Chapter 10
TEN
Dmitry
I call her at midnight because I know she will be awake, lying in the dark, thinking about me the same way I have been thinking about her. The line rings twice before her voice comes through, low and groggy.
“Dmitry?”
Her voice does something to me. I can hear the sleep in it, the warmth, the little rasp that makes my blood rush to my cock.
“You sound tired,” I say.
“That’s because it’s midnight. Normal people sleep at this hour.”
“I’m not normal.”
“I’ve noticed,” she mutters. “Why are you calling me?”
“I’m taking you out on Friday,” I say simply.
There is a pause. “What?”
“The date,” I clarify. “The one I won at the auction. You owe me.”
She sighs, quiet and resigned. “You really like ordering people around, don’t you?”
“I like when you listen,” I say. “And you will. On Friday, you’ll wear what I tell you to wear. You’ll go where I tell you to go. You’ll eat what I order, drink what I hand you, and you’ll smile when I say so.”
“Are you serious?” she whispers.
“Yes. Think of it as payback.”
“For what?”
“For auctioning yourself off without asking me first.”
Her breath catches. “I didn’t think I needed your permission.”
“You don’t,” I say. “But it was a bad thing to do. And bad girls need to be punished. You’re going to be a good girl starting now. You’ll follow all of Daddy’s instructions to the t.”
Her silence says everything.
When she finally speaks, her tone is sharp, but I hear the tremor beneath it. “You really think I’d go along with that?”
“You will,” I tell her. “Because you want to know what it feels like to stop thinking for a while. To have someone else decide everything for you. You pretend to hate control, but deep down, you crave it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
I can hear her shifting in bed, the rustle of her sheets, the soft sound of her exhale. She’s thinking about it. The idea is already getting under her skin. She fights it, battles for her dignity, but the dark craving inside her consumes her self-respect. Just like it has for me.
“What do I wear, Daddy?” she asks finally, her voice quieter.
The simple act of submission, of letting go, of loosening her mask, fills my veins with power. She must be ashamed to be calling me that. She has never done it before. But the word sounds sweet from her lips. I could get drugged on that sound.
“Something black,” I say. “Short. Elegant. I want people to look at you and know you belong to me.”
Her scoff is soft, nervous. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But you’re going to do what I ask, aren’t you? My little girl craves praise and she won’t get any if she disobeys Daddy. And wear dark lipstick,” I add.
“I don’t wear bold colors,” she says. “It’s not me.”
“It is now. I want everyone to see where you’ve kissed me, Callista. I want everyone to know you’re not what they think you are. You might be a good girl, but you’re Daddy’s good girl.”
The silence that follows is heavy. I can imagine her biting her lip, torn between outrage and arousal.
“This is...I’ve never done this before,” she whispers. “What if things go wrong?”
“I’m going to be with you, darling. I’ll catch you if anything goes wrong.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I will. So trust me.”
Her breath hitches again. Then, quietly, “Where are we going?”
“It’s a secret.”
“You like secrets.”
“I like control,” I say. “And you like giving it to me, even if you won’t admit it.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Fine.”
“I’ll see you at seven on Friday, Callista.”
Before she can answer, I hang up.
I stare at my phone for a long time, her voice echoing in my head. I should feel satisfied that she agreed, that she gave in, but instead, there’s a strange heat curling low in my chest.
Maybe it’s the memory of her hug, the way she held me like I was something fragile instead of dangerous. Maybe it’s the way she looked at me last time, eyes soft, lips trembling, as if she wanted to believe there’s more to me, that I’m the one who can fulfill her deepest desires.
She’ll learn the truth soon enough.
And I’ll make sure she never forgets who taught it to her.
The night smells like rain and perfume when I pull up to the Kappa house. Warm light spills through the windows, laughter floating out into the street. A few girls sit on the porch, their legs crossed, drinks in hand, eyes sharp and curious. They whisper when they see my car, when they see me.
I step out and wait.
Then she appears.
Callista Vale.
She moves down the steps like temptation given form.
Her short black dress fits her like a secret she’s dying to keep, all soft fabric and bare skin.
The heels make her legs look endless. Her lipstick is the color of blood and sin, just like I told her.
She’s everything I imagined—and worse for my self-control.
When she reaches me, her chin tilts up, defiant, but I can see the faint flush climbing her throat.
“You look… breathtaking,” I say quietly.
Her lips curve. “You sound surprised.”
