7. Gabriella
7
Gabriella
I must be crazy.
That’s the only thing I can think of to explain why I follow Dimitri into his office. Again. Only this time it’s not for first aid but to ask for something just as insane as coming to the Playground in the first place.
Dimitri removes his jacket and slings it across his desk, revealing a dark purple vest over a black dress shirt before leaning back against the large wood furniture with his hands in his pants pockets. It should be a crime to look so handsome. A sin even. But then again, he called himself a devil the last time we spoke.
“What can I do for you, Miss DiAngelo?”
“It's Gabriella, please.”
“Gabriella.”
When he says my name out loud, it sounds even better than it does in my dreams. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.” I flush at the memory of his face, his touch...
Dimitri’s bright blue eyes narrow, having noticed my blush. “And what is that?”
I take a deep breath to prepare myself because once I say these words, there’s no taking them back. And if he’s going to take me seriously, I need to not only act it but appear it too. So, I look him dead in the eye and say, “I’d like to know more about the Playground . And I’d like you to teach me.”
All humor vanishes from Dimitri’s face. His blue eyes grow dark as shadows overtake them and his jaw tightens hard enough that I can make out the muscles popping in response. In one swift motion, he pushes off the desk and turns away, running his hand through his hair as he walks behind it. Bowing his head, he grips the back of his chair tight enough to turn his fingers white.
I resist the urge to take back my request and wait silently.
“Why?”
His question takes me by surprise. I expected him to either laugh and deny request right away or call me a naive and childish little girl who doesn’t know what she asks. “Why?” I repeat.
“Yes, why. Why do you want to learn?” His head remains bowed and his body tense. “And why me?”
It’s clear I’ve upset him. This was a stupid idea, and he didn’t need to say anything to confirm that. I stand up and brush invisible lint from my dress as I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. It was a foolish request. I’ll leave you now.”
“And then what will you do?”
I had turned toward the door, intent on rushing out of the room with my tail between my legs…so to speak when his question makes me twist back around. When I do, I’m surprised to find Dimitri looking at me through his lashes and shaggy hair that has fallen around his face. His blue eyes burn like twin flames in the shadows of his gaze and I can feel them lick my skin in a sinful manner.
“What do you mean?”
“If not me, who will teach you instead? Perhaps the man who harassed you the last night you were here?”
I narrow my eyes at him, angry for him to even suggest it. “Of course not.”
“Someone else then?”
It’s clear he’s taunting me out of anger or offense or whatever the hell he’s feeling right now. But whatever it is, he’s being an ass now, and I don’t care for it. “Like I said. Just forget I asked.”
“I can’t.” His words make me pause again.
“What?”
Dimitri stands to his full height, and the room’s energy shifts, as if there’s suddenly electricity in the air. “I told you never to return here, Gabriella. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, but—”
“And now you’re here, asking to learn about the Playground . Asking for me to teach you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you know what you ask of me?” He approaches slowly, like a predator stalking his prey in the night. I stand my ground, refusing to back down, even when he stands before me. “Do you?”
I drop my eyes and answer, “No.” Before he can say a word in response, I continue, “But I want to. With you.”
“Again…why me?”
I don’t know what he expects to hear or even why he wants to know. I could lie. I could make up some reason that would inflate his male ego, but when I look up at him, I recognize a need to know the truth swirling in the icy depths. A need as desperate as mine, which drives the truth from me.
“Because…I trust you.”
Whatever truth he expected to hear was not that, given the way he flinches. “You trust me? Why?”
“Honestly, I don’t know why, but you’ve never given me a reason not to.”
“I’m the head captain of the Russian Bratva.”
As if I need reminding. “And I’m an Italian mafia princess. What’s your point?”
“You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me, either,” I snap back. “It seems kind of perfect, right? Who better to teach and learn than strangers with no prior history?”
He studies me for a few breaths before he takes a step back. “Spoken like a future doctor.”
“Nurse Practitioner.”
“There’s a difference?”
I chuckle. “Yes. A whole degree and many more years of school and residency difference.”
Dimitri hums under his breath and turns away, walking toward the couch. “Alright then, doctor.” I roll my eyes at his back, finding the fact that the icy Russian has a sense of humor entertaining. “Lesson one. The only rule in the Playground is that there are no rules. Anything goes so long as participation is consensual.”
