Page 9 of Big Bad Daddy

Boris Volkov is a gorgeous man but far too old for me. He’s the type women call daddy. He spoils and worships their body, controlling every move in exchange for long nights of ecstasy perfected over years of experience.

I wouldn’t stand a chance of retaining my resolve or virtue. I’m not particularly attached to the latter, but losing my V-card to a known criminal wouldn’t be the best introduction to sex.

At least, not in theory.

“What are you thinking about? Why are you taking so long to answer me? Did you offer him sex in exchange for information on Scarlett? I know you have daddy issues but Boris Volkov is not the man to solve them.” Tasha yanks the dress out of my hands and examines it closely.

I received a black slip dress as a gift after filling a last-minute spot for Lucia Leone’s first fashion show this spring. I’ve been waiting for the right occasion to wear it out, and this is the first time anyone has given me one. It’s sleek and sexy, looking as if I’ve just slipped out of bed, then strapped on a pair of heels to go with my classy lingerie. It’s coquettish but not over-the-top sexy. It feels right.

“Stop shouting at me. I’m trying to think which shoes would fit best with this dress. I’ve never played the part of a crime lord’s girlfriend. It needs to look believable. And I do not have daddy issues. My father is a horrible human being who never gave me a second glance unless it was to put me down. If anything, I should be repulsed by older men,” I mutter, my eyes drifting up and down my shoe rack, torn between peep-toe shoes andstrappy sandals. Unable to choose, I grab both and head into the bedroom to change.

Tasha follows me, waving my dress to get my attention. She’s relentless.

“For crying out loud, woman. Didn’t you take psychology in college? You are the classic example of a woman who seeks out the affection of older men to compensate for their father’s neglect. Now answer me, Sybil. Scarlett would not want you to sacrifice yourself for her sake. I’m sure she’s safe. I think you underestimate the seductive power a man like Vasily Volkov wields. Scarlett doesn’t stand a chance. I suspect she’s getting railed up and down Westchester County and she’s too busy or weak to pick up a phone,” Tasha rants with a less-than-subtle accusation of prostitution.

I roll my eyes at the fashion designer pretending to be Sigmund Freud. I would pretend to be offended if I wasn’t so frazzled by the stress of going out with a dangerous man twenty-five years my senior. But there’s no time for that. And I admit I’m behaving remarkably cagey.

“Quit analyzing me. I don’t have daddy issues. Of course, I didn’t offer the man sex. I’m not a hooker, for heaven’s sake. Boris said we shouldn’t be there for more than two hours. The hostess wants to set him up with her niece, and he’s trying to avoid an awkward situation. I’ll be back before midnight,” I say while rummaging through my lingerie drawer in a mad search for the black bra and panty set I bought last month.

“Wait a minute, did you say Yarina Pavlova?” Tasha angles her head and stares into space, her mind seemingly traveling a mile a minute. “I know that name. She comes from my old neighborhood but clawed her way out of Brighton Beach by marrying a geriatric billionaire who died a few years later. She loves entertaining mobsters because it gives her the illusion of power. You are dining with mobsters, Sybil. In fact, my cousin,Gavril, might be there. He’s recently taken over his father’s position as head of the family. I cannot believe you’d attend something like this. Your mother will kill you if she finds out you’re slumming. You know what a jerk she can be.”

“My mother will be outraged by anyone who isn’t old money or a member of the New York Social Registry. She’d slip into a coma if she found out about Boris. That woman is all about appearances and family lineages. For heaven’s sake, she thinks my modeling career is scandalous. Fortunately, we’re not on speaking terms and she has no way of finding out.” I defend my position and minimize my fears because I want to go.

Tasha has good reason to persuade me to cancel, but I’m choosing to ignore her warnings. No one could dissuade me from this date. It’s more than ensuring Scarlett’s safety. A big part of me wants to see Boris again. There is no hope of having a serious relationship with him, but one evening of pretending could do wonders for my confidence. I don’t remember the last time I felt passionate about anything, least of all a man. But that was before I met Boris Volkov. How on earth did a man twice my age turn my world upside down?

Boris is a horrible choice for a partner. My mother would never approve. My father would disown me faster than I could finish pronouncing his name. I could never offer him more than a one-night stand.

I swipe a bottle of lotion from my vanity and apply a dollop to my legs, massaging my calves while I quietly laugh. My naivete astounds me. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that dilemma will never come to life. I told Boris I would do him a favor, and he’s simply cashing that check. There’s nothing more to this than my overactive imagination and delusional wishes. He wants a pretty actress to play a part for a few hours. And that’s fine with me. Fake or not, tonight is my first date in ages. It feels nice to dress up for more than work.

“The sandals look better,” Tasha murmurs, handing me the alternative pair sitting on my bed and helping me fasten them on my feet.

I adjust the strap on my heel, then strut across my bedroom carpet in nothing but lingerie and heels, pivoting in front of the mirror to catch a view from the back. After careful examination of my backside, I grab my lotion and smooth a few drops on my ass. It’s silly, really. No one will see my behind, but I want to be prepared, nonetheless.

“You’re right, they work best.” I spot Tasha staring at my giddy enthusiasm from across the room and shrink, attempting to hamper my excitement before she calls me out. Tonight is supposed to be all about obligation, and I’m behaving like an infatuated schoolgirl going on her first date.

“You like him, don’t you?” Tasha narrows her gaze, squinting so tightly I’m amazed she can still see. “I can see it in your eyes. A girl doesn’t lotion her ass for just anyone.”

She makes a good point, but I’m not ready to confess the depths of my fantasies concerning the Boogeyman of Brooklyn. I place my hand on my palpitating heart wondering how he earned his grim moniker. Would he be a rough lover? Would he force me to my knees and feed me the big cock that almost threatened to make an appearance today? I still can’t get that delicious vision out of my head.

I know I’m in over my head, but I want to see this through. Even if it becomes nothing more than a fond memory to revisit from time to time.

Boris Volkov doesn’t scare me. He intrigues me.

“He’s handsome. You said yourself women lust after him. Last I checked, I have eyes. So, cut me some slack and let me enjoy an evening with the most attractive man I’ve ever met. It’s a fake date that ends tonight. Stop worrying so much,” I argue, hoping she understands my point of view. Tasha has moreexperience with this element of society, and I trust that she has my best interests at heart, but my sexual curiosity has reached its peak. I can’t miss this glorious opportunity.

Tasha blows out a sharp breath and hands me the little black dress she’s been fanatically guarding. “But what if it doesn’t end tonight? What if he wants more than you’re willing to give? You won’t be able to say no.”

I hold the dress against my body and stare at Tasha’s face through the mirror. “I can take care of myself.”

Chapter Eight

I’ve always had the willpower of a saint. That may be difficult to believe coming from a man like me, but a king knows how to rule himself. If I can’t control my vices, then I can’t effectively lead my men. Overindulgence is weakness, and I can’t afford to look vulnerable in front of brutal men who would sell their mother to replace me.

In my line of work, a steely resolve is an occupational necessity.

But that was before tonight.

Everything changes the moment Sybil Sheridan steps out of her building, wearing the same slinky black dress that caught my attention in the Lucia Leone showroom. My imagination failed to do her justice. Lost in a daze, my greedy eyes devour the sight of her long, shapely legs gracefully descending the stoop, wearing stilettos that do nothing to slow her down. My gaze narrows as I focus on the tease of cleavage peeking out from her plunging neckline. I bite my lip and take a deep breath as I imagine my hands caressing her breasts gently, then slipping her tight nipples into my hungry mouth.

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