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I move my hand down my body, over my breasts, toward my sex. When was the last time I touched myself? I can’t even remember. It’s been years. Then, the experimenting stopped. The self-pleasure just seemed pointless.
Yet now, when I push my hand down on my clit, I feel a jolt of pure heat move through me. I squeeze my legs together, partially trapping my hand like I can tell myself I’m notreallydoing this. It’s just happening. It’s just the pleasure taking over. I massage my clit faster, with more pressure, the warm water feeling like it gets hotter, boiling me up.
In my mind, Mikhail is grinding his body against mine. He has me pushed against the shower wall, leaning down and staring at me like I’m the only person who exists. To him, I’m the only person who matters. The next time I rub my clit, I imagine it’s his hand instead, his confident stroke claiming and owning my lips, my sex, all of me.
Then he’s slipping inside of me. I gasp, pushing against my clit with two fingers. In my fantasy, Mikhail is fucking my pussy with his fingers, making a deep groaning noise the more I moan and the more I shift against him. I don’t know how to make the elder Sokolov want me, but I’m making Mikhail mine in this tantalizing fantasy. I’m making him obsessed, passionate, and hungry.
I almost let out a loud moan when the orgasm suddenly hits me. It’s been so long; the feeling is entirely new. It was never this intense before because I didn’t have Mikhail to conjure up in my mind. My legs tremble, and I lean against the shower wall, my pussy aching, pulsing. The orgasm continues to rock throughme, and then I imagine Mikhail laying me on my back, leaning over, naked, bringing his cock to my entrance.
The orgasm drifts away, leaving me to peel my eyes open and remind myself that, even if I could do any of this with Mikhail—if he somehow wanted me—I wouldn’t be the woman I am in the fantasy. I can never let this be more than a fantasy when my brother’s life is on the line.
I clean myself up, trying not to think about what I just did as I return to the bedroom. After spending some time working on my programming, my cell phone rings. It’s Dad. I almost think about not answering it, but what about Drake?
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound like a daughter who doesn’t completely despise her father.
“Hey,” he repeats, with a low, mean laugh. “How are things with Dimitri?”
“We just met,” I reply, still feeling the aftershocks of the orgasm, seeing Mikhail watch me from my thoughts.
“And?” Dad says impatiently.
“I think it went well.”
“Youthink?” Dad snaps. “You need to make a good impression. If you don’t marry him by the fall …”
He makes one of his threats. I don’t even let myself listen. Ihearit, and it’s ugly and gross, but I don’t let it punch through my shield into my thoughts. Then he says, “Don’t forget about sweet little Anatoly.” After a pause, Dad continues, “Go to Dimitri tonight, Mila.Makehim want you.”
He hangs up the phone, leaving me to lean back in the computer chair. I wish I could type out a few lines of code and correct a few things about myself, chief among them being how my heart always goeswild. It’s like being in a prison of anxiety.
Go to him tonight.
What other choice do I have? I’ve got to please Dimitri and my father. My skin crawls when I think about it. I go through each step that will end with me in the bed of the elder brother, but I only desire the younger one. Dimitri was cold when we spoke, but maybe that’s because he could sense how much I don’t want this. I need to make Dimitri believe. I need to use whatever tools I can.
Soon, a knock comes at my door. The butler, Yuri, asks if I’d like anything to eat. He makes me some scrambled eggs, and I’m allowed to eat them in my room. All the while, I’m thinking about later, about putting on asexyoutfit, going to Dimitri’s room, and seducing him. I’ll have to detach mentally. Just let whatever happens happen, for my brother’s sake.
After eating dinner in my room—a luxury Dad wouldn’t let me get away with at home—I lie in bed, trying to read, thinking about what I must do. Soon, it’s nighttime. Swallowing the most gigantic ball of nerves I’ve ever felt, I get dressed, wondering if I’ll be able to find Dimitri’s bedroom. Maybe I could ask Yuri?
But it’s late. The house feels asleep.
I leave my bedroom and walk through the house in a bathrobe, covering my lingerie. It’s some of the so-called sexy lingerie I bought last year. I tried it on in the mirror once and completely forgot about it. Walking through the house this late is creepy, the old décor giving the place a horror-movie vibe.
I stop when I hear footsteps behind me. Turning, I see Ania, Dimitri’s and Mikhail’s half-sister. She’s wearing a nightgown that makes her look shapeless.
“Ania?” I whisper.
She stares at me from the end of the hallway, creeping me out even if I know that’s unfair. She takes a step forward into the light. Her eyes are wide open, but she doesn’t look awake. She turns and walks away like a zombie. She must be sleepwalking. I better not wake her, then.
Instead, I follow her, relieved when she heads one floor up and back into her bedroom. I catch a glimpse of it before she closes the door—photos of ballerinas all over the wall. Then I move on, keep searching, fighting off tears, fighting off a sob, trying not to think about what’s about to happen. I keep looking, but it’s impossible to know which room is which. Then, a door opens.
As I turn quickly, my breath catches. It’s Mikhail wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. His body ripples with layers of muscle, his chest large and solid. He’s got his glasses on, making him look like the hottest combination of savage and intellectual.
“Looking for Dimitri’s room?” he says, his dark eyes skimming up and down my body.
I swallow, ignoring his tone. It’s like he’s disgusted and thinks I’m just some Bratva plaything who’ll do anything his brother wants. It doesn’t seem like he’sjealousor anything like that, though, and that makes me wilt a little on the inside.
“Yeah,” I murmur after a pause, even if I don’t want to know.
Mikhail gestures to the end of the hallway. Then he turns away. I glimpse the tattoo on his upper back. It’s a few lines of code, the classicHello Worldthat so many programmers start with.
