Dmitry's Redemption:: Book Two (The Medlov Men 8), page 1
Dmitry’s
Redemption:
Book 2
The Medlov Men Series
Latrivia Welch
Dmitry’s Redemption: Book Two
Copyright © 2019 by Latrivia Welch
RiverHouse Publishing, LLC
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For My Medlovians
Acknowledgments
This book would not be possible without God’s strength and protection, my family’s love and understanding, my team at RiverHouse Publishing and their passion for publishing, my editor and dear friend, Karen Moss for her dedication and love, and our social media team led by Welch Public Relations. A special thank you goes to my husband, Bruce Welch, for all his love & affection. I would also like to thank the Red Door Retreat on Facebook, all my members of the Quill Pen Newsletter and my die-hard fans across the world. God bless each of you.
Prologue
The Capital City of St. Petersburg, Russia
October 2002
W ith the long put off visit to the wretchedly glorious city of St. Petersburg, Russia, Dmitry Medlov was reminded of his late wife, Lady Katherine Hutton, in all her infallible splendor. She too was from a royal background like the former city of Leningrad, founded by Tzar Peter the Great. Katherine’s blood also wreaked of blue-veined, aristocratic privilege from the ancient families of England, who had ruled over the poor with an iron fist for centuries.
And much like his wife, St. Petersburg was opulent and dirty with its imperial origins, cultural superiority and unforgivably shabby edges. She was a city rife in countless debaucheries and all manner of crime but gilded in a gold-encrusted sheen that prevented outsiders from seeing her true inner form.
And because of both the undue influences of St. Petersburg and Katherine, Dmitry Medlov had become very much like both of them– a complex entity of power and grandiose stature with a rotted inner core.
Dmitry knew that about himself now. Through some epiphany that dwelled in the back of his mind as he stood within the walls of the Heritage Museum, among the relics he had first ignored and now glorified, he felt himself calcifying into a statuesque form that would be studied long after he was long departed from this earth.
I am a monster, he said to himself. And yet she loved me. He would never truly understand the heart of a woman. It was the eighth wonder of the world, deep and dark and full of secrets and lore, and it baffled him beyond words. But it was in a woman’s heart, and only there, that he had once found respite.
He glanced at a painting and with the stare came also a vivid memory….
St. Petersburg, Russia (1994)
Lady Katherine Hutton-Medlov brought Dmitry to St. Petersburg for the first time two months after their scandalous nuptials in London to handle official business for Hutton Industries. He was still in his training period during those formative years, still very inexperienced in being wealthy and powerful. And still very unsure of himself, not as a man, but now as the husband of English nobility. There had been many sessions to learn his place since the marriage, and it seemed Katherine was intent on finishing her curriculum of high society decorum and expectations before her class was over.
This trip would be one more of those practicums.
As soon as the power couple landed in their private jet, they went to meet with managers of one of their many factories in the St. Petersburg to go over dull ledgers, observe daily operations and give new directives. Afterward, they retired to their hotel penthouse for the evening with very different plans for the rest of the evening.
“As the stewards of the Hutton empire, we are major contributors to the arts, my dear,” Katherine reminded Dmitry as she cloaked her neck with a row of boulder-sized yellow diamonds from her jewelry box.
Dmitry did not respond to Katherine. Instead, he kept his eyes on the newspaper he was reading in Russian, happy to be back in the mother country, even for a short visit. He wanted authentic Russian food, real Russian vodka, and wanted to watch real Russian television.
London was great for all its grand Western European trappings, but a boy always missed home.
Katherine’s blonde, admonishing brow shot up when her husband did not answer. She knew he was quietly demanding a break, but there was no time. So, she continued with her lecture. “It’s our responsibility to not only check on our businesses but also our other lucrative investments. The Hutton’s have always prided themselves for their philanthropic endeavors. My father instilled civic responsibility as part of the family narrative and his father before him, and now you will…one day to your children.” She batted her eyes quickly to which Dmitry glanced over at her before trailing his eyes back to the paper.
The button tip of her perfect nose averted as she studied her fading appearance in a full-length mirror propped against the moss green wall of their estate room.
Golden wisps of fine hair streamed down her bare shoulders from her messy ponytail. Bare, pale skin, not yet adorned with layers of makeup or covered with expensive fabrics, danced with goosebumps from the ceiling fan’s chilly breeze. In a nude-colored lace lingerie set, she turned to the side, inhaled a breath to tighten her flat stomach and studied her profile, debating quietly if her illness was starting to show.
