My Pretty Dirty Kitten

Twelve: A Gift For You

Gianna

Dinner is painfully awkward, which itself is strange.

I thought the whole eat dinner together rule was just another way for him to get under my skin. Some sick ploy to make me remember our past. But if silence is his weapon of choice, then bravo, Dmitry. It’s working.

The one time I actually need him to say something, he doesn’t.

Christ.

I poke at my food, a little louder than necessary, hoping it gets his attention. Anything. A glance. A comment. A reaction.

Nothing.

He just stares ahead, chewing slowly, eating like I’m not even here.

What the actual f**k, Dmitry.

I bite down on my lip, flicking my hair over my shoulder like it might brush the memories from a few minutes ago out of my head, but it’s useless.

I just had cam s*x with a total stranger. One that might most likely be a greasy old geezer.

Bravo, Gia.

I try not to show my utter self-disgust, but I’m sure my nose scrunches anyway. My stomach lurches, dinner threatening to come back up and not in a cool way.

Shit.

I drop my fork with a loud clank and bolt upstairs, not even bothering to see if Dmitry notices.

I barely make it to my room before bile spills onto my shirt.

Great. I just bought this shirt last week.

I slam the door so fast and hard that I'm certain a hinge nail rips out, flip the toilet seat up and drop to my knees.

My dinner turns slowly into sewage residue and I groan in annoyance, I'm pathetic. Completely f*****g pathetic.

I retch again, gripping the bowl tighter, my breath shaking.

You know what I find funny about this whole situation? I regret it as much as I don't.

Eighty freaking thousand dollars sit sweetly in my bank account, and all I can f*****g think about is the man behind the camera.

That sicko, Kitten Tamer.

Who the f**k is he even? Why me? I know they're several other cam girls on girlgonewild but he chooses to make me his personal slut?

A deal I happily agreed too, and not for the money. Tonight's session proves it.

The thought alone makes me retch once more, f**k f**k.

I am no virgin, I know that. But Dario Fletcher from camp barely counts as any real experience, he was just a jock I used to forget Dmitry. A one time fling that barely gave me the rapturing feeling women describe when they talk about s*x, the type I thought Dmitry would give me and the type I felt with Tamer tonight.

Ah s**t, now I'm thinking about Dmitry.

A bitter laugh slips out of me and I almost choke on it, my stomach lurching again. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes stinging.

Kitten Tamer is too soft to be an old man, too freaking giving and patient and what I've learned from this platform, old men are always thirsty.

I'm not saying tamer isn't but there's a glaring difference, he actually takes pleasure in watching me beg for him, and he's equally responsive. Like a predator, hunting its prey. Dmitry behaves like that too.

I groan, getting up from the floor and flushing the toilet. Get over it Gia, this is your life now. I chant unto the mirror, splashing cold water on my face.

I curse under my breath, grab a towel, wipe my face hard enough to make my face hurt intensely.

Kitten Tamer. Dmitry Orlov. My fingers curl around my hair, instinctively.

Am I really making a comparison right now?

Sheesh.

I step out into the hall, then stop short at the door, the bitter aftermath coating my tongue. I grimace and rinse my mouth again, like I can wash the thought away with it.

The second I step back into my room, my spirit nearly rip out of my body and I almost bolt straight back into the bathroom.

Dmitry is sitting on my bed.

How did I not hear him come in? I was sure I locked the door. f**k.

“Glad to see you’re alive,” he mutters.

His eyes move over me slowly, too slowly, then pause at the faint stain on my shirt. My hands fly up instinctively, clutching the shirt to my chest like that’ll undo anything.

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” I choke out, hating how unsteady it sounds.

He stands from the bed, unhurried, and for one awful second I think he’s coming toward me. Instead, he veers off and stops at my gaming desk, fingers brushing the edge like he's trying to inspect it.

“First meal here,” he says calmly, “and you’re already throwing up. I had cause to be worried.”

Ah. So that’s the angle. Mockery.

Jerk.

“I’m fine,” I say quietly. “I just felt terrible eating like nothing’s wrong while Alec is still in a coma.”

If he goes low, I go lower.