“Okay.” I already know that one. It’s plastered in several places all over the club.
He sits and leans back against the cushions. “Lesson two. Discipline.”
“Discipline?”
“I told you not to return here, yes?”
“Yes,” I answer slowly. “But that was before tonight. Before my request.”
Dimitri licks his lips, devouring me like a five-course meal with his ice-blue gaze. “Come now, Gabriella. We both know this started the night you first came into my club.”
He’s not wrong, and it’s knowing we both felt the same pull that gave me the confidence to approach him tonight. “So what? I had to come here to talk to you. I couldn’t very well just show up at the Mikailhov house.” He continues staring at me in silence. “Are you really going to punish me for disobeying a demand I didn’t know to take seriously?” I ask incredulously when he remains quiet.
“Yes.” I stare at him as he spreads his legs and pats his knee. “Come and lay over my knees.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I won’t ask again, Gabriella. Do as I say, or this is over before it even starts.” His gaze is feverish and hot with a warning that he’s serious.
I’ve never been spanked. Not in the way he’s suggesting. Past boyfriends were always too kind, too gentle…too vanilla to ever walk the thin line between pleasure and pain. But this is what I wanted. What I asked for. What I hoped for.
I kneel beside him before crawling across his lap and shiver when his hand caresses my dress covered ass.
“When I say not to do something, you will listen. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I breathe out.
“Yes, sir.”
I close my eyes at the command in his voice. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
His hand slides to the hem of my dress and he pulls it up and over my curved backside. He hisses when he notices that I’m bare underneath and I grin at his reaction.
“This is how I expect you every time I see you.” I nod, and a moment later, he smacks my bare behind lightly and says, “Use your words.”
“Yes, sir.”
He strokes my flesh in gentle circles and then his hand comes down, his palm connecting with my skin making a loud, piercing sound. I cry out, every muscle tightening as the stinging pain shoots through my body from my toes to my fingertips before settling between my legs. The sensitive space there grows slick and throbs with an ache only his touch can ease.
“That’s one. Four more and I’ll reward you.”
I swallow hard and buck against the very noticeable bulge beneath my stomach. It earns me another swat.
“Stay still,” he orders. “That’s two.”
He does it again, and I moan, biting my bottom lip until I taste copper to stop myself from moving.
“Three.”
My clit pulses with each slap. The sensation is like a direct shock to the bundle of nerves.
Another. “Four.”
I can feel my orgasm building, and he hasn’t even touched me. What does that say about me? That pain drives my pleasure? If it does, then so be it. I’m guilty. This is what I was searching for earlier in the shower—this feeling, this intensity that overwhelms every one of my senses. All I see are his piercing blue eyes, all I smell is his sandalwood cologne, all I hear is our uneven breathing, both of us struggling for control, and all I feel is his touch, branding me like fire.
“Five.”
Just as he promised, Dimitri’s hand moves from my rear to slide between my legs. “Jesus, fuck, Gabriella. You’re soaked. You liked that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I moan.
“Good. You did good.” His fingers part me, his thumb gently finding my clit before he circles it once, twice, each time pulling a stuttering breath from me. He takes his time, touching me, feeling me, learning every inch of me before he dives two fingers inside me. I cry out, bucking against his erection as he curls his fingers inside me, brushing against the spot inside me that makes me moan uncontrollably.
My orgasm grows at the base of my spine. I’m so close to exploding, I’m panting with the need. “Please, Dimitri.”
He works me harder, his fingers pumping in and out of me as he commands, “Come for me.”
My vision goes black around the edges, and I see stars as I fall apart so hard and so deep, with a guttural moan. I shake in his hold, coming down from my high. I barely register Dimitri pulling my dress back down before he lifts me and then cradles me against his chest. He kisses my temple, the act so sweet and so opposite of what we just did that it feels like a complete one eighty.
“You did so well, angel,” he whispers into my hair, and I turn into him, humming in bliss at his praise and nickname. “But I need to ask one more very important thing from you.”
I feel so drunk right now, I’d give him anything. “Okay.”
“This needs to remain a secret between us. No one can know. Do you understand why?”
I nod. We don’t get the luxury of normal lives, free to do whatever we please. Like we said, I’m an Italian mafia princess and he is a Russian Bratva captain. Our families may be allies, but they will never understand this arrangement between Dimitri and I.
“Our secret.”