Dmitry: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 2

  Vitoria grinned. “I grew up here in Barcelona, but I’ve been away at school for a long time—first at boarding school and then at university. My parents wanted me to have a global education.” She paused. “What about your family? They must miss you.”

  “My brothers also live here, and some of my other family as well,” I told her, shrugging. “In any case, all my mother really worries about is when we’ll all settle down with good wives and start having grandchildren that she can dote on.”

  “Is that what you’re looking for?” Vitoria asked.

  I grinned, knowing exactly what she was trying to trap me into saying. If I told her that all I was looking for was a good fuck, she would know I was a player and be offended that that was all I wanted from her. But if I told her I was looking for a real relationship and a family, then as soon as I moved on to the next woman, she’d claim I had broken her heart and send her brother, cousin, neighbor, whoever to beat me to a living pulp.

  “I’m afraid that at the moment, my work situation doesn’t allow me much time to have a serious relationship, let alone children,” I finally said.

  “What do you do for work?” Vitoria asked.

  “I’m involved in the family business,” I told her. “Trade.”

  “Interesting.”

  “But if you’ve been at university abroad, what brings you back to the city?” I asked.

  Vitoria sighed and looked away. “Like I said, this morning, I was visiting my mother in the hospital. She’s been diagnosed with some rare disease. There’s a decent rate of recovery, but I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to her while I was away at school.”

  “Of course,” I murmured, reaching out to squeeze her hand comfortingly.

  She smiled across the table at me. “So what were you doing at the market anyway? Isn’t it usually Russian women who do the shopping and the cooking?”

  I laughed. “That might be true if I had a Russian wife,” I told her. “I know how to handle myself in the kitchen. I haven’t mastered many Spanish dishes yet, but suffice it to say that I’m not living on frozen meals.”

  “Hmm, a man who can cook,” Vitoria said, raising an eyebrow at me. “You’re quite the catch, aren’t you?”

  “You haven’t even seen my yacht yet,” I boasted.

  “You have a yacht?” Vitoria asked in surprise. She frowned. “Your family has a yacht?”

  “I have a yacht,” I told her proudly. “I do work for the family business now, but before I moved to Barcelona, I had saved up quite a bit of money. I was a famous hockey player.”

  “Figures,” Vitoria laughed. “And what, you swapped the ice for the sand? You don’t look old enough to be retired.”

  I grimaced. “I took a couple bad hits,” I told her. “My knees do all right for walking, but my skating will never be the same again.”

  It was Vitoria’s turn to look sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

  I shrugged. “I’ve come to terms with it,” I told her stoically. “I made my millions young, and now I have plenty of time to enjoy them.”

  Vitoria laughed. “I suppose that’s one way to look at things!” She raised an eyebrow. “So any chance I might get to see this yacht at some point?”

  I grinned at her. “Why don’t you let me take you out on Friday night?” I suggested. “We’ll sail out along the coast and have a nice dinner on the boat. You don’t get seasick, do you?”

  Vitoria laughed and tossed back her hair. “Of course I don’t get seasick—I grew up here in Barcelona!” she told me. “The sea is in my blood.”

  “Good,” I told her, smiling. “Then let me take you out on Friday night.”

  “That’s a plan,” Vitoria said, scribbling down her phone number.

  I slipped the number into my wallet, smiling a little to myself. That was almost too easy.

  3

  Vitoria

  I couldn’t believe how easy it was to get that Dmitry guy wrapped around my finger. All I’d had to do was get coffee with him, and he had already asked if he could take me out on his private yacht. Once I got him someplace private, there was no telling what sort of secrets I might get him to spill.

  To be honest, I felt a little guilty about the way I was planning on using him. I’d expected him to be some horrible player, some absolute pig. But instead, he’d been surprisingly kind and empathetic when we’d talked at the coffee shop. The two of us had clicked nicely on our initial date.

  But I wasn’t in this because I wanted to date him. I just needed to get information about what the Volkov family was planning so that I could buy the treatments that my mother so desperately needed.

  I took a deep breath to compose myself, looking one last time in the mirror. I was trying my best to tread the thin line between sexy and reserved. If I looked too sexy, I was afraid that Dmitry would come on to me right away, and I knew that once I’d had sex with him, I would lose my allure. He was the kind of man who was interested in the chase; once he knew that he could just have me, he would move on to someone else.

  And unfortunately, the more attraction I felt for him, the more I doubted my ability to hold myself back if he made a move.

  So I needed to look reserved. But if I looked too reserved he wouldn’t be interested in me either. I needed to dangle the promise of sex right there in front of him, but I needed to keep it just out of reach. Like a carrot in front of a horse, urging it onwards.

  I smiled a little to myself. This outfit, a simple rose-colored dress, did exactly that. It hugged my curves, but with its high neckline, it left something to the imagination. The smoky-eyed makeup would draw him in, but the carefully-coiffed hair wasn’t quite the siren’s call of having my hair loose and cascading down my back.

  At least, I hoped so, anyway.

  Dmitry couldn’t keep his eyes off me when I met him at the pier. “Красивая женщина—a beautiful woman,” he murmured.

