Chapter 5

Tori

M arshall is a mess. I can't stop staring at his swollen, bruised face. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so beat up in my whole life.

"Stop staring, you're giving me a complex," he mutters.

"Does it hurt a lot?" He scoffs, immediately wincing when it causes him pain. "Okay, I get it, no need to be so dramatic," I tease. "I don't even know how to make you see how sorry I am." My voice wavers slightly with emotion.

"Tori, you've got nothing to be sorry about. I should've pulled over and got out to call Dmitry. What I did was unprofessional."

"You sound like a robot. It's not normal getting beat up over something I did."

"It's the life I chose. The boss had every right to be pissed. I'm lucky I'm not dead." A choked sob leaves my throat. "Hey," he adds, his voice laced with sympathy, "don't get upset. I hate to see women cry, and I'm not allowed to comfort you."

I laugh, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "You're a fucking mess," I say, half laughing and half sobbing.

"Thanks, just what I needed to hear."

"I'll never fuck you about again," I tell him. "I'll never put you in that kind of situation again, and if it looks like I'm about to . . . because sometimes I don't think before I act?—"

"I hadn't noticed," he cuts in, smirking.

"Then we should have a word that you can say, and I'll think back to this moment and stop whatever it is I'm doing."

"Okay, what's the word?"

I think for a moment. "Heffalump," I say with a shrug.

He laughs. "From Winnie-the-Pooh ?"

"I don't want to know how a man like you knows about Winnie-the-Pooh ."

"I've got a better word—lollygag."

I frown. "Now, you're making up words."

"It means when you're doing something that's not useful."

I laugh. "Okay, lollygag it is. You say that and I'll stop whatever it is I'm doing. But you can't use it to save Vivian."

He chuckles. "You can't put restrictions on my safe word. You heard the boss—next time I fuck up, he'll kill me, and that's not an exaggeration."

The door opens and Dmitry stands in the doorway with his hand outstretched. I go to him. "I'll come back to see you soon," I tell Marshall.

He gives me a wink, and I take Dmitry's hand and allow him to lead me away.

"Good chat?" he asks. His walk is brisk and his face stern. I smile, and the second we get into the office, I step in front of him and place my hands on his chest.

"I told you, Marshall is like a brother to me. I don't see him as anything but that."

His eyes assess my face, and when he sees I'm being honest, he relaxes slightly, cupping my face in his hands. "You make me crazy," he whispers, placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

"Crazy enough to . . ." I begin to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Before he can protest, I kiss him, slipping my tongue into his mouth and groaning in that way I know he loves. When his hands cup my backside and he pulls me against him, I wrap my arms around his neck, letting him lift me so I can wrap my legs around him. I've won him over.

He walks us towards the desk, pushing some papers to one side and sitting me in front of him while he lowers into his seat. His hand strokes his jaw as his eyes rake over me. "Touch yourself," he murmurs.

I unfasten my jeans and slip my hand inside. He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Remove them or I will."

I ignore him, slipping my fingers through my wet folds and allowing my head to fall back in pleasure. I feel him stand over me, and then his hands grip the waist of my jeans and he pulls them down my thighs, leaving them at my ankles.

He watches as my busy fingers work fast. "Let me taste," he commands. I drag my fingers from myself and hold them out to him. He grabs my wrist in a firm hold, and I watch as his tongue darts out to lick the wetness away. He slides my fingers into his mouth, and while I'm distracted, he takes the material of my lace underwear in his hands and snaps them from me. Soon, I'll have none left.

Dmitry lifts me from the desk and turns me away from him. He places his hand between my shoulder blades and bends me over the desk. I curl my fingers over the edge, bracing myself for whatever he decides to do to me next. "You'll count out loud and thank me for each strike."

My breathing hitches at his words as he kicks my legs apart. "What's your safe word, Victoria?"

"Distraction."

He surprises me when his hand comes down heavy on my backside. He's not holding back, and I squeeze my eyes closed as the sting brings me to the brink of tears. I've been wanting this for too long, and now it's happening, I'm overwhelmed. "One. Thank you, Sir," I whisper. The next comes on my last word and I almost scream out in surprise. "Two. Thank you, Sir."

"Red . . . just the colour I love on you," he murmurs, rubbing his hand over my sore skin.

The next slap isn't so bad as my arse is numb where he's hitting the same spot. "Three. Thank you, Sir." Strike four. "Four. Thank you, Sir."

"I'm running out of time and my office door isn't locked," he says, striking me a fifth time.

