by Shandi Boyes
Dimitri raises his eyes to mine, either shocked at the extent of my knowledge or turned on by the lack of disgust in my voice. He should count his lucky stars he was out cold the first three days of my internship, or he would have witnessed me heaving more than once. I have a morbid curiosity for crime shows and the scientific side of hunting for murderers, but having a personal connection with the people involved was a bitter pill to swallow.
After a quick breather, I continue updating Dimitri on our findings. “Smith organized ground-penetrating searches for a handful of smaller sites that had increased conductivity. Nothing came from it. Most were stock animals or farming equipment.”
“Did they dig below the animal carcasses?”
I shake my head. I wasn’t on-site during testing, but I kept a close watch on proceedings from my station in Dimitri’s room with Smith. “Why would they dig deeper?”
I’m reasonably sure I won’t eat for a week when Dimitri asks, “When searching for a body, what’s the most obvious shape examiners seek?” Although he’s asking a question, he continues talking as if he didn’t. “If you don’t want a body found, instead of burying it horizontally, dig a vertical gravesite. It makes the disturbance to the land less noticeable and often has conductivity results overlooked by examiners.” He snickers about my whitening gills before adding, “The smart criminals might even add a dead animal on top of the corpse to ward off suspicion.”
“That’s disturbing.”
He smiles at the gag my reply was delivered with before muttering, “It’s actually smart depending on which side of the law you’re on. If you were digging up a square burial site, and you stumbled upon a family pet, would you keep digging?”
“Uh, no,” I force out through a gag. “And I’m reasonably sure ninety-nine percent of the population wouldn’t, either.”
I wish he’d quit smiling. They’re making me all types of hot. “That’s my point. We’re not seeking an upstanding member of society, Roxanne. We want that one percent.”
Considering what we’re discussing, I shouldn’t relish how he says ‘we.’ However, I do.
After standing to his feet, Dimitri says, “We need to take another look at your grandparents’ farm.” Ignoring the loud gurgle of my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger, he gets straight down to business. “Smith… Smith…”
Before his third call for Smith can rumble out of his mouth, I place my hand over his balled one resting on his desk. “He’s probably sleeping.”
My reply was meant to calm him down, not rile him up. He’s more frustrated now than he was when I placed on my dressing gown. He’s pissed Smith isn’t at his beck and call, having no clue he’d be dead if he continued walking down the path he has the past eighty-plus hours.
“He barely slept the past three days, Dimi. He was a walking zombie.” When Dimitri’s eyes snap to mine, shocked at my unusual use of his nickname, I forcefully swallow the brick in my throat. “We’ll get the search done, but it will have to wait until the morning. You won’t find anything but raccoons at this hour.”
The jest in my tone adds the slightest furl to his top lip. It’s not a smile, but it isn’t a scowl either.
“Have you eaten?” When he jerks up his chin, I ask, “Was it better than this?”
His eyes stray in the direction my head is nudging. After drinking in my soggy sandwich I’m sure was super fresh six hours ago, he shakes his head.
“Do you want to risk death?” The unease I see in his eyes makes me smile. “I can whip up a mean batch of pancakes… I just have a bad habit of burning them.”
I can tell he wants to smile, he’s just riddled with too much guilt to allow himself to be happy. I can’t say I don’t understand his objection. I still haven’t laid my eyes on Fien, and I feel bad I’m standing across from her father instead of her.
“Come on. I’m sure your insurance will cover a kitchen fire. If not, I’m just as confident you have the dough to cover my mishaps.”
My thumping heart from barging him out of his comfort zone could be to blame for my poor hearing, but I swear he grumbles, “If only money could keep you safe.”
Two dozen burned pancakes and six salvable ones later, I prop my backside onto the counter Dimitri is seated behind before blurting out a question that hasn’t stopped bugging me the past hour. “Can I see a photo of Fien?” When Dimitri’s fork drops onto his plate with a clang, I talk faster. “I’m just curious if I’m picturing her right. Like you know how when you read a book, and you imagine the character one way, but when you jump onto the author’s Facebook page, you realize they look completely different than you were picturing. It’s like that for me with Fien.” I stop for a much-needed breath before raising my eyes to Dimitri’s. He’s as shocked by my ramble as I am. He has been inside of me. I should no longer be nervous around him, but for some reason, I am. “I just want to know if she looks like you.”
