Chapter 17
After pointing my Friday night mark out to the VIP bouncer and instructing him to allow him upstairs should he take my offer, I head up for that final drink. On my way to the bar, I pass a couch shrouded in darkness, and in the centre is Anastasia, a man on either side of her, kissing her neck.
It's not abnormal we arrive together and separate by the end of the night. More frequent than not, it’s how it goes, so she’ll be taken care of. Even if the guys tried to pull something, they’d be the ones regretting that attempt.
After ordering my drink, I take it to the balcony and scan downstairs, searching the dance floor and then the edges of the room for him. For the stranger who appealed to me from afar, and matched every expectation I had during our dance. He’s obviously interested or else he wouldn’t have stuck around as long as he had. He’s intriguing to me, and he’s a simple and straightforward option for the night.
I like simple. Uncomplicated. Since I’m not seeking a relationship, casual hookups are ideal. Dimitri constantly reminds me that eventually I’ll need to wed, if only so there’s a future Volkov that isn’t him to take my place, but that’s a very eventual plan. Me being Pakhan is still too new a concept for most, and no asshole will be trying to push me out of my role by thinking marrying me gets them into leadership.
But a girl still has needs. Needs only met when a guy understands his place.
A male hand comes into view, stealing the glass from my grip. His cocky smirk wraps the glass’s edge as he takes a large sip, eyes glistening with trouble before handing my drink back.
I down most of it in one go before he considers taking more, and shoot him an appreciative look because he dared to steal from me so brazenly. Others wouldn’t. Makes me wonder in what other ways this stranger, whose name I still don’t know, will surprise me tonight.
“You came,” I state.
“You doubted me?”
I rake my gaze up and down his form, his simple outfit of dark-washed jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Not at all. But I do need to know one thing before I bring you into my home. What’s your name?”
“Zeno,” he answers immediately, proving he’s telling the truth and likely has no idea who I am. Many have tried to lie when I ask. Try because the attempts are feeble and obvious, but quickly followed with a terrified admittance that with their name, I can easily find them afterwards.
I like that he doesn’t lie, but it makes sense he’d have no idea about me. Visiting from Italy means he’s a complete outsider, which is even more ideal. Even less complicated because he won’t try to linger in my house after I finish with him.
“Do I get yours?” He follows up with.
I purse my lips with my fake consideration, already having an answer decided. “In time. I don’t give away my name as freely as you obviously do.”
Zeno’s eyelids drop lower, his gaze settling heavier on me as he moves closer and plucks the glass from my hand. He rests it out of the way before lowering his head into my neck, his warm breath coasting over my skin, similar to when we were dancing. It’s a sensation I welcome, closing my own eyes and simply enjoying the feel of him.
“I give my name so freely because when a woman who’s used to being in control asks for it, who am I to deny her that?”
“How’d you know?” I ask, voice a bit breathier than normal. I’m staggering more than usual, and it’s discerning.
“Know what?” I hear the smile in his tone. “You exude confidence. Control. Dominance.” That’s a near-whisper. So low, it’s nearly impossible to hear over our proximity to the music speakers blaring out some song with indecipherable lyrics.
Regardless, I hear him enough. Hear his words whispered along my skin, imprinting the promise of later into me. Feel his interest, and my insides clench, anticipating what’s to come.
Zeno’s hand snakes around my waist and trails up my side until reaching bare skin. Goosebumps sprout, my breath becoming heavier. He’s making me…confused, is the only term I can come up with. Confused because normally the men I interact with are simple. Show some interest, take them home, fuck them until I’m sated, and send them on their way. It’s rare for my body to react in ways it is now: with a genuine desire that’s going past my Friday night self-care habits.
It's downright uncomfortable to allow a man this kind of control over me. Perhaps there’s a perfectly good reason he has this ability, because later, when I’m in charge of his pleasure, I get to not only return the favour, but experience an actual good fucking.
“Am I wrong?” he continues. “You’ve gotten quiet.”
I turn so my shoulder jabs into his hard chest, forcing him to lean away. “Not at all,” I reply, voice low and smooth. “Just surprised you picked up on it.”
He scoffs, but it sounds more like a chuckle. “Sounds like an insult. Not very hospitable to a visitor, no?” His hand trails up my arm and around my back, tickling my spine before stroking a patch of skin below my hairline. A gentle stoke as he levels up the game I initiated below.
“If you wanted hospitable, you should have chosen another woman.”
“I think I’ve chosen the right one for me.”
“Yeah?” A brow lifts and I reach for his waist, hooking a finger through one of his belt loops and dragging him closer. His gentle touch was sweet, seductive, but now I must show him what being with me is all about. My other hand wraps his neck and it’s my turn to whisper into his ear. “If that’s what you feel, then here’s how this will go: you’ll come home with me for one night. I’m a busy woman, therefore I need nothing more than tonight from you. You’ll obey me, and then you’ll leave. No questions asked, and we will never see one another again.”
He smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
We end up each having one more drink before I drag him down outside, leading him straight to the back seat of my Aurus Senat—a purchase from my father’s days—and immediately hike the divider between my driver and us.
After his light petting inside and the alcohol vibrating through my system, this stranger is becoming my entire craving. The car barely pulls away before I readjust myself over his lap, the denim of his pants rubbing against the thin silk of my panties.