"Five," I yell. "Thank you, Sir."

"Fuck it," he says, and I hear his belt buckle as he unfastens it.

He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back so I'm staring at the office door. "Can you come quickly, Victoria?" he asks, pushing his cock into me.

I shudder at the intrusion. "Yes, Sir."

"If I come first, you'll miss out," he says, sliding from me before pushing back in. Dmitry takes hold of my hips and begins slamming into me at a punishing pace. The sting on my backside causes swirls of pleasure each time he brushes against it until I'm crying out in ecstasy. I shudder uncontrollably, enjoying every second of my release . . . finally .

Dmitry follows me over the edge, grunting as he spills into me.

He stills, his heavy breaths filling the silence. "That's my good little krasota ," he murmurs, pulling from me. He places a hand to my back, keeping me bent over while he rubs his other hand between my legs, gathering his cum and rubbing it into my inner thighs. "Do not shower. I want you to smell of me until this evening, when we have dinner together."

I stand, pulling my clothes into place. "So romantic," I tease.

He grins, tucking himself away, and then he presses me against the desk and kisses me until my toes are curling.

"Dmitry," comes Vivian's shrill voice as the door opens, and I feel him sag in irritation. "Oh, I didn't realise you had company," she mutters as we pull apart.

I glare at him, and he has the decency to look sorry. "Really?" I hiss.

"Business," he says quietly, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Just business."

I go to leave, noting the way Vivian looks me up and down with disdain. "Are you feeling better after your embarrassing little outburst the other night?" she asks with a smirk.

"Vivian," Dmitry says, his tone warning.

She holds her hands up, still wearing that stupid grin. "Sorry, I'm just asking. How did your father take it?" She sounds amused as she steps farther into the office.

I get to the door, turning back just as she's standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Dmitry's cheek. I arch a brow, and he catches it, gently guiding her from his space and offering her an awkward smile. She rests her backside against the desk. "Oh, I wouldn't sit there," I say, and Dmitry gives me a warning look. "We literally just fucked over the desk," I continue, ignoring him.

Vivian immediately moves from the surface, rubbing her hands down her pencil skirt. I smile, then leave. Bitch .

Dmitry

"Thanks for meeting with me," Vivian says, turning her back to me and waiting for me to remove her jacket. I hang it over the chair, and she takes a seat. There's an air about her, something different, but I can't put my finger on it. "Now that I've had a chance to process everything, I'm ready to discuss business."

I take a seat. "Of course. But a little warning—don't enter my office without knocking again." I open my laptop. "I assume all your father's legitimate businesses will go directly to you or your mother?" She gives a nod. She'd already mentioned selling them, but now I have the underground shit, I don't need anything from her. "And I own a fifty percent share in V's." The bar he named after his daughter was a new venture for him. He wanted my input, and I agreed, in exchange for half the business. I use it to clean the dirty money I make, and it would be a hassle to let it go. "I'm happy to buy you out," I add.

"If we'd gotten married like we agreed, all of this would now be yours."

"Let's not go over the past," I say. "I'll have someone go over the books and then I'll make an offer based on its current value."

"Actually, I'm not prepared to sell my half."

I frown. "You don't know anything about running a bar."

"It's the last little something I have to remember him by."

I roll my eyes. "You were hardly daughter of the year, and he was certainly a questionable father."

"You got what you needed from him, and I won't hand over a bar he named after me so that I'm left with nothing."

"Then keep one of his other businesses."

"My mother isn't interested in taking over. As long as I keep her income flowing, she's left me to decide what to sell or keep, and I'm keeping my half of the bar. I'm sure you'll be professional enough to work alongside me to run things."

I shrug. She'll get bored eventually. She has no staying power when it comes to working—she's been a pampered princess for too long. "Fine."

She gives a wide smile and reaches her hand across the desk, and we shake. "Business partners, who would have thought?"

"I'll have my accountant send the books over to you."

"You know I'm no good with numbers, Dmitry. Perhaps we can meet to discuss all that." She stands and slips her arms into her jacket. "How are things with . . . Tori?" The pause was intentional, like she couldn't recall her name.

"Victoria and I are fine," I say stiffly.

"Are you sure? It's just, from the outside looking in?—"

"I'm not going to discuss my personal life with you, Vivian. It was our number one rule, no?"

She smirks, arching a brow. "That was before, when we were together. Now, you can't order me to stay quiet." She places her hands on the desk and tries to give me what I think is a worried look. "I'm just concerned about you, Dmitry. Just because we ended things doesn't mean I don't care."

