripples through me. “He wanted to hurt you, l’vitsa . He wanted to make an example of you. His boss thought you were an easy mark, and he was proved wrong. Now you’re my wife, and they’ve chosen to take that as a challenge instead of a warning. So I’ve sent them one back—pieces of their messenger.”
My heart is racing in my chest. I’m suddenly terrified of my husband, terrified of who I’m finding out that he is—but there’s something else there, too. A feeling that I can’t help but think is wrong, but that’s there all the same.
I’ve never imagined anyone being willing to go to these sorts of lengths to defend me. And God help me—I like it.
“Why did you keep this piece?” I whisper, unsure if I want the answer, but unable to keep from asking it all the same.
“I wanted to show you.” He takes a step closer to me, that juniper scent wafting over me, mixed with the warmth of his skin. It was alluring before, but now it’s worse, reminding me of what it was like to have it all around me as he thrust into me yesterday, as he touched me, as he made me come. “I wanted to show you how serious this is, Evelyn.”
“Is that all?” My voice is a squeak as I say it, a poor attempt at a joke. Dimitri shakes his head.
“No. I also wanted to show you what lengths I’ll go to in order to protect you, Evelyn. What happens to someone who threatens you.”
The words jolt through me, and I stare at him, trying to comprehend what he’s saying. On the surface, the thought of someone cutting off fingers and slicing a person apart in order to teach them a lesson about threatening me is insane—but underneath that, the meaning of it makes something twist in my chest.
I’ve been mostly on my own for my adult life. My parents were decent enough growing up, but they wanted me to do something solid with my life. Something dependable. A forty-hour a week salaried job that came with a paycheck and benefits, so they’d never have to worry about whether or not their little girl was okay. I didn’t do that, and it put a rift between us. They don’t want to worry about me, so they detached.
I’ve had Dahlia since college, but she’s my only real, close friend. I learned to be independent. To take care of myself. To keep my worries and fears mostly inside, because I’ve never wanted to overwhelm Dahlia with them.
The thought of someone defending me, protecting me—even in such a completely unhinged way—makes me feel a warmth in my chest that is entirely inappropriate for the situation.
“You can’t go around cutting pieces off of people.” I tighten my arms around myself, still having trouble coming to terms with what’s going on here. Dimitri chuckles darkly.
“I can, Evelyn. It’s what I do.”
I blink at the box. “What is he going to do without a finger? He—” I feel insane, worrying about a man who clearly intended me harm, but this entire situation is insane. I don’t know how to think normally about it.
“Evelyn.” Dimitri’s voice is suddenly patient, as if he’s trying very hard to get through to me on this. “He’s dead.”
“He’s—” My hand flies to my throat. “Oh.”
“Evelyn.” Suddenly, Dimitri is right in front of me, both of my hands in his, like they were on our wedding day. “This marriage might not be real. It might have an expiration date. But half of this deal is mine, and I made you a promise. Lasting or not, I am your husband for now, and I have a responsibility to keep you safe. I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish that, up to and including this. Worse, if need be. Do you understand?”
I stare at him, horrified. But under that horror, there’s that same warmth, blooming through my chest. A feeling of safety, of being cared for, that I’ve never felt before. I try to remind myself that this is the same man who bent me over that desk yesterday, who spanked me to teach me a lesson, but that memory doesn’t land quite the way it did before. It feels colored differently now. Like he did it because he was afraid I’d get hurt. Like there’s more to it than just the surface level of what it is about it that upset me.
“I need—” I pull my hands away from his, taking a step back, and for a moment I see a flicker of something that almost looks like disappointment on his face. “I need some space. I’m going to go to the boutique. I’ll take Gus with me,” I add, holding my hands up in surrender before he can say anything about it. “I get it. I’m in danger, and I need someone to watch me. I won’t fight you on it any longer.”
Relief clearly washes over Dimitri’s face. “Good,” he says simply. “Thank you.”
He steps back, retreating behind his desk, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The tension between us stretches out like an elastic, thinning the further he gets from me, and I can feel my shoulders relax slightly. When he sits down, I back towards the door, pressing my lips together.
“I’ll text Gus and tell him to come meet me right now,” I promise. “I’ll even take Buttons with me, so he won’t bother you today.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Dimitri looks at me, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I have a business dinner tonight, so I probably won’t be here when you get back.”
My first feeling is another wave of relief, followed by a feeling that he’s avoiding being around me. Having to do things like share a meal or figure out how to fill the hours in the evening together. I shouldn’t care—if anything, I should be glad that he’s trying to cut down on the amount of time that we’re forced into proximity with each other. But it stings anyway, and I frown, turning away as I hurry out of his office before he can say anything else.
All it takes is a single text to Gus and he’s at the front door in a matter of minutes, ready to go with me wherever I need to. It’s unsurprising, considering what Dimitri told me earlier. I’m sure Gus is aware that he literally dodged a bullet—a thought that still makes my stomach twist whenever I think about it for too long.
