Chapter Thirty-One
“Ican’t believe he fucking bit me,” Dorian says later that night. We’re back in the house of horrors, and we just finished showering together. The bathroom is all steamed up, and the mirror is fogged over.
“He didn’t bite you,” I correct. “He bit your shirt—there’s a difference. It’s actually a good thing; it means he wanted us to stay.” I smile. “Besides, you have plenty of shirts to spare. If he ripped any more of mine, I’d go into debt buying new ones.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Dorian corrects. “You’re my woman. I’m your man. I’ll take care of you. Want to go shopping? Clear out a fucking mall for all I care.”
I blink slowly, taken aback by the ease with which he offers me his money. “Um, thank you, but I can make my own money.”
“You spend all the money you make on necessities or stuff for your animal friends,” Dorian points out drily. “I have too much money; you don’t have enough. Solution is simple.” His brows furrow. “I meant to get you a credit card but forgot—I’ll have it to you by the end of the week.”
“Dorian, no,” I say firmly. “I don’t want to feel like a spoiled, kept woman. I want to make my way in this world.”
“You are and will continue to make your way in this world, but you will do it comfortably. I’m not asking, Mira. You work too hard, study too hard, do too much. If I can help you with some of your burdens, it would make me feel like I’m doing my job as your man.”
My lips twist as I grab a hairbrush and start working it through my hair. “That seems very old-school. Maybe a bit misogynistic.”
“No, it seems like a man committed to his woman,” Dorian corrects. “Don’t be too proud to accept help. When we get married, my money will be your money—”
“Woah,” I cut him off. “Marriage? I haven’t even agreed to be your girlfriend yet.”
Dorian’s eyes darken. “You are my girlfriend. You’ll be my fiancée before long, then my wife.”
I regard him with wide eyes. “You might actually be crazy.”
“Crazy for you,” he agrees. “Finish up—I want to fuck you on our bed before we go to sleep.”
“I just got clean,” I remind him, exasperated. Dorian has had me at least five times today, and he still doesn’t seem to be satisfied.
Dorian’s brows crinkle. “Yeah, you’re right. Might as well do it in here, so we can wash off right after…”
A low moan awakens me in the morning, accompanied by a wet, aching heat between my legs. It takes me several seconds to realize it’s the heat of a tongue lapping over my pussy, pulling me out of my slumber. A scrape of teeth over my clit makes my back arch and draws a low moan from my throat.
“Good morning,” Dorian rumbles, kissing my thigh.
“It is,” I agree with another moan as he suckles my clit. “Fuuuuuuck me,” I gasp when he slides two fingers inside me.
“Gladly,” Dorian chuckles, pulling his fingers out of me. He climbs over my body, braces himself, and slowly slides his huge, hard cock into me. I hook my legs over his waist, eyes fluttering as he fills me so completely I can’t tell where he starts and I end.
He doesn’t waste time or tease me; instead, he fucks me hard and fast, pushing me into an orgasm that’s so intense it makes my vision go out. I gasp and pant and moan, digging my nails into his back so hard it’s a wonder I don’t draw blood.
In the aftermath, he rolls off me and pulls me into his body. I lay my head on his chest and flatten my palm against his abs, trying to catch my breath.
“How high is your sex drive?” I ask when I’m no longer panting. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep up with you.” Yesterday was wonderful, but my pussy’s already sore from the multiple poundings it took. If Dorian keeps up with this pace, it’s going to take some getting used to.
“Normally?” Dorian asks. “I’d say medium. A few times a month is plenty to keep me satisfied. With you?” He chuckles. “Infinite. I can’t get enough of you.”
“As flattering as that is, Dorian, I’m breakable,” I murmur. “I can’t go all day every day. I’m already sore as hell from yesterday, and now I’ll be even more sore.”
He smirks. “Good. That way. You’ll feel me every time you move.”
I smack his chest, even though my cheeks warm at the thought. “No, Dorian, not good.” I glance at the clock on the nightstand; it’s barely 7am. “I have school at ten, and I’d really prefer it if I could walk straight. That monster between your legs is a vagina-destroyer.”
The jerk chuckles. “You’ll get used to me. In order for that to happen, we better keep fucking a few times a day. Eventually, your gorgeous pussy will learn how to take a beating.”
I sigh. “We’ll revisit this conversation later.”
Dorian’s phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. He reaches for it, eyebrows furrowing. “I gotta take this, baby. Go shower, we’ll eat after.”
I glimpse the caller ID over his shoulder: Sergei Novikov.
It’s crazy to think that Dorian has a direct connection to a man who’s feared and revered in every corner of the world.
His business with Sergei makes me uncomfortable, but I’m far less uncomfortable than I would be if he worked for a small-time gang.
Even the media hints that Sergei has a few morals—he’s been instrumental in dismantling several trafficking rings over the last decade.
He might be wanted in most countries with multiple warrants out for his arrest, but he never actually gets arrested when he visits.
He’s too powerful for any justice system—the one time he was incarcerated years ago, he escaped in a phenomenal bloodbath. It was all over the news for months.
I slip out of bed as Dorian picks up the call, heading to the bathroom on unsteady legs. I shower quickly and brush my teeth. Once I’m done, I walk into the bedroom wrapped only in a towel, running a hairbrush through my hair.