There he goes with his infamous half-smirk again. “The Petretti genes are strong.”
“I’m sure they are,” I say with a smile as blinding as his. “But I’m still curious. Does she have curly hair or straight? Blue eyes or brown? Dimples in her top lip like her daddy when he smiles, or did she inherit his elf ears instead?”
With the sentiment in the air thicker than lust, I’m anticipating for him to shut down my inquisitiveness with the cruelness he was raised by, so you can envision the dramatic drop of my jaw when he says, “Her eyes are blue, her hair is as straight as an arrow, and she got both my dimples and my elf ears.”
Tension cracks between us when he slips off his barstool to gather something out of the drawer next to my thigh. His fridge and fire mantel aren’t adorned with family snapshots and heirlooms. This is more a business premise than a home, so the last thing I anticipate for him to remove from a drawer full of cutlery is a palm-size photograph.
Upon spotting my shock, Dimitri mutters, “I have a photo in every drawer and cupboard as a reminder of why I’m here.”
After a quick breather, he hands me Fien’s photograph. It’s the fight of my life not to coo like an imbecile. She isn’t just cute, she’s downright adorable. Her nose is tiny, her eyes are wide, and she has the rosiest lips I’ve ever seen. And Dimitri was right, she did get both his elf ears and his dimple-blemished grin.
“She’s adorable.” I sound like a ditz, but it’s the most honest I’ve ever been. Seeing Fien’s chubby cheeks has brought everything into perspective. It’s also made me super mad. If it weren’t for me, she’d be standing across from her father instead of me.
I’d hate to think what my life would be like now if my mother hadn’t convinced my father to swap me with Audrey, but it’s just as horrid realizing you’re the cause of someone else’s unhappiness. I’m not solely referencing Fien, either. My pain centers around Dimitri and Audrey as well.
“Can I be a part of the search today?”
Dimitri doesn’t consider my offer for even a second. He immediately shakes his head.
“I lived there half of my life. I could see something important, stuff others may have missed.”
“No, Roxanne.” He snatches Fien’s photograph out of my hand before he places it back into the drawer. “Shit like that changes you.”
I don’t pause to consider the protectiveness in his tone. “Shit like this has changed me, Dimitri. I’m not the same woman I was when I walked into this house, and I won’t be the same when I walk out.”
He’s up in my face in an instant, his clutch on my face anything but kind. “I said no.”
His reply is stern and to the point, but it doesn’t weaken my determination in the slightest because it isn’t anger in his eyes, it’s worry. “You said I could help.”
“Fixing your parents’ fuck-ups isn’t your job.”
With every ounce of my self-control lost, I shout, “It isn’t yours either, but you’re still doing it!”
I don’t solely mean my parents. From what I’ve overheard the past few days be
fore Dr. Bates was seen following Dimitri to Frosty Kinks, Dimitri’s father was suspect number one. As far as I’m concerned, he still deserves to be watched. Dr. Bates isn’t operating alone. Our one-on-one talk included the words ‘our’ and ‘we’ much too often to believe he’s the sole operator of a baby-making franchise.
Before I can announce that to Dimitri, I’m yanked off the kitchen cabinet by my wrist, bent over the island bench I made a mess of while preparing an early breakfast, exposed by the high lift of my dressing gown, then spanked like I’m a naughty child.
I fight his first three spanks, but by the fourth, I’m nothing but putty in the hands of a madman. Just like the public punishment he issued me in a room many miles from here, his spanking offers the perfect amount of pleasure and pain. The heat racing across my backside is enough to have my back molars gritting together, but the slap of his fingertips against an area that hasn’t stopped buzzing the past twelve hours is unbelievably divine.
