Chapter 159

By the time he’s buried himself to the knuckle inside of me, I’m bucking my hips and moaning recklessly into his palm. If Pavel can hear—well, that no longer seems quite as mortifying as it did a moment ago.

Dmitri’s mouth drags down my top and suckles over one swollen breast. Those two points of contact send me soaring into the stratosphere.

“That’s my good little girl,” he murmurs softly as I come on his hand. “You’re so pretty when you obey. Keep listening this well and I might even paint you with my cum tonight.”

He doesn’t quite stop, not even after the first orgasm has faded. He keeps going, working faster on my clit until a second orgasm is imminent. Then⁠—

“Nuh-uh-uh, moya zhena,” he warns. “Don’t get greedy now. I’ve been generous giving you one orgasm before you’ve even devoted an hour to my boring dinner. We had a deal, remember?”

This asshole.

But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how insane he’s made me already, even if it’s blindingly obvious to anyone with eyeballs. I clamp down on my lower lip to stop from whining and/or moaning until he eats me out. Instead, using my reflection, I arrange my hair back into some semblance of order and touch up my smudged lipstick.

“How do I look?”

“Like a woman who just came on her husband’s hand in the back seat of a vehicle.”

I’m torn between a laugh and a wail. “Why did you have to go and do that now? I have to look presentable!”

He chuckles. “I could fuck you raw and come on your face and you’d still be the most beautiful woman in attendance tonight. Actually, now that I think about it…”

I shove him away with a laugh. “You wouldn’t dare. Stay on that side of the car, you beast.”

Dmitri laughs, though he keeps his distance as requested. “You don’t have the faintest idea just how many things I’d dare to do to you, Wren. But tempt me and you might find out.”

God or Satan or someone with a wicked sense of humor cranked Dmitri’s filthy mouth to its highest setting tonight. I can’t say I mind; something about the combination of a Tom Ford tux and depraved fantasies just stokes the heat in my belly that much higher.

We might be in for a very long night, him and I.

We must be among the last to arrive, because when we do, the ballroom is packed to the gills. I’m still too flustered to have put a proper meet-and-greet face on, but that doesn’t stop everyone from gawking.

We’re barely two steps into the hall when a glittery older couple dart up to us. “Mr. Egorov!” the male half crows. “How nice to see you at one of our events after so long.”

I’ve seen Mr. Arnaud before. He’s visited Egorov Industries enough times for me to remember the face and the name. As far as my memory serves, he’s a half-French, self-made millionaire with a popular winery that he’s now expanding into an empire. On his arm is his very British wife, who’s wearing the kind of expression that makes me feel like she wants to roast me like a duck and serve me for dinner.

“This is Louis Arnaud,” Dmitri introduces. “And his wife, Verity.”

“How lovely to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Arnaud,” I say with a small, awkward, shuffling attempt at a curtsy.

“And this—” Dmitri says with his hand on the small of my back. “—is my wife, Wren Egorov.”

That makes my blush go ten shades redder. Not just because I’m still getting used to it, but also because both Louis’s and Verity’s eyes go wide. Everyone in eavesdropping distance does the exact same.

But to their credit, both of them recover quickly. They compose themselves and come straight in for a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Delighted that you could join us, dear Wren.” Her eyes dip down to my belly. “May I?” She doesn’t wait for my answer before running a bejeweled hand over my stomach. “Exciting times! A new baby. A new marriage.”

She’s clearly waiting for me to give her more information, but I just smile politely. “It is a very exciting time.”

“Congratulations, Dmitri,” Arnaud booms, patting him on the back. “There’s a lot to look forward to.”

“Business included?” Dmitri segues smoothly.

Arnaud’s laughter is like a loud belch. “Always. Come this way; let me show you to your table.”

As it turns out, they’ve reserved the best seats in the house for us. At least, that’s what Arnaud claims when he gestures towards the decked-out table in the center of the ballroom, right underneath the largest golden chandelier. The centerpieces are tiny, crystalline swan boats that hold arrangements of white roses and baby’s breath. I have to admit, it’s tasteful.

“We have some non-alcoholic champagne I can get for you,” Verity offers, patting my shoulder as she straightens up and snaps her fingers. A millisecond later, a waiter shows up and bends down to listen to her rattle off orders for all of us.

“Champagne for three, sparkling grape juice for this angel here. Canapes in the meantime because I just know that Wren’s darling baby is howling for food, if my own pregnancies were anything to go by. And bring plenty of everything, if you please.”

The waiter bows and scurries off. Verity looks like she’s ready to launch an inquisition on me, but I’m saved from that when someone comes up to her with questions and she’s carted off for hostessing duties.

I take a grateful breath as I slump down in my seat. It’s hard to keep my smile plastered in place, but I do my best, because it really does feel like everyone is watching me. Not all the smiles I’m getting are friendly, either. Some are suspicious, others openly hostile.

Of course, when I glance over at my husband, who’s been roped into yet another conversation with yet another pompous-looking businessman, I can’t help but understand. I’ve got the hottest catch in the city. Jealousy comes with the territory.

Dmitri excuses himself and comes to join me when he sees me looking. Breathing in my ear, he asks, “Doing okay?”

As soon as I can smell him, I feel more at ease. “Better now.” I graze his knee with one nail idly. “Everyone is staring.”

He smirks. “Good. That’s the whole point. Tonight is the perfect way to introduce you as my wife.” He cups my fingers in his and gives me a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “They’re also staring because you look fucking gorgeous. Who wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off⁠—”

I look up only when I realize he’s left his sentence. I expect him to be staring at me, but his eyes are fixed on something over my shoulder.

“What is it? What’s⁠—”

Dmitri grabs my chin to stop me before I can turn to look. His face is suddenly winter itself, frozen over and terrifying.

“What’s going on?” I croak.

He clears his throat. When his voice comes out, though, it’s still a barely restrained growl. “Cian’s here.”