Kotik

Chapter 29 A Special Night

A Special Night

No part of my unofficial Saturday evening birthday went as I expected. And at this point, I should have accepted that to be the rest of my life, but there were a lot of things to accept all at once, and it hadn’t been long enough for me to truly know and understand Vitali Konstantinov.

He received a call and left shortly after we got back from the spa outing. I finished getting ready by myself to the tune of Maybeth’s ‘Promises.’

Don’t let your heart play dangerous games, she sang while I secured the straps on my absurdly expensive shoes. You’ll end up broken…

Misha rang, and I hurried downstairs. Admittedly, I was a little disappointed he didn’t get outfitted like a chauffeur, but I probably would have popped a stitch laughing if he had.

Nevertheless, he looked nice in slacks and a dress shirt, but when I mentioned that, he politely told me to get my behind in the car. Maybe not in those words.

We didn’t speak much on the drive, and when I asked him where we were going, he only told me it was called ‘the Imperial,’ and that there would be dinner and dancing.

I’d never heard of ‘the Imperial,’ but it didn’t take long to realize why.

When the car slowed, it was in front of Elit.

I stared at it, mouth agape. New letters had been put up to emphasize the rebranding, but the outline of old ones still remained.

“You’re not serious…” I said as he opened the door for me (I hadn’t even caught the fact that Misha was being gentlemanly).

He shrugged. “They have good food.”

“Mish… it’s only been a few months…”

“Listen,” he said irritably, “it’s difficult to get a reservation, so Kurov isn’t grieving that hard. Besides, it belongs to Sergei now.”

I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the coat check, much less the rest of the club’s interior, so I kept my eyes tightly shut and took my initial step inside blind. Misha had me by the arm, and thankfully, talked me through the first little bit until I gained the bravery to look on.

It was… different.

There was no coat check; instead, the walls had been moved back to open a wide reception area with soft piano music coming from a walled-off space to the right. Everything appeared new and tastefully done.

“Where is Vitali?” I asked as the two of us continued through after he whispered back and forth with the receptionist. “Tell me the truth, is he planning something?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Don’t be an idiot—you think I’m going to tell you?”

I couldn’t argue with such a logical point.

We came around the corner, and the first thing I noticed was that they had moved the bar. The place was unrecognizable. This wasn’t a discoteca anymore, but a high-end lounge. I still couldn’t believe Vitali would bring me here, of all places—

Then, I saw him, and the chatter around me dimmed.

Several tables had been set up in the far corner where a group of well-dressed people with undoubtedly expensive drinks hovered about in conversation.

It wasn’t hard to spot Vitali, but it was hard to look away.

I’d never seen him in a suit. No matter how elegantly he normally appeared, a suit transformed anyone into a different man.

The perfectly tailored, off-black pants fit slightly tighter in all the right places, and I couldn’t help but remember what lay underneath.

Of course, a shiny watch I could see from afar sat easily below the starched cuffs.

Casually open, his jacket revealed a fashionable white shirt with the first few buttons undone…

Undone…

…Exposing his tattoos.

“First time for everything,” Misha mumbled and led me ahead.

Vitali noticed me a moment after I saw him, and suddenly there was no one in the room except him and me.

He slowly took in the sight of me, from my salon-styled curls down the hip-high slit of my dress to the tips of the stiletto heels he had picked out.

His lips parted in a silent, appreciative exhale, followed by a rare, bright smile softening his features.

He excused himself and met us halfway, immediately leaning in to kiss me on the cheek.

“Stunning, Kotik, just stunning,” he whispered, lingering long enough to send shivers down my spine. He took my hand and raised it above my head, encouraging me into a slow spin. “Let me see you.”

“Vitali,” I said, unable to help the wide smile pulling at my still-healing wound, “you look incredible. You…” I motioned at my throat, and his grin grew.

“The only person whose opinion matters doesn’t mind, so why should I?” he said, and placed his hand on my lower back, leading me to the tables.

The cocktails turned into dinner. The crowd was mixed between my friends and his, and to my surprise, it was the perfect combination for laughter and loud stories being toasted with thick crystal glasses full of expensive vodka.

I had been unfair to the men whom I thought of as thugs, because seeing them in this environment made them…

men. Even good men. Nothing like the ones who caused my bruises.

I hid a smile when I saw Misha in a low conversation with Larissa, a friend of mine from university. She blushed, and I didn’t hear him swear once. Essentially marriage.

The thought stuck in my throat in the form of toast and caviar I’d already bitten down on. A special night. The suit. My friends. His men.

God save me. It was happening. The proposal was happening.

Vitali’s leg stiffened against mine, and his hand slid to rub my leg, just above the knee, under the tablecloth.

His conversation with Ivan went uninterrupted.

Playing games. Ones I so desperately wanted to play, but he hadn’t allowed, because of the bruising.

In fact, he was careful not to look at the wounds on my body.

Not that I tried to strip in front of him (I did), but telling me the purple-blue on my face was beautiful and then refusing to touch me seemed like mixed signals.

I let out a brief, purposeful moan. His gaze snapped toward me, and I grinned, dropping my eyes. The fingers on my leg tightened.

“Mind yourself, you still have your birthday present coming,” he said.

“What’s my present?” I asked as innocently as I could, with my hand creeping onto his thigh. He groaned and slightly lifted up my dress.