I’m hot all over in an instant and doing everything in my power not to beg for more. I love how he towers over me. It’s like he’s a big brooding giant, and I’m a naughty little fairy who loves pushing his buttons.
The lust roaring through my veins doubles when Dimitri growls, “Tell me again how you’re planning to walk out on me?” I thought his anger centered around my request to be a part of the search today. I had no clue it was from me mentioning an upcoming departure.
I want to answer him, to tell him I’d stay a lifetime if he’d let me, but lose the chance when his spanking hand switches to nurturing. He rubs my butt cheeks that are clenched in pain before he lowers his hand to a wetness more prominent than the pancake batter. His fingertips barely caress the aching flesh, but it feels like he’s tugging at my clit with his teeth.
I discover the reason for his unusual gentleness when he says, “You’re still swollen from taking me last night.”
His breaths quiver as much as my thighs when I reply, “I don’t care.”
“You may not care, but I do.” His voice is so low, I’m reasonably sure his words weren’t for me.
I almost whine when he lowers my dressing gown until its hem floats above the marble floors of his kitchen, but it’s gobbled up by a moan when he growls out, “Ass on the countertop. I’m about ready for a second helping of breakfast.”
Not waiting for my shock to sink in, he twists me around, throws off the dishware stained with remnants of our shared breakfast, then lifts me onto the kitchen counter as if I’m weightless. A moan unlike anything I’ve ever heard before rolls up my chest when my backside’s collision with the gleaming counter is closely chased by him lowering his head between my legs. He doesn’t wait for permission, nor does he remove my dressing gown. He merely uses the slit in the static-loving material to his advantage, so he can devour his second sickly sweet meal of the day. I don’t care. I’m too in awe about him lapping up the slickness his dominance caused between my legs to worry about him gaining permission to do so.
As my fingers weave through his dark locks, he slips two fingers inside of me. They enter without effort, made easy by the wetness of his hearty licks. Within a minute of his magic fingers taking control, I’m grunting, moaning, and cursing as if I’m being tortured instead of pleasured. The sensation is almost too much. I’ve never felt more unhinged—even more so when Dimitri lifts his eyes to mine. His stare rings the words he spoke to me days ago through my ears. “You don’t want a man. You want a monster, a bastard, a man who’d rather destroy you than ever have you believe you deserve more than him.”
This is his way of destroying me. He will spoil me so much in the bedroom, just the thought of being with another man will feel disturbing.
I don’t mind. There could be worse things to be dependent on.
My parents’ addictions are proof of this.
Like everything else in life, Dimitri doesn’t follow the rules in the bedroom any more than he does outside of them. He licks, finger fucks, and devours me until anyone but him is far from my thoughts. He brings me to the very brink of orgasm, tonguing me and tugging at my clit until I’m writhing against his face, then he withdraws all contact.
I can’t hold back my wail this time around. It roars out of me just as frantically as a husky moan when Dimitri lowers his trousers as if they’re sweats. He fists his erect cock in his hand before giving it a long and slow tug. “What was our agreement, Roxanne?” He sounds angry, but I don’t pay the angst in his tone any attention.
I can’t fear a man I crave more than my next breath.
My eyes snap to Dimitri’s when he strangles out my name as forcefully as he fists his cock. His eyes demand my focus as much as the stimulating visual bombarding me, but I’m not strong enough to listen to both my libido and my head. It’s either one or the other, which has me wondering if that’s why he asked his question while stroking his cock. I’m already on the back foot for most of our exchanges, but when his impressive manhood is on the table, I’m as submissive as it comes.
Evidence of this is submitted without prejudice when I mumble, “That I’m to do as you ask when you ask…” I wet my lips, hopeful a bit of moisture will ease my next set of words past the lust clutching my throat, “… for precisely how long you ask.”
“And what have you been doing?” He strokes his cock faster when he spots a witty comeback in my eyes. The way a handful of pumps alters the direction of my reply reveals I’m worse than a man. I’m not being led astray by my pussy, I am being wholly controlled by it. He has me by the throat, and he’s milking it for all its worth.