Every mile that I put between Dimitri and I feels like an exhaled breath. I know I’m going to have to find a way to deal with this eventually—there’s no telling how long this marriage will last, and we can’t avoid each other forever. But that feels like a problem for a different day. Right now, I just need space.
The crew that Dimitri hired to clean up the shop are almost finished. When we walk in, the boutique looks gutted in a way that makes my chest ache, but it’s no longer in complete ruins. The burnt clothing, furniture, and mannequins have all been removed, leaving the building an empty shell, and the crew is working on cleaning it when we arrive.
There’s not a lot I can do. The air smells strongly of industrial cleaner and paint, getting the walls to a base white before I decide what I want to do from there. There’s no furniture left, so there’s nowhere to sit, and I can tell from the looks cast in my direction that we’re only in the way.
So, after a cursory spin around the building to make sure I’m happy with their efforts, I retreat with Gus and Buttons to a dog-friendly coffee shop nearby to start going through catalogs and looking for what I want to remodel the interior.
Gus looks visibly annoyed when I pick a table next to the corner windows, rather than further back in the coffeeshop. “You’re a visible target,” he mutters, sitting down heavily opposite me, and I just smile sweetly before opening the first of a pile of design magazines that I brought with me.
“I’m sure Dimitri assigned you to me because you’re the best at your job.”
He winces, and I instantly regret the jab. I hadn’t meant for it to be a jab, but I’m sure he took it that way, given the fact that Dimitri probably doesn’t think he’s the best at his job right now.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I venture, and Gus gives me a sharp look.
“It was my fault. We don’t need to talk about it,” he says flatly, and looks away.
It’s clear he’s not interested in discussing it, so I let it go. I flip through the magazine, losing myself in patterned wallpaper and paint combinations, until my phone buzzes, startling me.
I expect it to be Dahlia, or maybe Dimitri. But instead, it’s a number I don’t know, and I pick up the phone, opening the message hesitantly.
Hi, Evelyn. This is Nicci Armand. We met at a holiday party a few weeks ago. I was rude to you, and I’d like to make it up to you with an apology. Can I take you out to lunch? Just text me.
It takes me a moment to realize who it is. And then it dawns on me—the woman Dimitri was supposed to marry, the one who was rude to me at the party and caused him to take me away from it early. Reading the message again, I know I should tell Dimitri. And I also know what his response would be—that I should ignore the message and delete it.
But—I read the message again, and I can’t help but be curious. I imagine she just wants to get a better look at the woman her ex-fiance married, maybe even take the opportunity to chew me out again…but she might be genuine in wanting to apologize. She was obviously caught off guard at the party, and lashed out. Maybe she does feel badly about it.
Maybe she just wants to clear her conscience before the new year, so she can start fresh, unburdened of her old relationship and the baggage that came with it.
I can understand that. There’s a lot that I’d like to leave behind in this year that I’m going to be taking with me into the next one. And while I know Dimitri would want me to decline the invitation at best, surely I can still make my own decisions when it comes to things like this. There’s no harm in going to have lunch with Nicci, so long as I take Gus with me.
Dimitri wants me protected. He won’t want me to talk to his ex-fiancee, but that’s because he dislikes her. He wouldn’t understand why I might be curious to talk to her, or why I might agree to the lunch.
I’m curious about her, too. About what it was that put Dimitri off so thoroughly. And so I pick up my phone again, quickly texting back.
Evelyn: I could do lunch. When and where?
Nicci: What about the Rose? It’s a nice bistro on 23rd. Tomorrow at one?
I text her back that that’s fine, and she lets me know she’ll make a reservation. It’s easy and pleasant, and even though I know Dimitri would make a fuss, I can’t imagine that there’s anything actually wrong with it. A small voice in the back of my head warns that I shouldn’t keep anything else from him, not after what happened yesterday, but the larger part of myself can’t stomach the idea that I have to run every single one of my plans by him now.
As long as I take Gus, it’ll be fine.
After a few hours, I finish my second coffee and pack up, hoping that Dimitri might have left for his dinner by now. The ride back to the penthouse is quiet, and I wonder how long it will be before I can fill my days with work again, before overseeing the renovations and guiding them will take up all my time and I’ll be able to focus on that again. For all that I’ve been burning the candle at both ends for years, not having anything to do at all is much worse.
The penthouse is empty when I get back. I undo Buttons’ harness and let him run free, watching as he curls up in the spot on the couch that he’s clearly claimed as his. Dimitri has left a selection of take-out menus for me this time, and I try not to let myself make too much of the gesture as I thumb through them.
An hour later, I sit by the window and watch the city lights as I eat herbed chicken over truffle risotto and drink a glass of white wine, and I remember how I felt when I shopped for my wedding dress. I told myself that I should enjoy the luxury while I had it, and although things between Dimtri and I have become more strained since then, it’s still true. There’s no reason not to enjoy what I have right now, just because the man who owns it all is regularly pissing me off.
With that in mind, I toss out my takeout container when I’m finished eating, pour myself another glass of white wine, and go upstairs to change into a swimsuit before throwing a coat over it and heading up to the hot tub on the roof.
