The hallway to the suite felt longer than it should have.
Every step sent a fresh pulse of wetness between my thighs. Dmitri’s fingers had left me open and aching, the modest cotton panties soaked through, the taste of my own orgasm still on my tongue. The cream dress was buttoned again, high collar hiding the mark his mouth had left two nights ago, but my body felt branded. Used. Claimed by the father while the son waited upstairs to take what no longer existed.
I opened the door.
Alexei stood by the windows, jacket off, sleeves rolled. Candlelight flickered across the four-poster bed. Rose petals scattered the sheets. Champagne sweated in a bucket. He turned and smiled the soft, practiced smile that used to make my stomach flutter and now only made something cold coil low in my belly.