His posture shifts immediately, the smirk leaving his face and turning to worry, draining out the sarcasm from the room. I didn't say Alec was dead, now did I?

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops, not to the floor, just somewhere past me, like he’s recalculating.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. His voice is lower now, stripped of the earlier edge. “I shouldn’t have assumed this was easy for you.”

The apology doesn't soothe me. If anything, it angers me completely. It feels too sincere, like I hurt him. And I hate how quickly he becomes the victim in this situation.

“Easy?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “What part of this looks easy to you, Dmitry? My brother is barely holding on. He’s fighting for his life.”

I step back, needing more distance between us.

“And you think I’m enjoying the so called luxury you’re giving me? Like this is some kind of prize?” My voice tightens despite myself. “Like I’m supposed to be grateful?”

I shake my head.

“Oh, right. What was I expecting,” I say flatly. “Empathy? From a selfish piece of s**t like you?”

I straighten, forcing my composure. “If you’re done checking on me, you can leave.”

His gaze stays on my face, steady, searching, like he’s weighing whether he should say what’s sitting on his tongue.

“I will,” he says at last. “But I want you to understand something, Gia.”

A flock of butterflies flutters in my stomach and I consider downing a bottle of pesticide to kill them.

“I care about you,” he continues, voice quiet but firm. “A lot.”

“And I’m not just saying this. I know what you’ve been through. I understand, to an extent. I just—”

He breaks off, a curse, I think in Russian slipping from his lips, low and frustrated, and my stomach summersaults from just it.

Bloody hell. Fine I agree, there's something hot about the way it rolls of his tongue, the accent and maybe the suspense of knowing what was actually said excites me. Always has.

“You have a boyfriend, Gia,” he continues. “And you act like that’s all that matters to you.”

I can tell from his eyes that isn’t what he actually wants to say. Maybe it’s part of it, but it’s not the real thing gnawing at him.

I clear my throat. “Remind me again when my brother had the accident.”

“Last night.”

I laugh, disbelieving and incredulous. “You’re insane, Dmitry. Infreakingsane. How did you even get to that conclusion when all I did with Kevin today was pick up my s**t?” My voice rises despite myself. “Did you expect me to end things with him immediately? With someone who’s been there for me? Who’s actually supporting me?”

A small smirk tug at the corner of his lips, “So you don’t love the dipshit?”

I shut my eyes, gripping my hands tight at my sides, holding back the very real urge to strangle the living s**t out of him.

My phone rings, stopping me from answering his dreaded question or strangling him in his own home. Instead of excitement, all the blood drains from my face.

What if it’s Kitten Tamer?

“Won’t you pick it up?” he asks coolly.

“Uh… yes. Yes.” I nod, moving aimlessly to my bedside table and grabbing my phone.

Kev’s name flashes across the screen and I exhale in relief.

“Hi, babe,” I joke, unable to hide the glee in my voice.

Kevin chuckles through the phone. “Let me guess. Stalker ex is in your room right now?”

“Mhm mhm. I miss you already too.”

I plop onto the bed, deliberately ignoring the handsome, annoying jerk still in the room.

“I was thinking we should go out tomorrow,” Kevin continues. “Dmitry sort of drilled me today and I barely managed to escape.”

“I’d love that,” I say, “but you know I’ve got tons of classes tomorrow. Not sure they’ll end early enough for lunch.”

“Then dinner,” he suggests.

“Dinner? I told you about—”

“You’re an adult, Gia. He’s not your father. And if he’s not okay with you skipping dinner, you can come live with me.”

I shut my eyes, trying not to giggle with Dmitry in the room. I fail.

“Fine,” I agree softly. “See you tomorrow. Love you.”

I mumble the last part just loud enough for Dmitry to hear.

Kevin laughs. “Ah, don’t play with my poor heart, Gianna Ramirez.”

The door shuts the second I drop the call, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

I picture the scoreboard I've been keeping in my head the second I moved into this house and the score line makes me proud.

Dmitry Orlov 2 Gia Ramirez 2.

Just as I’m about to drift off, my phone chimes again.

This time, it’s a text. From Kitten Tamer.

“Hello, kitten. I have a gift for you.”