"I'm fine," I say, standing.

"She can be very . . . fiery. And you're usually so good at control."

"Vivian," I snap, my tone warning.

"People are talking," she rushes to add.

It's my turn to arch a brow. "You should know better than to listen to gossip."

"Is it gossip when I've witnessed her erratic behaviour for myself?"

"I won't have you stand here and speak about Victoria like this," I hiss.

"She's impulsive and wild, everything you hate."

"Apparently not," I snap.

"She's going to get you hurt, or even worse, killed. What is it about her, Dmitry?"

I round the desk and take her upper arm, guiding her towards the door. "You just said it yourself, she's impulsive and wild. Everything I now love in my women."

"And yet you claim you're dominant," she scoffs.

I pull the front door open, and before I shove her through it, I bring her in close. "Taming her wildness is addictive. It's part of the fun." Then, I slam the door closed and release a long breath.

Victoria enters the dining room freshly showered. I narrow my eyes as I stand to kiss her cheek, taking in her wet hair.

"You chose defiance," I say, pulling out her seat.

She smirks, sliding into it. "We're eating at home," she states. "How come?"

"I want you to myself for the evening."

"Smooth," she teases, unfolding her napkin and placing it over her lap.

I begin to open the boxes of food I'd ordered from Victoria's favourite Italian restaurant. If she was given the choice, she'd opt for a pizza, or something equally disgusting, but now she's with me, I get to introduce her to finer cuisines.

"How was your meeting with little miss stoney face?"

"How many names have you created for Vivian?"

She grins. "I have so many, it's often hard to choose just one. My favourite is?—"

I cut her off by swooping down to kiss her. "Enough," I whisper against her lips.

"So, the meeting?" she pushes.

I roll my eyes. "I had three meetings today. Are you wanting a rundown of all of them?"

She pouts her lips and thinks over my question. "Only for the ones you've fucked."

"We're having dinner," I say dryly. "Could we refrain from the word fuck for one meal?"

"You're deflecting," she states, grabbing the bottle of wine and topping up her glass.

"The meeting was short. She's grieving for her father."

"She didn't look sad. In fact, I don't think I've seen one tear. Even when she tried to fake cry at that event the other night, she couldn't push out a single real tear."

"It's how she's been raised."

"To be a cold, heartless bitch? Yeah, I get that."

"Victoria," I snap, my patience wearing thin. "I don't want to sit here and talk about Vivian. I want to talk about you."

She picks up her fork and begins to move the pasta around her plate. "I'm fine."

"If waking in the night screaming is fine, then I hate to see when you're not fine."

"I had a nightmare."

"About Marcus?"

She shrugs. "I can't remember."

I can tell by her expression that she's lying. "You called out his name. You tried to attack me, thinking I was him."

"If you already know, why are you asking?" she snaps. "It was just a bad dream. I'm sorry I wasn't raised like you and Vivian to be cold and unfeeling."

"I think you need to speak to someone," I suggest, avoiding eye contact.

"Like a therapist?" I give a nod. "No way. I'm not fucking crazy, Dmitry. I just had a bad dream."

She stands, and I grab her wrist, pulling her closer to me. "You saw him?"

"So?"

"Your eyes were open, Victoria. You were looking right at me and seeing him. You were scrubbing invisible blood from your hands. It wasn't a dream if you were wide awake." Her chest heaves under the weight of my words, and for a second, she stares at me with confusion. "Now, sit down and listen," I order. She does, so I release her. "Nik knows a woman who can help."

"What's the point when I can't tell her the truth about what I did?"

"You can. She's from our world. She'll help you work through whatever it is you have going on in your head, and maybe talking about it will ease your guilt."

"I don't feel guilt," she spits. "He deserved it."

"So, why are you letting it haunt you?"

She avoids my eyes, folding her arms over her chest in that way she does when she's shutting me out. "Because I've hidden it. I can't tell the world what I've done and why I did it. I can't tell my best friend that he's never coming back because he's fucking pig food. And because I'm not the same Tori I was before. It's a lot to get my head around."

"So, you agree, seeing someone and talking might help?" She gives a slight nod, and I place my finger under her chin, lifting her head to meet my gaze. "Good girl. Your first appointment is tomorrow. After we've eaten, maybe we can spend some time in the dungeon?" I suggest, knowing she's been itching to get in there.

She shakes her head, taking me by surprise. "Actually, I'm not hungry, and I'm going to get an early night." She stands. "Goodnight."