  I blushed and ducked my head. I would never have expected to find Russian to be a sexy language, but when he said it like that…

  Dmitry held out his arm to me and led me towards one of the yachts. “Alba,” I said in surprise. “That’s Catalonian for dawn.”

  “I know,” Dmitry said, smiling crookedly at me. “I didn’t name her that. I don’t speak a word of Catalan. But with the name, I guess there’s a story, and it never seemed right to rename her.”

  I gave him a considering look. He was surprisingly thoughtful, for a Russian hockey player. But before I could comment, he was leading me onboard and casting away the lines.

  “It’s mostly ceremonial,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I’ve hired a crew to captain her for the night so that I can focus on the dinner and…you.” Again, his eyes stroked over my dress, and I felt a shiver of anticipation.

  Maybe I hadn’t managed to be quite as reserved as I’d meant to be. I tried to remember why that mattered, especially as he stepped in close to me, brushing a lock of hair off my neck and tucking it securely behind my ear.

  “You really do look beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Thank you,” I breathed, wondering if he was going to kiss me. For a moment, he paused there, and I thought for sure that he would, but then he grinned crookedly at me and pulled away. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve put together a nice barbecue.”

  “That sounds great,” I said, even though hunger for food was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I trailed after him as he made his way across the deck. As we looked out across the water, the sun was just starting to set, and the lights in Barcelona were just starting to come on.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Dmitry suggested, nodding towards some comfy seats spread around at strategic intervals. “I’ll get the grill going and the food cooking, and then I’ll join you. Can I get you anything to drink—water, wine, beer?”

  “Wine would be nice,” I said, even though I knew that the last thing I needed was to poison my ability to th
ink clearly. I settled in on one of the couches, and a few minutes later, I gratefully accepted the crisp Chardonnay.

  “We’re having chicken for dinner, so I thought it would be fitting,” Dmitry said, looking almost nervous.

  I smiled reassuringly at him. “That’s perfect,” I said, taking a sip.

  Dmitry smiled toothily at me and then retreated to the grill, as he started the fire and got to cooking.

  I swallowed hard as I watched him. The summer evening was warm, and I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His muscles were just as well-defined as one might expect from a former professional hockey player in a nice form fitting shirt. He clearly knew what he was doing, too: deftly lining up food on the grill and flipping it as it cooked.

  Every once in a while, he’d glance over at me and catch me watching him, but when I blushed and studiously turned my gaze back over to the city, he simply smiled.

  Finally, he came over and sat down beside me, after laying an extensive feast out on the low table in front of us. “Well, dig in,” he said, spreading his arms.

  “Mm, this is really good,” I said as I munched on a bite. “You really do know how to cook.”

  Dmitry preened at the attention. “It’s not the only thing I know how to do, either,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me, and I had to laugh. For some reason, even though I knew they were lines he probably used with every woman, even though I knew that I should be protesting and telling him that I wasn’t the kind of woman to just fall into bed with anyone, there was something charming about the way he said these things. As though it were some private joke between us.

  We ate mostly in silence. When we finished, Dmitry pushed the table slightly away and sat back, putting his arm around the back of the couch behind me.

  “The city sure looks beautiful from here, doesn’t it?” I asked, feeling content. The wine was making me a little sleepy, just a little tipsy, and I realized suddenly that I felt comfortable there, with him. Even though he was, nominally, the enemy.

  I frowned but pushed that thought out of my mind.

  “The city pales with the beauty sat beside me,” Dmitry said, another of his cheesy lines, but when I looked over, he was looking seriously at me, his gaze dark with desire.

  My breath caught in my throat for a moment, and I wanted nothing more than to bridge the distance between us, to press my lips against his. But I paused, hesitant and uncertain. I remembered my resolution from earlier, how I wasn’t going to sleep with him.

  He had no such qualms, though, and he leaned in close, brushing my hair back and then firmly settling his lips against mine. The kiss was soft and tender almost, something that I didn’t expect from him. I guess I had expected he would be demanding, that he would force my lips open and plunge his tongue inside my mouth. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me.

  I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back, moaning softly as he tugged at my lower lip with his teeth.

  He pulled back, giving me another moment to push him away, to put a stop to this. But again, I was caught up in the spell of the moment. I twisted my fingers in the soft, grey fabric of the shirt that he’d put back on after he’d finished cooking, using the material to pull him towards me, fitting my mouth against his for a second time. This time, I opened my mouth to him, and he licked and sucked his way inside.

  His hands tugged at my hips, pulling me closer to him, arranging me so that I was sat in his lap, straddling him. My dress was rucked up on either side of my legs, and when I pressed down against him, it was only the thin fabric of my panties that stood as a barrier between his jeans and my slick pussy.

  Dmitry pulled his mouth away from mine, trailing sloppy, heated kisses along my neck and towards my collar. I could feel as his hands found the zipper in the back, and although part of my mind was insisting that it was too soon, that we were moving too quickly, I still couldn’t find it in me to voice any protests. No, I wanted this I realized, as his hands slowly pulled down my zipper and drew the fabric away from my upper body.

