Page 1 of Fractured Obsession

1

DMITRI

“Moan less. I don’t need a performance,” I instruct the woman wearing a bunny mask and bouncing on my cock. I take a sip from my whisky and stretch my arms back comfortably over the private leather booth on the third level of my club, Lev. Tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to invite a select few patrons to join me on this level. Plenty of them are still probably enjoying their own pleasure on level two in the red rooms where all their wildest fantasies come alive.

The woman I selected tonight is naked, her body on full display, including a little butterfly tattoo on her hip. Finally, her excessive noises have stopped. This isn’t for her pleasure but mine. And I grow tired of women trying to grab my attention because none of them are or will ever be special.

My head falls back, leaning against the leather seat so I can focus on the sensation of her sweet little pussy gliding back and forth over my cock. I just need a release; this is the only way tension ripples away with ease.

The bunny places her hand on my chest, and I cringe at the touch. “Remove your hand,” I grit out.

“Yes,” she says nervously.

“Your bedroom manners need work.” Layla’s voice fills the empty space.

My little bunny flinches when she realizes we’re not alone but doesn’t stop bouncing on my cock. She’s not allowed to stop unless I tell her to.

If Layla weren’t the closest thing I have to a best friend, I’d lose my shit right about now for her interruption.

I press the whisky to my lips before looking in her direction. My headache suddenly just worsened. She’s in her usual leather attire, looking like a badass from some nineties film. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is tied up and light brown eyes stare at me incredulously under heavy green eyeshadow.

“I wouldn’t have to be so cruel had Maria been in tonight. At least she knows how to satisfy me,” I grumble in complaint.

“Stop being a dick,” she lectures me.

“Then where would my charm go?” I offer an arrogant smile. The smile that everyone else sees. The mask of a billionaire playboy who has everything he wants and needs. It couldn’t be further from the truth. My little bunny’s gaze remains on me, but I can sense she’s intrigued by the newcomer. I’m annoyed by Layla’s intrusion but know better than to try and usher her away. She won’t go. Not until she’s said what she’s come for. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Layla?”

She’s annoyed that I haven’t stopped my current activities on her account. I can tell in the way she crosses her arms over her chest with an indignant sigh. “My sister’s in town.”

A tic runs through my jaw. “And?” Is all I’m able to grit out at the mention of her twin sister, Elanee.

“She won’t answer any of my calls. It’s weird and I was hoping you could help me out.”

The mere mention of her sister runs my blood hot. It’d been five years since we graduated university together and our last exchange wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t just me she’d shut out of her life either. Her family were the same. So how the fuck did that make this my problem?

But I also know Layla won’t leave unless on her terms.

“Leave us,” I instruct the bunny. She seems confused and hesitant until my gaze lands on hers. She sucks in a sharp breath, nods, and jumps off my cock. She collects her white silk robe from the space beside me and the money on the table that’s most likely the biggest paycheck she’s received this month.

Layla watches her admirably as she leaves, and I tuck my cock back into my pants but before I do, Layla gets a glimpse. “Has it shrunk?”

I throw back the rest of my whisky. “How nice of you to take note of my cock. Not that you have anything to compare it to.” I lean over and pour another glass for both of us.

“Well, you know, dick isn’t exactly my thing.” She pretends to gag in disgust as she grabs the glass.

“Nor is a stable relationship,” I counter.

She clinks her glass against mine. “You and I both.”

Touché.

“Your sister has made it very clear she doesn’t want anything to do with either of us. Even if she is an old college friend, I can’t control Elanee anymore then you can.” No one can. And good luck to anyone who tries to simmer down that spitfire. The mild thrum of my migraine begins to intensify as I apply pressure at the bridge of my nose.

“She stopped dancing,” Layla argues. “Which is the one thing that feeds her soul.”

I shrug. “So, she studied in college, went to Russia for five years and realized it’s not her calling. Not an uncommon story. And?”

“I know you care about her, Dmitri,” she finally says. I begrudgingly look at her and despise her fucking insight. I can deny it all I want. Others might fall for my nonchalant attitude toward Elanee Lane, but Layla will always know differently.

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