It’s a pity for him I saw the light in his eyes change when he went down on me. He’s more powerful than me, a million times richer, and undeniably more dangerous, but there’s one thing we have in common that social status will never change.
He craves me as much as I do him.
“I’m doing as requested. Answering your every whim.” The bangs fanned across my forehead rustle in the frantic breaths that pump out of Dimitri’s nose when I lower myself onto my knees in front of him. “Even the pleas you’re not willing to voice just yet.”
After replacing his fist with mine, my tongue darts out to lap up the sticky bead on the end of his impressive cock. The bunching of his thigh muscles exposes he’s trying to act unaffected by my switch-up, but the growl I hear rumbling in his chest weakens his endeavor. He’s dreamed about me sucking his dick as often as me, if not as long.
“This changes nothing between—”
I steal his words by taking him as deeply into my throat as I can. My impatience wasn’t just to stop him saying something he couldn’t take back, it was also because I couldn’t wait a second longer to have his beautifully thick cock between my lips. My mouth is watering at the thought of tasting his cum, and I won’t mention the slick wetness between my legs.
The pain I experienced last night makes sense when my lips burn from being stretched beyond what’s comfortable. His eyewatering girth and length also explain why he’s lax on protection. The condoms my nanna shoved into my hand not long after my sixteenth birthday will never get close to covering him up. He’s too thick. Too long. Too delicious for the threat of a little STI to stop me from devouring him.
There’s also the thought of bringing a man as powerful as him to his knees. I’ve barely strived for a single thing in my life, but I want this more than anything. I don’t want to take his power, I merely want him to share it with me for just a second.
An orgasm builds like a tornado in the lower half of my stomach when Dimitri’s wish to clutch my hair sees him licking the fingers he had inside of me. He cleans them as if my juices are tastier than the breakfast we shared.
Once all the evidence of my arousal is cleared away, he rakes his fingers through my hair as if his hand is a comb before he secures it in a tight ponytail at the back of my head. I anticipate for him to steal all the control from here, so you can imagine my surprise when his grip on my hair doesn’t alter the speed of my sucks.
He just drinks it all in, loving that not even a strand of over-bleached hair blocks his view.
Stroke after stroke, I take him deeper. I’m greedy, so much so, every suck has the head of his cock bottoming out at the back of my throat. I gag but continue, more than happy to suffer the injustice if it keeps him moaning the way he is.
When his dick jerks several long minutes later, I swivel my tongue around the rim circling his knob, moaning when my eagerness to taste his precum produces more of the sticky substance.
“You like this, don’t you? You’ve wanted my cock between your lips for months.”
I don’t deny the cockiness in his tone because everything he said is true. I wanted this even while in the room he tortured my father in.
After flattening my tongue to ensure his impressive manhood sinks to the very back of my throat, I raise my eyes to Dimitri’s. His are showcasing his triumph, smug as fuck I didn’t deny his claim.
“Finish me.” This isn’t a command. It’s a beg. He’s as undone as me and just as desperate. “Then, perhaps if you’ve shown you can follow orders, I’ll let you come with us today.”
Although his response has me all types of excited, it has nothing to do with him bending the rules. I love how on edge his voice is. Anyone would think this has been in his dreams as often as mine the past few weeks.
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
My husky words draw his balls in close to his body. He’s on the brink, and the realization that I’m going to push him over the edge has me hollowing my cheeks to the point it’s painful.
“Fuck, Roxie,” Dimitri growls on a moan, his hips rocking. “You’re such a wildcat, a dirty, filthy fucking minx.” I love his use of my nickname, not to mention the dirty words that followed it. The way he loses control is as intoxicating as the taste of his mouthwatering cock. “I’m going to come down your throat, then I’ll give you everything you want.” His arrogant smirk should be one of his less stellar features. It isn’t, especially when it’s directed straight at me. “Well, as much as you can take. I don’t want to ruin your sweet little pussy before customizing it to my cock.”