Page 22 of Phantom Flower

He went straight to contacts, found his own number from the texts he’d sent, and added himself to favorites with a smirk.

Then he slipped the phone back into my gym shorts pocket, but he didn’t release my wrists. Instead, he pressed them harder into the door, leaning in until his lips brushed my ear.

“From now on, you answer when I text. Immediately.”

I glared up at him. “Why the hell would I? We’re not friends.”

His free hand dropped to my waist, gripping hard. “The last thing I want to be is your friend, little fairy.”

I glared harder, trying to ignore how my body was reacting. “Let me correct myself. I’m not your anything.”

Dimitri dropped his face lower, forehead nearly touching mine. “Let me correct you. You’ll be whatever the fuck I want you to be.”

He pressed forward, his hardening crotch grinding against mine.

I gasped as I felt the thick length of him through our clothes.

“I’m… I’m not—” My words scattered completely.

Heat flooded my face.

I’d never even had my first kiss.

I didn’t particularly like guys - or anyone, really. And I definitely wasn’t looking to entangle myself with a Morozov. Especially not after last night.

Dimitri smiled at my stuttering, clearly enjoying every second of my breakdown.

He rolled his hips once more before finally releasing my wrists and stepping back.

“Your phone,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just pinned me and dry-humped me in the locker room. “Answer next time. Or I’ll come find you. Don’t forget, I know where you live and how to find you.”

He patted my head affectionately, fingers lingering in my hair near the red flower, then turned and walked out.

He was the one who got me home last night. He had been inside my room. A mafia heir wandering through my personal space while I was passed out. I didn’t even question how he got past security. Of course he could.

My biggest issue right now wasn’t the invasion of privacy or that he knew where I lived.

It was the way Dimitri Morozov had clearly set his eyes on me.

And he wasn’t planning on looking away.

I changed quickly on shaky legs and made my way to the nurse’s office. The dizziness had mostly passed, but the encounter with Dimitri left me more unsteady than any physical exertion could.

Marco found me after sports, hovering anxiously as always. “The coach said you got dizzy again. Is it happening more? You should really get that checked out.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, though the lie tasted bitter.

Chapter 7

Dimitri Morozov

Smoke curled from my mouth as I leaned back in the chair, boots propped on the small coffee table.

The basement was quiet now.

Two of my father’s former men - traitorous pieces of shit - lay bleeding out at my feet. Their bodies were broken in all the right places.

They had been selling information to the Italians.