Page 39 of Dancing With Distraction

“It’s urgent,” I say, throwing a handful of notes on the table. “Stay. Enjoy the dinner. I’ll have Marshall drive you home.”

“I can’t believe you’re running out on me,” she hisses as I pull my jacket on.

I swoop down to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll call you later.” I rush out, taking Marshall by surprise. “Wait here and drive Vivian wherever she wants to go, and have my car dropped off to Victoria’s,” I say, waving my hand to flag down a taxi.

“Boss?” he asks, confused.

“She needs me,” I say, and he gives a knowing nod before I get into the cab and reel off Victoria’s address.

I arrive ten minutes later, and for once, her door is locked. I tap lightly on it and hear the soft padding of her feet as she makes her way over, unlocking it and pulling it open. She immediately turns her back to me, heading towards the bed, and I lean in the doorway, watching as she drops onto it and crosses her legs. She finally brings her eyes to meet mine, and I see she’s tormented. “Have you . . .” I begin. She shakes her head, and I sigh in relief. “Good.” I close the door and shrug from my jacket.

“You came,” she whispers, her voice croaky.

“You’ve been crying,” I observe, sitting opposite her and taking in her puffy, red eyes. That’s when I notice that her clothes are wet. She must’ve been out recently because the rain only started twenty minutes ago at most.

“That’s all I seem to do lately.”

“What happened?”

“That’s not the deal,” she whispers, “Sir.” And I realise she’s in play mode. “You’re going to give me the pain and the pleasure, right?”

I stand, and she watches as I slowly unfasten my gold cuff links. “You will tell me why you’re upset, my krasota,” I murmur, rolling up each sleeve in turn.

She arches a brow. “Fuck you,” she whispers, and I almost smile. She’s provoking me.

“Because if you don’t, all you’ll get is pleasure. Fuck your pain.”

She inhales sharply. “I need . . . Dmitry, I need the p?—”

“Sir,” I bellow, and she jumps in fright. “I’m in control now, yes?”

She nods, and I arch a brow in warning. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” I whisper, stroking my hand down her cheek. “Now, tell me, how many strikes do you deserve?”

“As many as you want to give me, Sir.”

I grin, wrapping her hair into my fist and pulling her head back so she’s looking me in the eye. “Why aren’t you naked?” I pull her to stand, and she begins to undress. Once she’s naked, I release her damp hair. Her most recent wounds are red and bleeding. “Have you hurt yourself today?”

“No, Sir, not intentionally.”

I grasp her breast, and she winces. “Intentional or not, it’s bleeding and red, like you’ve scratched it.”

“I was upset. I needed grounding.”

I slap her hard on the thigh, and she cries out. “Isn’t that what I’m for?”

“Yes, Sir. I texted you as soon as I realised what I’d done.”

I swipe my tongue over the cuts again, closing my eyes in appreciation. “You taste good, my krasota.” She shivers. “Now, bend over and touch your toes. We have some business to attend to before I can take what I need.”

I place a gentle kiss on Victoria’s head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo as I hold her freshly showered body against my own. We’re both exhausted, having spent the last two hours playing. “Talk to me, Tori,” I whisper, feeling her stiffen slightly. I run my hand down her back and settle against her sore backside. The heat from my strikes warms my hand and I itch to repeat it.

“I had a fight with my friend, Phoebe.”

“Okay. About what?”

“My brother.”

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