Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Savina
I’M SITTING AT Darby’s bar, The Nightshade Tavern, on a Thursday evening.
The two-story bar is situated on the corner of two busy streets in downtown Manhattan.
It’s still early, so the place isn’t overly crowded yet.
I’m perched on a padded stool at the main bar, leaning against the black granite countertop, tucked away from everyone else.
Above me is a purple neon sign with the tavern’s name, along with the tagline under it that says “sip in the shadows”.
The whole place is spooky, dark and gothic with intricate details and numerous oddities, which Darby has collected over the years from various antique shops, placed sporadically throughout.
If someone could open Darby up, I feel like this is exactly what she would look like on the inside.
Dollar bills with lipstick kisses adorn the back of the bar.
Darby started the tradition after earning her very first dollar, and that is front and center above the cash register.
Multiple patrons over the years have added to the collection, and it looks cool as hell with how many are pinned back there now.
“It’s the calm before the storm,” Darby says as she passes by me with a dark gray tote full of clean glassware.
She’s not wrong. The bar always gets extremely packed at night.
New Yorkers love the dark, gothic feel of the bar.
Moreover, everyone just loves to be in Darby’s company.
She’s an enigmatic and incredible bartender, making everyone feel welcome the moment they walk in.
She not only owns the place but keeps it running in tiptop shape.
She’s proud of her hard work, and it shows.
And I’m just glad a lot of people can appreciate that and her.
I watch as Darby methodically stacks glasses behind the bar before mixing up a new drink. She’s in her element, and it’s truly a sight to behold.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Darby asks as she slides a fresh drink in front of me.
The cocktail is dark purple with edible glitter swirling around a lime and blackberry garnish. “Oh, nothing,” I say quietly.
“Bullshit,” she says, calling me out on the lie. “Tell me what’s wrong or I’ll stop giving you free drinks,” she threatens.
“First of all, I’m paying for these,” I tell her even as she vehemently shakes her head.
“No, you’re not,” she interrupts.
“And second of all, it’s the problem I’ve been having for the past freaking decade of my life.”
“Dimitri,” she says with a dramatic sigh.
“Yeah,” I tell her with a sigh of my own.
“Damn that hot, sexy Romanian bastard who is obsessed with you and looks like a Greek god and probably fucks like a stallion,” she curses while holding her fist up to the ceiling.
I put my face in my hands, because she’s right.
He is hot and sexy and charming, when he wants to be.
But he’s also a domineering, possessive asshole.
I’ve been avoiding him like the plague ever since he interrupted my ballet class and gave me the single most mind-blowing orgasm of the century.
I just wish I could stop thinking about him… and it.
“So, you haven’t spoken to him since the ballet class thing?” Darby asks, breaking through my thoughts.
“No,” I mutter miserably. I told Darby all the dirty details, because she wanted to know and because, well, I trust her with my life and, thus, tell her everything.
“But you want to, don’t you?” she asks, her dark brows raising high on her forehead before dropping low. “Ooh, you want him to interrupt another one of your classes. I can see it on your face.”
“Oh, stop it,” I tell her, swiping a hand down my face and hating that there’s a half smile lingering there.
“You know what I always say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” she explains. “But in your case, you can’t really do that.” Darby then leans over the bar to whisper, “You know, since you’re hymenally challenged.”
I laugh out loud. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
Darby grins. “So, maybe you need to take matters into your…own hands,” she says, stressing the last two words before giving me a wink.
“What are you saying? You want me to…” I start, my voice trailing off.
“Maybe you just need a big O to clear your head,” Darby suggests with a small shrug.
“Ugh,” I groan.
“Listen, right now your mind is just filled with sexual tension and thoughts about a hot Romanian. Trust me, go home, get your best vibrator out and go to town. I swear, you’ll feel a million times better and have a much clearer head after it,” she explains.
“Shit, maybe you’re right,” I agree.
“I’m always right,” Darby says with a smirk.
After paying for my drinks against Darby’s loud and almost violent protesting, I leave the bar and take a taxi back to our apartment. It’s quiet and empty, and Darby won’t be home until well after three in the morning.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I just need to get off to clear my head. I mean, there’s no harm in it.
I go to my room and change out of my dress and into comfier clothes.
I put on a pair of shorts and a shirt that has a cartoon ketchup bottle and a hot dog on the front and says in a big, bold font, “I squirt on juicy wieners”.
Darby bought it for me as a gag gift, but I actually wear it a lot because it’s comfortable.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I open my nightstand drawer. My collection of toys isn’t the best. I have a few little clitoral vibrators that I got during a visit to an adult sex store with Darby years ago. They aren’t the greatest, but they manage to get the job done.
Relaxing, I lay back and turn one of them on before sticking it down my shorts.
The vibration against my clit has me moaning out loud.
I guess there’s no point in being quiet since I’m home alone.
And once it starts to feel really good, I suddenly blurt out Dimitri’s name.
I didn’t mean to, but I can’t say that I mind thinking about him.
It’s not like I don’t already have him running through my mind constantly.
No shame in getting off to him when I’m alone with my own dirty thoughts.
I think about the way he handled me at the ballet studio. So demanding and commanding, controlling my every move. How he made me cum on his tongue with hardly any effort at all. I bet Darby is right. I bet he does fuck like a stallion. Whatever the hell that means.
So, then I think about fucking Dimitri. I think about marrying him instead of his brother, and him taking my virginity. I wonder if he would be gentle or rough. Oh shit, it doesn’t even matter. In my head, in my fantasies, he’s taking me whatever way he wants to take me, and I’m here for it.
I moan his name again and again. And I’m almost there, so close to achieving the pleasure I’m seeking when there’s a sudden knock on the door.
“Oh shit!” I gasp. It must be Darby. Sometimes she runs home in between shifts to grab something she needs or forgot. Speaking of forgetting things, she somehow always forgets to take her damn keys with her.
Throwing my vibrator into my drawer, my impending orgasm long forgotten, I go to the answer the door. “I’m coming!” I yell, but then I cringe because I realize how that sounds.
“Did you forget your —?” I start to say when I unlock the door and swing it open. But it isn’t Darby on the other side of the door. No, it’s the last person on earth I wanted to show up on my doorstep.
Dimitri has a pissed off look on his face as he towers over me, glaring.
He’s probably mad that I’ve been ignoring him, or maybe something else has upset him.
Slowly, I glance down and realize in complete and utter mortification that I’m standing in front of him while wearing the tiniest pair of shorts that I own that leave very little to the imagination and a t-shirt that says ‘I squirt on juicy wieners’.
Why does this kind of shit always happen to me?