CHAPTER22
VIKTORIA
His soft voice almost hid the threat in his words, but I knew he meant it, just like I knew there wasn't a single person here who would stop him.
His hand moved to my thigh under the table, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, possessive, commanding.
I hated that his threat made my core clench with forbidden desire at the thought of being at his mercy again.
"Please," I said, keeping my tone polite and professional as possible. "We were having such a lovely talk. I just had a bad day at school, and I would like to enjoy this dinner. Can we talk more about your engineering system or how you met Dima? I'm sure he wasn't the only one in that lecture."
"No." He took a long sip of the wine, his throat working as he swallowed.
I couldn't help but remember how those same lips had claimed mine, how his teeth had grazed my neck.
"You can tell me what caused you to have a bad day, and then maybe I will share my stories with you."
He wanted something. I could feel it.
Did he want me to admit that I was distracted in class thinking about him?
Did he want to hear that I was struggling in the classes I chose?
Or did he think it had something to do with this morning? Too sore from being fucked into oblivion to walk to class?
I grabbed my water glass, watching as it shook a little in my hand as I brought it to my lips to buy myself time. The cool liquid did nothing to extinguish the fire burning inside me.
Jesus, did everyone shake like this around him?
The truth was the best option, or at least a version of it. Another lesson from Dima. To keep your lies straight, and believable, they should be as close to the truth as possible.
"One of my professors has been less than professional and it's making my life increasingly difficult." I traced the rim of my glass with my fingertip, not meeting his eyes.
"Less than professional how?" His question a growl that stood the hair on the back of my neck up.
"Not like that," I said, as I reached across the table to touch his hand.
My fingers brushed against his knuckles, feeling the hard ridges there, wondering how many bones they had broken.
The gesture was very similar to the way I used to watch my mother calm my father with just a simple touch to assure him she was there, and it was fine.
"Then how?" The edge in his tone softened, but was still very much there, a blade sheathed in velvet.
"He asked me a question that wasn't part of the reading and when I didn't know the answer, he laid into me. It's fine. It's not the first time it’s happened, it's just?—"
"That doesn't sound unprofessional. It sounds like he's challenging you?" His thumb brushed over my wrist, feeling my fluttering pulse there.
Artem may not have meant to imply that I wasn't good enough, but that was what it sounded like. The familiar sting of inadequacy burned in my chest.
"He said the only way I got into the school was by sleeping my way into his class." My cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation. "He constantly diminishes me for being a woman, for being a first generation American-Russian, having community college classes, and other things that just?—"
"Tell me exactly what he said," Artem said, his face smoothed into a blank mask of control, all except the vein in his neck that bulged and pulsed, a silent testament to his rage.
I messed up.
Worse, he wasn't going to let me get out of this. Artem was going to get his answers one way or another and it was going to be far easier for me to just give them to him. Because I wanted to know more about how he knew Dima.
So I told him the truth. I told him every horrible thing that the professor had said to me. Leaving out that it was prompted by my distracting thoughts of him, by the memory of his hands gripping my hips, his mouth leaving marks on my skin.
