Chapter 6
SIX
Dmitry
The screen glows softly in the dim light of my room, casting long shadows that dance macabrely on the walls.
I'm supposed to be going over the new recruits' first missions, but my eyes are glued to the video feed from the drone outside Callista's window.
She steps out of the shower, hair wet and glistening, face scrubbed clean of makeup.
She looks fresh, innocent, and so fucking edible that my mouth waters.
Her towel is wrapped tightly around her, but it doesn’t hide the curves that I’ve memorized. She walks to her bed, and I lean forward, my breath catching as she begins to dry her hair. The way she moves, the way she tilts her head—everything about her is elegant, even in this private moment.
I’m looking forward to witnessing the perfect swells of her breasts when she drops her towel and changes into her pajamas.
But instead of feeding my dark obsessive need by throwing me scraps of her naked body, she
does something that makes my blood boil.
She reaches for the curtains and draws them closed, blocking my view.
A growl rumbles in my chest. I need to see her.
I need to know what she’s doing, what she looks like in intimate moments.
This isn’t just about control; it’s about needing to be there, to see every part of her, hear every small noise she makes.
Because even if she doesn’t know it, her presence, her body, her face, everything about her feeds the monster inside me.
When I yearn for her, when I desire her, I feel human.
I’ve always been detached and unemotional.
Sarcastic and unbothered. Nothing impressed me.
Nothing made me want to possess it. But deep inside, I felt an emptiness.
The hollowness that comes from not having anything to love, anything to care about.
I needed an obsession, something I could fixate on, something that could rattle my heart, spark my emotions.
And I found that in Callista Vale. She makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Desire, craving, protectiveness, tenderness, possessiveness. I’m not ready to let go of the one woman who makes my soul burn, makes my heart beat.
I grab my phone and dial her number. It rings twice, and I’m already on edge.
“What?” she answers, her voice sharp but slightly breathless.
“Open the curtains,” I command, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Why? So you can stalk me? No thanks.” Her tone is defiant, but there’s a hint of something else—a tremor, a catch in her breath.
“I have other ways of watching you, Callista,” I say, my voice low and threatening. “You won’t like them as much.”
“I won’t let you watch me,” she retorts, but there’s a slight waver in her voice. She’s turned on by the idea, even if she won’t admit it.
“You want me to force my way into your room?” I ask, my voice dropping to a seductive drawl. “You want me to see the filthy things you do at night? Maybe you want me to help you.”
She coughs, trying to cover her surprise. “You don’t know what I do at night.”
“I do. I’ve seen it all. I know you beg for a Daddy as you come. I know how your pussy glistens when you’re turned on. How you breathe hard when you’re close. I know how you fantasize about being submissive. You need praise. You need someone to tell you that you’re good.”
There’s complete silence on the other end. I can almost hear her heart racing.
“Do you actually have videos of me…like that?” She swallows so hard I hear an audible pop.
“Dozens of them. You naked, spread out on your bed like a—”
She hisses, cutting me off before I can get more graphic with my description.
“Delete whatever footage you have of that,” she finally says. In contrast to her words, her tone is timid. Afraid.
“You’re not denying it, then.”
“Are you going to blackmail me with those videos?” she asks, her voice shaking.
“No. They’re for my eyes only.” The thought of anyone else seeing her like that makes my blood boil. I always delete the footage. No one gets to see my woman naked, not even accidentally.
She scoffs. “You’re just like all bullies. Harassing me, using illegal footage to blackmail me.”
“I’m not blackmailing you,” I remind her. “I only do it because it’s fun. You’re intriguing, and I want to see behind your mask.”
“Fun?” Her words break on a sob. “It’s fun to ruin my life, to make me feel powerless and scared?”
“Don’t you like being powerless?” I ask. “Isn’t that what you crave?”
“No.” I hear her sniffle, and it cuts through me like a knife. She’s crying. But I don’t think she’s crying because I’m wrong. I think s he’s crying because I saw something she didn’t want me to see, and yet, she can’t deny that she wanted someone to see that part of her.
“Callista,” I say softly, trying to shush her. “Don’t cry.”
“You’re terrible,” she says. “You had no right to see those things, to see me…”
“I had no right to,” I admit. “But I won’t apologize.”
She sobs harder. “I’ll be a good girl. I’ll be a good fake girlfriend.
I’ll smile and do everything you say. I won’t be sarcastic.
I’ll convince people that we’re in love.
So can you please delete the videos and stop recording me when I’m trying to get off?
That’s the only time I can be myself, and I don’t want to be paranoid and have to act all the time. ”
Her words hit me deep in the chest. The vulnerability in her voice, the raw pain—it’s more than I can bear.
When she said she wanted to be a good girl for me, it hit my cock like a firestorm, enveloping my dick in heat.
But this isn’t about sex. It’s about her pain, her need for acceptance, her desperation to be seen and understood.
“Callista,” I say, my voice gentle. “I’m not trying to scare you or make you stop doing what you’ve been doing.”
“You don’t understand,” she sobs. “I can’t have anyone finding out. Everyone will judge me. I didn’t even want you to find out.”
