Chapter 3 #2
“I wore the dress you mentioned,” I say, cringing internally.
I’m acting so desperate for his attention.
I doubt he’s going to tell me I’ve been a good girl.
I’m only his fake girlfriend. He’s not here to validate me or help me live out my fantasies of being a submissive.
Or maybe Dmitry Antonov is too vanilla to be into things like Ddlg.
“I noticed,” he replies. He doesn’t say more.
I pout, but he has already turned his head. He’s scanning the crowd.
“Come on, it’s time to socialize.” My breath catches when he places his hand on the small of my back. It’s just a touch, barely there, but my whole body lights up. The crowd is all around us, but in that moment, he feels like the only real thing in the room.
“Ready to play the part?” he asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
He leans close enough for his breath to brush my ear. “Not tonight.”
Before I can reply, a pair of students from the Finance Society walk over. One of them, a senior named Julian, grins wide. “Callista, you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend. And this one’s a ten.”
“Yeah, where’d you find him?” another girl laughs. “Is he imported?”
“All the way from Russia. Can’t say I have a taste for foreign stuff, though.
” My first instinct is sarcasm. I know it’s crazy to feel betrayed because he didn’t praise me for wearing the dress he wanted, but part of me craves validation.
I never get any from my dad, and if I’m going to have a fake boyfriend, the least he can do is make me feel like I’m playing my part well.
Dmitry laughs softly, his arm tightening around my waist. The possessive touch satiates the ache in my core, but only for a moment. I need more from him. More than I he can give. More than I have a right to expect. “She’s always like this. Pretends she doesn’t like me. But she does.”
“I do not,” I mutter, but he keeps smiling at them like I’ve just confirmed it.
“She’s shy about feelings,” he tells them. “That’s what makes her adorable.”
Adorable. My face burns. I glare at him, but everyone else melts into approving smiles.
“You two are disgustingly cute,” Julian says, raising his glass.
“Well, you know what they say about cute couples,” I add. My chest has been stinging, even though I know there’s no rational reason for feeling betrayed. “They never last.”
Julian’s laugh turns awkward. Dmitry makes another comment about my sense of humor before shepherding me away from those people.
He literally shoves me in front of him, pushing me into the corridor, until we’re near the bathrooms.
I finally exhale, relieved to be away from people.
My mask keeps slipping off tonight. It’s Dmitry’s fault.
I just hope Julian bought his BS about my odd sense of humor.
I can’t seem to be act like my usual, unflappable self around Dmitry.
He brings out my teeth. My fangs. The real me.
The girl who I’ve pushed down for years.
She feels like she can breathe around him.
But her existence has the ability to destroy my social reputation.
“Don’t manhandle me, Antonov.” I grunt when he pushes my back against the wall. There aren’t any people here. Just us. The air vibrates with the flammable combo of my need and his anger.
He turns his head toward me, voice lower. “You keep acting like you don’t want me in front of them. Stop it.”
“What, you think I should be swooning in your arms?”
“You should act like you want to be here. If you keep throwing little barbs, people will think this isn’t real.”
I roll my eyes. “It isn’t real.”
“It needs to look like it is.”
“Sorry, but I’m not an actress.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re better than an actress. Pretending is your middle name. You’ve been fake since the day you set foot on this campus.”
Fake. The word stabs my heart like a knife.
Anger simmers, boiling over. I grab his collar, tightening my fingers on the fabric. It feels cathartic to get mad at someone, to rage instead of tamping down my emotions. What he’s saying is true. I’ve been a pretender all along. So why can’t I do it when I’m with him?
“I’m not pretending for you,” I yell. “Maybe you should have picked someone more cooperative.”
Something in him shifts. His eyes darken. The calm cracks.
I hear a bang, exploding into my ears. I flinch, closing me eyes. When I open them, Dmitry is leaning over to me, his palms against the wall on either side of me, caging me in.
My breath stutters. He’s so close. The proximity makes me feel small, like a hunted animal. His pupils are dilated, his rage apparent. He could kill me. I don’t think he will, but he can. His size, his strength, that predatory twist of his lips...it’s all too clear.
“If you want to be bullied for real, keep talking,” he says, voice low, calm in the way storms are calm before they break. “My family donates more money to this college than your father has ever made. I could have you expelled before sunrise.”
My throat dries. “You don’t have that kind of power.”
He leans closer until I can feel the heat from his body, his chest brushing mine. “If you keep being a brat, you’ll find out that I do.”
For a second, I can hear nothing but his heartbeat. It’s steady, hard, relentless.
I hate that my body doesn’t understand fear.
It only understands the electricity running between us.
My chest rises against his, and the air between us burns.
My nipples are hard as diamonds under my dress and each time they press against his solid, unmoving chest, a crackle of electricity jolts through my system.
I’m pressing my fucking breasts against him.
It feels so intimate, even though we’re fully clothed.
“Keep misbehaving, and I’ll make you pay for it later.”
His voice drips with power. The woman inside me, the one who longs for punishment and praise, shivers.
“Oh, really?” I bat my eyelashes like an ingénue. “Are you going to break into my room and steal a dress as payback?”
“I’ll steal more than a dress.” His sigh is filled with seething frustration.
It tightens around my core like a rope. His fingers bite into my shoulders.
The prick of his nails against my skin hits me in my pussy.
He’s rough, and I like it. Heat floods my senses.
My core swells with delight. A dark, delicious feeling thrashes through my veins. Why do his touches arouse me so much?
“No.” Air slams into my lungs. I realize what he means. He plans to touch me, maybe even kiss me when he breaks into my room. When he narrows his eyes in a warning, I realize it won’t end with a kiss. “You won’t.”
“I will, and I am going to.” Dmitry raises an eyebrow. “Put on a good show for me like you promised, babygirl, and I might even let you come.”
I gasp. “You’re not serious.”
“You’ll find out, won’t you?”
Dmitry straightens slightly, catching my hand before I can move. His grip is firm, not painful, but final. “Now you’re going to introduce me to the right people, smile when I touch you, and let me do what I came here to do. Understood?”
I nod before I can think.
He smiles then, small and satisfied, and pulls me back toward the ballroom. My heart beats too fast, my skin too hot. I tell myself I hate him, that I want to escape. But the truth hums beneath everything else.
When he touches me, I feel seen. When he commands, I listen.
And that scares me more than anything.