Page 60 of Paid for By the Bratva

I run toward the door, hand outstretched.

"Ready to hit the club?" he asks, extending his hand.

"Absolutely," I reply, taking his strong hand in mine. Tonight, we’re going to blow off some steam, and I can’t wait.

***

The pounding bass pulses through my body as Dima and I make our way through the crowded nightclub. Strobe lights flash in time with the music, displaying the energetic crowd packed onto the dancefloor. I can't help but smile, excited for a carefree night of drinking and dancing after the stress of this week.

Dima's hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me through the lively horde of people. I glance back at him, taking in his sharp suit and intense gaze scanning the club. He meets my eyes and grins, giving me a little wink.

"Let's grab some drinks!" I shout over the music, leading him by the hand toward the packed bar. The bartenders are ablur of activity, mixing vivid cocktails for the thirsty patrons. Dima orders us some colorful concoctions, complete with sparklers and umbrellas. I happily sip my sugary drink under the pulsing lights, already feeling lighter and freer.

Tonight is exactly what I needed. A chance to let loose, have fun, and unwind with Dima at my side. The atmosphere is electric, and I'm ready to dance the night away!

"Cheers to a night of fun," I say, raising my glass.

"Cheers," he echoes, our glasses clinking together in agreement.

As I down my drink, I glance over at Dima leaning against the bar. His eyes constantly scan the club, subtly surveying the scene even as he sips his cocktail. I notice how he positions himself between me and the rest of the crowd, keeping me in his line of sight.

When a group of rowdy guys stumbles past us toward the dance floor, Dima's body tenses ever so slightly as his gaze follows them. His hand reaches out and gently pulls me a bit closer to him. I feel slightly annoyed at his protectiveness. Those guys are like ten feet away!

"Dima, lighten up! We're here to have fun," I say, giving him a playful nudge. He just smiles tensely back at me and nods, though his eyes continue roving over the club.

Perhaps he needs a distraction.

Feeling the beat coursing through me, I grab Dima's hand and pull him onto the dance floor. Surrounded by the lively crowd, we lose ourselves in the music and the heat of each other’s bodies. He puts his hands around my waist, and I turn around, swinging my hair over to one side. He bends, his lips on my neck, as I feel him throb against my ass.

Heat pools in my belly, and I grind the hell out of him, sipping on my drink, feeling this sweet, blissful high I’d love to ride out all night.

The song changes to something louder, something more upbeat. I notice my drink’s finished and raise my empty glass.

Dima frowns and bends close. “Come with me!” he insists.

“No,” I shake my head. “One of us should stay here on the floor. It’s getting crowded, and we’ll lose our vantage point,” I point at the perfect view of the DJ booth.

He shakes his head, grabs my hand, and pulls me off the floor.

“What the hell, Dima?” I scream into his ear over the music, but he ignores me.

At the bar, I finally noticed something different about him. There's an intensity in his eyes that seems out of place in this carefree atmosphere.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, trying to read his expression.

"Of course, just having fun," he replies with a forced grin, but I can see the gears turning behind his eyes as he scans the room and adjusts his position to keep me in view while trying to hail down the waiter.

As the night goes on, I try to lose myself in the music and drinks, hoping Dima will relax, too. But he remains hypervigilant, not letting me out of his sight for a second. His constant hovering starts to grate on me. I came here to let loose, not to be under his watchful eye all night.

Finally having enough of his intense behavior, I grab Dima's arm firmly. "Let's get out of here," I say, my tone makingit clear I won't take no for an answer. He raises his eyebrows in surprise but doesn't argue.

My newfound independent streak is kicking in now. I need to talk to him about this possessiveness of his, and I'd rather not make a scene here at the club. Tonight was supposed to be fun, but now I'm just feeling stifled—time for us to head home.

***

Once home, my annoyance reaches its boiling point. As soon as we're inside, I round on him.

"What was that all about tonight?" I ask pointedly, hands on my hips.

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