Dorian’s just finishing up his conversation.
“Is that an order?” he says. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I don’t want to do this to Mira.” My heart speeds up and my chest prickles with anxiety as he glances at me, his brows drawn and lips thinned.
“That’s a lot to ask,” he says after a long moment. “You’re married, Sergei. Tell me, would you do this to your wife?” After a few more beats of listening to whatever Sergei says, he sighs. “I’ll talk to her, but I’m not ordering her to do anything. If that means we have to part ways, so be it.”
The anxiety in my chest comes to an abrupt halt, immediately overshadowed by other, stronger emotions.
Dorian’s protecting me; whatever he’s talking about with his boss, he’s willing to go out on a limb for me.
He’s willing to dissolve his relationship with one of the most powerful men in the world for me.
Sergei Novikov could easily have him killed for shirking whatever order Dorian’s refusing, but he’s doing it anyways.
Jesus.
“Yeah, I’ll get back to you. Bye.” Dorian hangs up the phone, his jaw clenched.
He inhales several deep breaths, trying to calm himself before he holds his hand out to me.
I step forward and take it, allowing him to pull me onto his lap.
He’s seated on the edge of the bed, feet on the ground, me balanced on his thighs.
“What was that?” I question, wrapping my arms around his neck. “What is it Sergei wants me to do?”
Dorian swallows. “Apparently, Carver is more of an issue than we previously anticipated. He runs a local chapter of a trafficking ring that has international roots, so Sergei wants to take him down. The easiest way to do that would be to get an in-person meeting, and the easiest way to get an in-person meeting is to have you reach out to your stepfather.” He shakes his head again, leaning forward and burying his face in the side of my neck.
“Sergei’s visiting the states in a few weeks.
He suggested that he might drop by your home town, taking me, Seamus, and Connor as backup to help cut the head off of the snake.
He figures that Carver should be his next warning to the trafficking world; break Sergei’s rules and get killed, painfully. ”
I swallow harshly. “He wants me to reach out to Clyde.”
“Yes,” Dorian nods. “Reach out, set up a meeting in three weeks’ time. You don’t have to be there. You also don’t have to do this.”
I clear my throat. “I thought Sergei was known for brutally killing anyone involved in human trafficking,” I murmur. “Why would Carver want to do business with him?”
“Because he doesn’t think Sergei knows about his stake in the skin trade,” Dorian replies. “He’s looking to partner with Sergei on drug trafficking, not on peddling human flesh. He thinks he has a shield of anonymity protecting him.”
“I see,” I murmur.
I don’t want to talk to Clyde. He’s been the monster under my bed for a long, long time, but I also can’t just stand back and allow him and his boss to steal innocent girls and force them into sex work.
I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t take action.
Protecting those who can’t protect themselves is more important than my fear.
Besides, I have Dorian protecting me. He said I won’t have to show up, and I believe him. All I have to do is make a call to Clyde, tell him a time in place, and let Dorian’s legion and Sergei handle the rest. I don’t want to, but I have to.
“You don’t have to do it,” Dorian says. “I can reach out to Clyde, but Sergei thinks that Clyde will assume anything from me is a setup. To be fair, I can’t imagine myself being civil to the piece of shit who made your life a living hellscape.
I can’t promise I wouldn’t make any death threats.
” He gently drags my towel up my leg, stroking his hand over the scar tissue that represents the most painful time in my life.
His eyes darken as he gazes at the raised flesh and he shakes his head, rubbing his thumb over my skin.
I cup his cheeks, redirecting his gaze to me. “I’ll do it,” I tell him, shoring myself up.
Dorian releases a long sigh, almost as if he wished that I wouldn’t agree to call Clyde.
“I can’t stand by and do nothing,” I say gently. “Not when women and girls are suffering. Not when I know how cruel Carver’s operation is, how they treat the people around them. It wouldn’t be right.” I swallow. “So, I’ll do it.”
Dorian nods slowly. “Thank you, baby. I’m sorry to ask this of you.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, even though it’s not. “I’ll live. Just… don’t be surprised if I kind of zone out afterwards.” It’s instinct for me to dissociate when I deal with all the emotions that accompany thinking about, let alone talking to, Clyde.
“You have something on him, don’t you?” Dorian asks out of the blue. “Otherwise, that fucker never would’ve let you go.”
I turn my head away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I have something on him. Something that would get him killed.”
“What is it?” Dorian asks.
I swallow hard. I don’t want to tell him because I don’t want him to think less of me.
I know for a fact that Clyde brutally tortured and killed Carver’s late wife, and I’ve kept that information to myself.
That’s a phenomenally shitty thing for me to have done, but it’s also my best form of protection.
Otherwise, Clyde would’ve already come for me, maybe even killed me.
I suck in a deep breath. There’s no use hiding this from Dorian, not when I’m about to set up a meeting between him and Clyde. “Please don’t judge me,” I whisper. “I’m not proud of this.”
Dorian gently squeezes my thigh. “I’ve done a lot of bad shit, Mira. I’m in no position to judge you.”
“But you are,” I say. “It’s bad.”
He cups my jaw, turning me to face him. I gaze at his chest, not having the courage to look into his eyes.
“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Trust that I won’t turn against you, Mira. Please.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. He might never look at me the same after I say this, but I don’t have much of a choice.