“How did this end the last time you tried?” he asked quietly, looking off across the table. His thumb dug into my inner thigh, sending sparks to my nerve endings.

Pavel’s roaring laughter momentarily drew my attention, but I didn’t move my hand. Someone past Vitali began ranting about privatized railways and emphasizing their point with a prodding finger raised above their head.

“You gave me an apartment and an orgasm,” I whispered, pleasantly smiling at the waiter refilling Misha’s drink. Vitali’s jaw flexed.

The music grew louder, nearly drowning out the drunken chatter around us. It had been four hours since we arrived.

“What’s your excuse this time?” I goaded him on. “I don’t see your bosses…”

“We have things to do tonight, Katya,” he said evenly, his thumb putting light pressure on the exact spot to shut me up. My fork clattered against the table, raising a set of brows, but I kept my composure, despite my other hand clasping the embroidered tablecloth as if it could keep me steady.

“It’s my birthday,” I purred despite the odds, and brushed across the hard ridge of his restrained cock. “Today, I’m the boss.”

“Oh, I don’t fucking think so,” he growled, so close to my ear it disturbed the finely tucked hairs in my expensive hairdo, but his leg muscle trembled.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. If I shifted, I could touch elbows with the person beside me, and Vitali’s hand was between my thighs, teasing weeks of watching him walk around the apartment with no shirt on. And I wasn’t going to stop him. I fully planned to make it worse.

I stroked his length with the tips of my fingers, imagining that damned piano bench and him hard in my hands. In my mouth, letting out those low, involuntary groans. Completely surrendered to me.

The pulse between my legs backfired on my intentions, because I couldn’t hear anything above the thoughts.

His face was completely still, even casually bored, when he twisted his wrist and pressed hard against my sex.

My panties were drenched, and worse, I was soaking the nylons.

He massaged the seam, meanwhile Pavel asked him some question.

I wasn’t quite sure what, but the words ‘Lithuanian mastiffs’ stuck in my mind.

It wasn’t right; that’s not what was said, but Vitali’s fingers worked me as he held a perfectly calm conversation, and I didn’t care about anything else in the world.

Somehow I made no sound.

My knuckles went numb where I gripped the hem of my dress.

And then it was gone. He pulled his hand back, raising it above the table. I watched in a daze as he nonchalantly brought the two glistening fingers to his lips, and tasted them.

“Have you tried the custard, Kotik? It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.”

I choked, and reached for him again because how dare he—

“Careful.”

“Or what?”

“Katya, I will rip those nylons and fuck you bent over this table—I don’t care who’s watching—if you don’t stop. It’d be a shame—those are nice nylons,” he warned quietly. “If you want me to finish what I started, behave.”

I opened my mouth to make myself a bigger problem, but a low whistle snapped my head up. His expression immediately withdrew, becoming something harsher.

“Vitali,” Misha said, nodding toward the bar.

Boris and Ivan’s faces went cold-serious, and they slowly stood.

Beside me, Vitali adjusted himself. His gaze locked on something in the crowd.

“What’s going on?” I hissed.

“Just have to make sure things get done,” he said, his tone full-on professional as if I wasn’t just feeling his pulse through the fabric of those expensive slacks.

He straightened out his shirt, shoulders back, and ensured the cuffs were lined up just right. The four of them separated from the group without so much as a head turning. I twisted this way and that, but there were a lot of people, and the lighting not so great for espionage.

The music matched the late hour, but the beat had no lyrics, just resonant bass like a slowed heartbeat. I became intensely aware of the high-pitched laughter of my girlfriends and the sharp smell of vodka—their personal stash, this time—mixed with that of rye bread.

“What…” I murmured as I spotted Vitali slip into the men’s room, followed by Misha closely behind. Boris and Ivan stood on either side of the doors, completely inconspicuous with their large arms crossed.

And then, the waiter blocked my view, and when he moved, they were gone.

“Forgive me,” I said to the man beside me as I bumped him trying to wiggle out of my seat. I squeezed between beautifully dressed people and quickly made my way toward the restrooms. No Ivan, no Boris, and I would guess no Vitali or Misha—but I wasn’t about to go in the men’s room to find out.

My heart beat against my chest, and I ducked into the women’s restroom to gather my thoughts. It was empty, and I had already taken a few steps forward when I glanced my reflection.

Some of the makeup came off, leaving behind tributaries of purple and blue. In this poor lighting the swelling was still visible on the right side of my face. Foundation collected on the scab, widening it with longer shadows and giving the impression that my head was cracked, like an egg.

I lightly touched it with my fingertips, applying pressure until I winced. A stark reminder that the ugly doesn’t go away just because you had a good evening.

My stupid little purse couldn’t even fit makeup to touch things up, so I’d have to count on the restaurant’s shadows and generous amounts of vodka in everyone else’s cups.

And then I thought of Vitali, and this being the first time he wore a normal person shirt in public… maybe since New Zealand. Because he had no one else he cared to impress.

You’re an idiot, I thought, coaching myself up the steep mountain of self-esteem. Go back out there.

And so it happened that I forgot why I went to the bathroom in the first place, and it was a surprise when I returned to the table, and both Vitali and Misha were standing beside it, looking at me.

“Are you ready for your birthday present, Kotik?”