“I shouldn’t be. I told you what to wear.”
She rolls her eyes. “So you’re taking full credit for this?”
“Absolutely.” My voice lowers. “But you should’ve worn something longer. Did you want the entire street to see you like this?”
“Maybe.” Her smile turns playful. “You told me to wear a short dress.”
“I didn’t tell you to wear that short.”
A fire sparks in her eyes, like she won the silent game between us. “Then you should have specified the length down to the exact inch. I’m not every smart, Daddy.”
Her laughter is soft and sweet, but I feel the pulse of challenge behind it.
I open the car door for her, and when she slips inside, her perfume fills the air—warm vanilla with a hint of jasmine. I lean over her to fasten her seatbelt. My hand grazes her collarbone, my fingers brushing the slope of her neck. Her skin warms under my touch, her breath catching.
“Beautiful,” I murmur. “I wish I were the only one seeing you tonight.”
Her eyes dart to mine. “You’re very possessive.”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
She laughs again, quiet, but it trembles slightly. I shut her door and walk around to the driver’s side, forcing myself to focus on the road instead of the image of her legs crossed so neatly beside me.
When I slide into the seat, she gives me a once-over. “You’re wearing a suit.”
“I told you this was a date.”
“A suit and tie, Dmitry? Are we going to a gala?”
I smirk. “Yes.”
She blinks. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. My brother Mikhail is hosting an event tonight. His wife, Zorina, is performing. It’s for a cancer charity.”
Her lips part. “You planned that?”
“I thought you’d like it. You can talk to Zorina about organizing events. She’s good at managing people. You could learn something from her.”
Something flickers in her expression, a mix of surprise and warmth. “That’s… thoughtful. I didn’t expect that from you.”
“I like surprising you.”
“I can’t decide if you’re a good surprise or a bad one.”
“I’ll let you find out.”
We drive through the city, streetlights flashing over her face. Every time she moves, the hem of her dress shifts, revealing another inch of smooth skin. I grip the steering wheel tighter.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just a date?” she asks.
“Because it’s not.”
“What is it, then?”
“A lesson.”
She arches a brow. “In what?”
“Trust.”
She turns toward the window, hiding a smile. “You’re so dramatic.”
“At least I’m consistent.”
Her laugh slips out, light and real, and it does something to me. She doesn’t sound like the girl who always has to hold everything together. She sounds free.
“You’re different tonight,” she says softly. “Not as cold.”
“Maybe you’re imagining things.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
At the next red light, she looks out the window, her reflection glimmering in the glass. Her profile glows under the city’s neon haze—the curve of her cheek, the bow of her lips, the dark shimmer of her hair.
I can’t help it. She’s so unguarded, so vulnerable. So mine. I can’t resist the sweet temptation of her plump lips stained with red lipstick. Just like I told her. Pride swells in my chest. She followed my instructions, and I’m going to reward her for it.
I reach out, take her face in my hand, and pull her toward me.
Her eyes widen for a second before she closes them, breath stuttering as my lips find hers. The kiss starts slow but deepens when she parts for me, her fingers gripping my jacket like she’s falling. The world outside dissolves into a blur of color and light.
She tastes like sweetness and defiance. My tongue finds hers, mingling in a heated dance that makes my body temperature skyrocket. It’s a short kiss, but I make her moan, make her grip my jacket and lean in for more.
When I finally pull back, she’s breathing hard, lips glossy and swollen.
“Traffic light’s green,” she whispers.
“I noticed,” I say. “That was your reward for listening to me, by the way. That lipstick looks good on you.”
“So good you couldn’t resist eating it?” She chuckles.
“So good I’m going to want to feel your mouth on me all night, leaving those red marks all over my body.” I tuck my fingers under her chin, pushing her face up to meet my gaze. “Wait for it, babygirl.”
Our romantic moment is broken by someone honking behind me.
But I don’t start the car right away. I drink her in with my eyes until I’m certain I’ll never forget the way she looks tonight.
By the time we arrive at the venue, the desire to touch her is thrashing around me. I open the door for her, gripping her arm tightly as I help her to her feet.
The gala is held in one of the city’s oldest ballrooms—a place where money whispers and power wears a tuxedo.
Crystal chandeliers drizzle light over marble floors, and the air hums with the low murmur of conversations laced with deals and secrets.
Waiters glide between clusters of guests, silver trays balanced effortlessly, champagne flutes catching the light like stolen stars.