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“Um…” I fumble for words just as the phone rings. Kirill answers the call while snapping his fingers at Emile, who jumps to attention. He waves his hands, and another wave of outfits is brought forth.
I’m overwhelmed. I never wanted for anything when I was growing up - private schools, a nice home… I even had a pony - but we didn’t live extravagantly. Certainly not like this.
“I am thinking of the red, with your complexion, my darling.” Emile has drawn a model in a crimson dress aside. “And black for formal evenings, of course.” He swirls a hand, and the woman does a twirl. I look from her to a couple of the others who are moving into my line of sight. Emile immediately draws them toward us. “The white chiffon. Yes. Yes.”
“Uh… okay?” I’m unsettled by all this attention. Kirill, meanwhile, seems totally preoccupied by the call right now. His voice grows firmer as he speaks briskly in Russian, leaving me wishing I knew the language.
“And, of course, the silk print.” Emile is still going on as another woman glides by in an elegant sundress.
The server who’d brought me the champagne is filling my glass, while another is holding a platter of pastries out for me. I wash down Apple Danish with Dom Perignon and start to feel a little like a princess.
Is this what my life would be like with him?
Stop!
Holy shit, I really need to gather my bearings. I can’t let myself fall for his charm. But it’s all too much. Just too much. When Emile asks if I have any preferences, I start to stutter. I’m not used to being the focus of so much attention.
“I-I don’t know,” I say again, when Emile looks at me expectantly. A movement behind me has me turning to see Kirill step forward. He still has his phone at his ear but clicks his fingers and then he’s pointing at several of the women.
“This. This. This. And this.” He looks at Emile who nods eagerly. “Bring shoes to match. And the underwear. All of it.” He turns his attention back to his call while Emile and the models burst into a flurry of activity. In moments, there’s a mound of boxes towering beside me, each held closed with a large satin bow.
“Good.” Kirill is beside me again, his jaw set grimly in spite of his approval. His phone is now tucked away.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“This too.” He’s still addressing Emile, ignoring my question as he reaches for a hanger on a nearby railing to show a swirling black silk negligee.
“Of course, Mr. Vyronov. I will get Anette to model it for you.”
“No.” Kirill shakes his head. “I want to see it on her.” He brushes my hair over my shoulder. “The rest of you… get out.” Without waiting to see if they comply, he turns back to me. “Put it on, Ptichka.”
I’m acutely aware of the group of people who’d just been gathered around us. Anyone could be watching this exchange. And there’s no doubt about what’s about to happen next. I glance past him to where Emile is leaving the room, his crew following like a cluster of ducklings led by their mother.
“Kirill, I-.” My lips are dry.
“They are gone. Now strip.”
“But…”
“Strip, Pitchka.”
There is no arguing with him. I can feel his eyes on me as I slip out of my clothes and into the sheer black negligee he’s chosen for me. The fabric caresses my skin like a lover’s touch, lifting gooseflesh on my skin. He watches me impassively, sipping champagne as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
“Turn,” he commands, and I do as he says without thinking. The material swirls around my thighs as I spin self-consciously. It clings to every curve, accentuating parts of me I didn’t even know existed. “Izyskannyy. Fucking perfection.” His voice is low and gravelly, sending goosebumps down my spine. “Come here.”
I walk over to him on shaky legs, feeling more naked than when I was actually naked last night in his bedroom. He sets down his glass and before I know it, he’s lifting me and then setting me onto the sofa like I weigh nothing at all. My heart hammers in my chest as he stands in front of me, his eyes darkening with desire.
“Spread your legs for me,” he growls.
I do as he says without thinking twice; it seems pointless to resist him now that we’re here… and a big part of me doesn’t want to anyway. His hands roam up my thighs, pushing the negligee out of the way before dipping beneath it.
Kirill’s fingers slip between my folds, and I gasp at the contact. He’s so... skilled, his touch sure and confident as he teases me in all the right places. For a moment I wonder how many women he had to be with to gain this level of skill, but the thought is quickly brushed aside by his touch.
I arch my back, my hands gripping the armrests of the sofa as I allow him to explore every inch of me. His touch is like fire, searing my skin and leaving me wanting more and more.
“Ohhhhh,” A moan escapes my lips, and my eyes slam shut as he dips a finger inside me. He swirls it until he hits a spot that has me squirming on the plush cushions beneath us. His other hand cups my breast, thumbing my nipple through the sheer fabric of the negligee until it hardens into a tight bud. My back arches, my hand reaching to clutch at his shoulder as the sensations begin to build. Already I’m gasping.
“That’s it,” he murmurs as his fingers continue their relentless assault on my core. Then he lowers himself and closes his mouth over my clit, and my hips buck up as if of their own accord.
