Page 14 of Dancing With Delusion

He stands to leave, and I look back at my krasota laughing with Marshall. She’s never had people look out for her, and I suddenly have this overwhelming urge to show her what it means to be nurtured. To be loved.

Tori

Marshall 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.”

---