“I’ve seen worse,” I tell her, trying to reassure her. “And don’t you feel better knowing someone knows your secret? You don’t have to carry all your burdens alone.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re always a bad girl because your mother was sex-crazed. It’s fucked up to want to be a good girl in bed to compensate for that.”
“It doesn’t matter why you want what you want,” I say firmly. “All needs are valid.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then whispers, “You don’t think that.”
“I do. You’re allowed to want what you want. You’re allowed to be who you are.”
She sighs, a soft, shaky sound. “I wish I could believe that.”
“You can.”
“How?” she asks, her voice small. “My whole life will crumble if I act like myself for one day.”
“Then act like yourself for one night. Let me see you.”
“I can’t.” She moans. “Not with you. You’re the worst person to be myself around.”
“I’m the only person you’ve ever been yourself around,” I remind her. “So can you stop lying to yourself?”
She’s silent for a long moment, then whispers, “I wish you were here. In my room. I want to claw your eyes out. I want to bite your annoying mouth and shut you up.”
My heart twists. I need to be there, to hold her, to soothe her. I need to see her, to touch her, to make her believe that she’s worthy of love and acceptance.
“I’ll be there soon,” I promise. “Don’t move.”
“Wait, you want to get your eyes clawed out?” She inhales a surprised breath.
“Yes. I want you to do whatever you want, whatever it takes to make you stop crying.”
I hang up and grab my keys, my heart pounding in my chest. I need to get to her, to hold her, to make her understand that she’s not alone.
As I step into Callista’s room, the first thing that hits me is the scent—a mix of floral and something distinctly feminine.
The lights are on, casting a warm glow over everything.
Her room is a reflection of her—elegant, controlled, but with hints of chaos peeking through.
Clothes are strewn over a chair, textbooks stacked haphazardly on the desk, and a vanity covered with makeup and hair tools.
The bed is unmade, the sheets rumpled, and I can’t help but imagine her tangled in them, her body warm and inviting.
Callista stands with her arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts up in a way that makes my mouth water.
She’s dressed in a lacy camisole top, her hard nipples visible through the thin fabric.
I want to suck on them, to feel their hardness against my tongue.
Her tiny shorts reveal creamy thighs, and the material clings to her perky ass.
She’s a vision, and I’m already hungry for her.
She advances toward me, her eyes flashing with anger. Without a word, she slaps me across the face. The sting is sharp but brief, and I barely feel it. Her hand trembles as she retrieves it, her eyes wide with uncertainty.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say, my voice steady. “I deserved it.”
She looks at me, fear replacing the anger in her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I told you I would.”
“Why do you have a key to my room?” she asks, her voice shaking.
“I’ve been here before,” I admit. “Many times.”
Her blush deepens. “I thought those were dreams.”
“They weren’t.”
She slumps her shoulders, looking defeated. “Now that you know how much I’m like my mother, how much I crave sex, what are you planning to do?”
“I’m planning to give you what you need,” I say, moving to sit on her bed. I pat my lap. “Come here.”
She hesitates for a moment before stepping closer. The air between us is charged, electric. She sits on my lap, her body tense.
“I’m not used to being so vulnerable with anyone,” she says softly. “It feels…weird. You’re my bully. You threatened me into being your fake girlfriend. I mean, how fucked up is that?”
“Life is fucked up, babygirl,” I murmur, rubbing her bare knee. Her skin is soft, warm, and I like the way she feels under my touch. This is the first time I’ve touched her while she’s awake, the first time she’s let me. “Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy what we have.”
“I want to run away,” she admits, resting her head on the crook of my shoulder, her voice barely a whisper. “This is so humiliating.”
I let her hide her face from me, let her nuzzle against my neck as she confronts her need for closeness and intimacy.
I keep rubbing her knee, my touch gentle.
I can’t help myself when I see her nipples furling into bigger, harder buds.
The urge to touch brings me to the verge of insanity.
I move my hands up, cupping her generous breasts, teasing her aroused buds with my thumb, pinching them just to hear her whimper in my ear.
“Dmitry…” Her voice is breathy, laced with dark craving. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to. Because you make me want to.”
I soothe the sting with soft strokes of my thumb over her aching breasts. She lets me do it all, never protesting. It’s like she has given up acting like she’s better them me, like she doesn’t want this.
She’s showing me her real self and that feels like holding the greatest treasure.
“If I try to run away now, will you catch me?” Her question comes out of the blue.
“Do you want me to?”
Her head jerks. Her eyes widen, meeting mine. I notice the lust in them, the need, the desire that she’s too scared to speak out loud. Her cheeks are flushed. Fuck, she’s aroused. She liked being held down. She likes it rough. And maybe, she likes being hunted, too.
I brush my finger over her lips, dragging them back and forth over her soft, plump mouth, waiting for her to pull away.
But she doesn’t. She leans in closer, her eyes wider, tears glistening on her dark, wet lashes. She looks like a doll, like an angel who wants to be tainted by the devil.
“I will catch you.” I lick the side of her throat. “And when I do, I’ll make you wish you had run sooner.”