  For a moment, Dmitry paused, staring at my ample breasts in the black, lacy bra that I was wearing. He looked like he wanted to say something teasing, but whatever it was, he shook his head and forgot about it. He leaned forwards and kissed each breast, his lips leaving their mark just above the edge of each cup.

  Suddenly, he stood up, holding me in his arms, and maneuvered us so that I was lying on my back across the couch, with him over me. He tugged my dress down further and then slid it carefully off my legs, hanging it over the arm of the couch behind him. His hands traced across my skin while his eyes devoured every change in my expression.

  “Is this okay?” he asked suddenly, his voice gravelly with desire.

  I nodded, still not trusting myself to form words.

  I was rewarded with a lazy smile as Dmitry leaned back in, nuzzling my chin as his fingers dipped into my panties, quickly finding my sweet spot and playing his fingers across it, making me cry out as I arched against him. Dmitry hummed in response and twisted his hand so that his digits slipped inside of me, pushing into my folds as though they belonged there.

  “God, you’re tight,” he groaned, dropping his forehead down against my collarbone.

  “It’s been a while,” I gasped out, blushing even though I knew better than to be ashamed at that.

  Dmitry gave me a serious look. “I’ll go slow,” he promised.

  He seemed intent on making good on that promise too, as he continued to work his fingers inside me, giving me plenty of time to adjust, until I was practically sobbing with how badly I needed something more. With the angle we were lying at, I couldn’t get a hand on him, although every once in a while, I could feel his member pushing insistently against my hip as he shifted.

  I pushed at his shoulders, trying to get him to back off a little so I could do something—tear his shirt off or get a hand down his pants, I wasn’t even sure which.

  Finally, Dmitry laughed and pulled away. He stood up and stripped with brisk efficiency. After a moment where all I could do was stare hungrily as he showed more and more skin, I hurriedly removed my own bra and panties, so that when he next lay down over me, it was skin upon skin wherever we connected.

  “Ready?” Dmitry breathed.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  Dmitry was just as careful and patient as before, slowly guiding his cock inside of me until he was fully seated within me. He gave me a few moments to adjust to his girth before he began to move. I gasped, feeling the slow drag of his skin against mine, the way the head of his penis pulled against my lips as he drew nearly all the way out before thrusting quickly back in again.

  I made a punched-out sound as he hit the very end of my cavern, sending white-hot stars erupting behind my eyelids. My fingers scrabbled against his hips, urging him to do that again. Dmitry complied, and I cried out.

  It was as I opened my eyes that I suddenly became aware of how exposed we were, there on the deck of his yacht. It felt like the whole city could look out and see us there, and I felt incredibly naughty…and hot all over, at the idea of it.

  Dmitry thrust into me and I nearly screamed out his name, reminded again at how public our position was. If another boat were to happen past, they could surely hear me, could surely see us in the light spilling out of the cabin. But it didn’t seem to matter just then.

  The only thing that mattered was chasing the orgasm flickering at the edges of my being. I could practically taste it, like an ocean wave threatening to overwhelm me, salty and heavy with the anticipation of it.

  As Dmitry continued to use my body, it spilled over me, making me convulse against him, pulling his body against mine, squeezing an orgasm out of him as well, until we were a mess of pleasure and erratic heartbeats.

  Dmitry turned his head to the side and kissed my hair, which I was sure was no longer neatly coiffed. But then again, my whole act didn’t seem to have worked: I hadn’t managed to act reserved, hadn’t managed
to keep myself from having sex with him.

  Shame came creeping in, as I remembered suddenly that this wasn’t supposed to be about sex or orgasms or slick muscles beneath my fingertips. I was meant to be getting information out of him. I was meant to be saving my mother in the only way that I could.

  Instead, I wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath a blanket with Dmitry and sail off to who-knows-where.

  I swallowed hard and turned my head away.

  Dmitry pulled back, looking down at me. Again, I sensed that he wanted to say something, but whatever it was, he held back. It made it easier, in a way, knowing that he had his secrets as well, that there were some things that he wasn’t ready to say either.

  He gently cupped my cheek in his palm, stroking the pad of his thumb across my cheekbone. “I guess it’s time I got you home,” he murmured.

  I nodded, even though I hated the feeling of him pulling slowly away from me.

  4

  Dmitry

  I blearily looked at the time on my phone. 7 a.m. on a Sunday. Why was someone trying so hard to get a hold of me?

  Indeed, I already had five missed calls, and the person still hadn’t given up and left me to sleep. I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to wake up enough to deal with whoever it was. Whoever it was, they had a Russian phone number set to private, and that meant it was business.

  I had been out late the night before; Nikolay and some of my other family members had convinced me to go out to Ritmo with them for a night of drinks and dancing. I had thought about Vitoria and been tempted to decline. But it wasn’t like she was my girlfriend, whatever it was that we had shared on Friday night.

  Whatever it was…

  I shook my head and answered the phone before I could think any more about it. “Да? Hello?”

  “Headquarters, now.” The voice was undoubtedly Sergei, one of Uncle Evgeni’s most powerful goons. He and Evgeni had been friends for a long time, since back when they had lived in Russia, and for him to be calling me this early…