Grasping the sides of his face, I press my mouth to his, finally tasting him. I don’t always like to show my cards inside public spaces, and by the end of our final drink, it was difficult to hold back from kissing him.
Zeno groans beneath me and clutches my hips, pinning me on top though there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. His lips part, his tongue coming out to meet mine. His kiss is slow and tentative but still confident. Like he’s knowingly giving me the control but isn’t shy about it either.
I weave my fingers between his and remove them from my hips, instead pinning them to his sides. Beneath me, his cock grows harder until I can feel him through the denim.
He breaks from my mouth, panting. “Please tell me you don’t live far.”
“Ten minutes.” I nip his bottom lip with my teeth before kissing down the side of his neck. His light moan makes my core clench and I lower myself as much as I can, rubbing my wet panties along his length. “Gives me time to ask about your limits.”
“What limits?” he replies, his throat moving beneath my lips with a heavy gulp.
I trail my mouth back up his neck, breaking away and leaning back far enough to catch his gaze and seek out the truth or lie. Some men, like admitting their name, lie to tell me what they think I want to hear. That if they respond differently, I’ll be done with them before we even start.
But Zeno only stares back unblinkingly. An honesty, a nakedness reflecting back at me.
“Careful,” I warn. “Dangerous claim to make.”
He grins, reminding me of the cheeky man on the dance floor. “Maybe I like dangerous women.”
“Who are you?” I murmur, a question he’s not intended to answer, but one more for me. They’re my wondering thoughts spoken aloud as this stranger from another country appeals to a certain side of me, based on the little I know of him anyway.
Instead, I kiss him again, releasing his hands to stroke down his chest until reaching the top button of his shirt and undoing it. With every lash of my tongue, every rub against his lap, I undo another button until his chest is bared.
Thankfully, the minutes pass quickly and the car eventually slows, stops altogether, and then the gentle vibration beneath us snaps off. I drag my mouth away from Zeno’s, glancing out to the side window, noticing we have arrived home.
“Come with me.”
I climb off him and am out the door, already heading toward the front entrance. Since it’s nearing midnight, the details of my property remain shrouded by darkness, a fact I’m always pleased about. Papa purposely never erected many lamps outside because he felt it was better for our privacy; one of a few of his opinions I’ve agreed with.
Zeno whistles low behind me. “Seems I wasn’t far off the mark then? Company CEO, I’m guessing?”
“Something like that,” I reply, keeping my tone casual. No need for the Italian tourist to truly know whose bed he’s about to get fucked in.
He follows me inside where only a single light’s been left on, as staff are instructed to do before exiting for the night. Papa used to pack this place with soldiers monitoring every inch, but I dismissed most of them upon taking over, never feeling the need to have so many people on the property at all times of the day. They make better use of my money by doing their actual jobs and not standing pointlessly around my home, reminding me of a time when Papa constantly had his minions stalking me, “protecting me,” when all they were really doing was reporting my every step, breath, and probably, piss, to him.
Now, there’s a couple on the ground’s perimeter, since only myself and my Elite live here. Dimitri, as he often is, is presently in North America, doing whatever he does there, and Lev’s either out for the night or locked away in his room. I get the sense that Anastasia is still downtown, deciding which man’s home they’ll take their party to.
I grasp Zeno’s hand and drag him up the stairs, rushing down long hallways until finally reaching my suite. I open the door and all but shove him inside, closing the door and leaning against it, watching as he takes in the large space.
He turns around right away, coming back to me, his hands cupping my hips. He kisses me until I lose my breath again and nudge him away.
“On the bed,” I command, stricken with just how breathless he’s making me.
Zeno bites his bottom lip, which I find sexier than I should, and instead trails a finger down the inside of my right arm, stopping at my wrist where he traces a light circle over my palm. “I have a better idea.”
“You’re not here to think.” It doesn’t come out as firm as I planned. A curiosity instead takes over, until I’m wondering what exactly his plan is, considering his expression makes my core tighten and my stomach clench.
“I’m not,” he agrees. “I’m here to obey, right? To give you pleasure. To fuck your sweet cunt until you’re sated.”
Proklyatiye. Damn.
I prefer obedience. I prefer men who listen, and any I bring home, do so immediately and without thought. Zeno’s defiance should annoy me rather than fascinate me, but I’m curious where he’s going with this: what his “better idea” is.
Still, I argue, finding myself countering his latest statement with, “Which is exactly what you’ll be doing in my bed.”
The first time a man tried to pin me down, climb on top of me, and fuck me into his bed, I almost threw up. The concept of not being in control, even during sex, horrified me. I was dry and unsatisfied afterwards and the fucker somehow blamed me that I wasn’t “appreciating” his efforts.
Other sexual encounters after that one, I tested out different dynamics. Found partners willing to be a part of my experiment and learned what truly gets me off, which is a man’s submission.
Zeno doesn’t turn toward my bed. Instead, eyes locked on mine, he trails a finger down my cheek, my neck, over the curves of my breasts, and along the dress’s material. He hooks into the ribbon tying my top together, fiddling with the edge before continuing downwards, eventually stepping back from me altogether.
And then he lowers to his knees and asks the most damning question he ever could.
“How can I serve you?”