I’ve only ever been in a hot tub once before, when Dahlia took me along with her and a bunch of her other friends in college on a weekend away to Lake Tahoe. Then, it was loud and chaotic, a gaggle of drunken college-age girls all laughing and gossiping. Tonight, it’s quiet and peaceful as I walk up onto the roof, the steam from the sunken in pool where the hot tub is rising into the cold night air.
The rooftop is entirely taken up on one side by the larger pool, stretching from end to end, flush with the edge of the roof. Further back, there’s a bar built into a wall, and lounge chairs stretched between it and the small, square hot tub sunken up against the opposite edge of the roof. To the far left, there’s a half-moon of chairs facing a large stone fireplace.
I walk to the lounge chair closest to the hot tub, taking off my boots and coat in the last possible second before quickly walking to the edge of the water. The cold hits me like a slap, taking my breath away for a moment before I step into the blissfully hot water.
I can feel my muscles relaxing as I sink into it, pleasure washing over my skin as I slide down to my shoulders, the hot water lapping at my collarbones. It feels incredible, and I close my eyes, reaching up to pull my hair up on top of my head in a messy bun as I lean back against the edge.
This is perfect. It’s exactly what I needed. The tension drains out of me, and the water soothes my still-sore ass, the skin stinging a little where I’m sitting on the hard stone bench beneath the water, with only the thin fabric of my bikini bottoms to protect me.
That sting reminds me of what happened yesterday. Of Dimitri’s stern, accented voice telling me to bend over the desk. Of the snap of leather as he slid his belt off. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the chilly air, prickling along my exposed skin as I bite my lip, trying not to think about what came after.
About his hand, sliding over the curve of my hip. His cock, pressed against my entrance. His fingers against my clit.
How he felt thrusting into me. Filling me. How it felt better than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
My teeth sink into my lip, and my hand grazes my thigh, an ache taking up residence between my legs at the memory. It felt so good . I never knew sex could feel like that. I never knew anything could feel like that.
I didn’t know something like that could turn me on. The bite of the leather against my skin. The hot, stinging pain that seemed to jolt straight down to my clit as the strokes built, making me ache to be touched. The feeling of being humiliated, vulnerable, turning me on even as it made me want to cry and beg for it to stop.
It’s confusing, and I wish I could talk to someone about it. Dahlia, maybe—but I can’t, because she’d kill Dimitri if she knew he laid a hand on me, whether I ultimately liked it or not.
Whether I wanted him to do it again or not.
Do I? It doesn’t matter, really—I can’t let it happen, regardless. Once could be a mistake, anything more than that, and that part of the deal that I made Dimitri agree to is all but worthless. We’ll start finding excuses to let it happen more and more, and I know what will happen to me then.
I’ll fall for a man that I should be horrified by. That I should want to run from. And I’ll get my heart broken.
But if I could?—
My fingers tease the edge of my bikini bottoms, slipping just under the fabric. Even my outer folds feel sensitive to the touch, and I suck in a breath when I slip my fingers between them and find myself slick and wet for reasons that have nothing to do with the water. I slide them up, my fingertips brushing against my swollen clit, and a moan escapes my lips.
There’s no one out here to hear me. No one to see. I let my legs slide apart, my hips arching up into my hand, my fingers rolling over my clit in tight, quick circles that mimic the way Dimitri touched me while he fucked me. And god , the way he fucked me.
He was so big. Bigger than any man I’ve been with before. Thick as well as long, stretching me in a way that was almost too much, but felt so fucking good. I could feel every inch of him every time he thrust, how hard he was, how much he wanted me in return. I slide my other hand down, two fingers pushing inside of myself, but it can’t compare. I’d have to get one hell of a toy to even begin to compare to what it felt like to have Dimitri’s cock inside of me.
I curl my fingers inside of me, my head falling back as my fingers rub over my clit. It feels good, good enough to make me come, but it still isn’t as good as what he did yesterday. I let out a frustrated whimper at that thought, because I’ve never met a man before that could do better than what I can with my fingers or a toy.
The thought that Dimitri might have ruined me for not only other men, but also for myself, makes me groan, the idea oddly arousing at the same time that it sends a wave of frustration through me. I don’t want to want him like this. I don’t want to imagine him as I touch myself, but every stroke of my fingers just brings back the memory of his, of his cock thrusting into me, of his hips slapping against my bruised flesh every time.
God, what would it feel like if he used his tongue?
The image of him sliding out of me, dropping to his knees behind me and pressing his mouth to my pussy makes me clench, my hips bucking upwards and making the water splash over the edge as my arousal heightens another notch. I bite my lip harder, imagining the stroke of his tongue over my clit. He’d probably be as good at it as he was at everything else, and the desire to know makes me ache.
“ Fuck,” I moan aloud, rubbing faster, suddenly desperate to come. “Fuck, Dimitri ? —”
And then, I hear his voice, cutting through the darkness, and all too real.
“You sound so fucking good when you moan my name, l’vitsa .”