There was a time when a man would have fallen to her feet to worship her, even at her seasoned age, but now things had changed.
Katherine had always been her own harshest critic – none could match her rebuke – which was why she was always the most beautiful well-dressed woman at parties, the most adored and beloved. Everything had to be in place. Everything perfect. Everything…Every time. But there were more qualitative layers to the baroness. As a consummate businesswoman and a passionate freedom fighter, she considered any sign of sickness an equal sign of weakness, and there could be no chinks in her chain.
This was one of the main reasons she had chosen to marry Dmitry Medlov, a boy younger than her youngest child and as wild as undomesticated horses in her valley. He was the perfect ruse. No stockholder or investor would ever suspect her of terminal cancer, having just hitched herself to such an untamed stallion. A young man from his impoverished Russian background would require a proper breaking, and only a healthy woman with a great deal of physical stamina could do that. As a result, most assumed her recent and dramatic weight loss was due to laborious hours spent in the bedroom tussling with her new toy and not enough time spent at the dinner table.
But those closest to her, especially her two adult children, knew better.
She was living on borrowed time.
Brushing off her self-pity, she focused back in on her conversation with the petulant boy across the room from her.
“Dmitry, are you ignoring me?” she asked, pursing her thin lips together with a sterner tone only reserved for when she wanted his full attention.
The mother voice.
He knew it well.
The side of Dmitry’s full pink lips pulled at the corners, daring a defiant grin in the face of her abject attempt to control him. “No, I’m not ignoring you. I’m listening with both ears to yet another lecture about our civic responsibilities as the incredibly rich,” he moaned in an unenthusiastic tenor, “passed down from one generation to another to another to…me.” The temporary inflection in his voice faintly unveiled his agitation.
“You’re being difficult.” She rolled her eyes. It was expected.
“I’m being honest.” His deep baritone, thick with a Russian brogue, did little to hide the age difference that was apparent in his booming voice over her frail English one. But still, his voice hummed in her ears every time he spoke– no matter what he said.
“And you think my lectures are simply to get you to do what I want?” she asked, eyes still on her reflection in the mirror. If she dared face him, she might smile and give away her position.
Dmitry grinned mischievously but revealed little about what he really thought. He was a man of few words and even less patience. “I think your lectures make you feel better about making me do what you want, wife.” In the end, she always got her way, but he didn’t mind giving her what she wanted. It was never much in comparison to what she gave him in return.
At the moment, she wanted him compliant, ready with just a word to do her bidding. However, she had found both before and after they were married that Dmitry knew his own mind and could only be truly persuaded through intelligent argument to change his course of action. Anything less was lost on him.
In truth, after a long day of business meetings in boring factories with sycophant managers who worked harder to kiss their asses than to do their jobs, Dmitry had not been interested in traipsing around to historical landmarks to pay homage to old relics. He did not want to take in the culture of the city. He only wanted to relax.
Was there so much harm in that?
At Dmitry’s return to silence, Katherine blew out a frustrated breath. “I need to put on my face,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.
“You have on your face.” Dmitry turned the newspaper’s page slowly. “You look fine without all the makeup. Leave it off.” These conversations reminded him of when his mother was alive and prostituting on the streets of Kopotnya to take care of him and his little brother, Ivan. He would tell her the same thing, but she insisted upon layers of paint to hide the human face that hid behind the mask. He saw very little difference in what the royal pain in his ass wife was doing now.
“I’m not twenty anymore,” Katherine said, leaning over the marble counter in the bathroom to guide the pencil over her bottom lip. The lighting was much better in the bathroom and kept Dmitry from seeing all the steps it took to make her look healthy and vibrant. But what choice did she have? Everywhere they went the young women practically threw themselves at her husband, apologizing after she reprimanded them by explaining that they thought her to be his mother.
“You’re still beautiful,” Dmitry countered, unaware of the head storm Katherine was experiencing in the bathroom. “Maybe more beautiful than twenty. You don’t need all that shit.” He folded the paper and placed it against his cocked-up thigh to read better.
To that complement of her beauty, Katherine smiled but continued to apply her face. “You should get up from the bed and get ready. We’ll be late.”
Again, Dmitry was silent, an indication that he had no plans to accompany her wherever she had planned to go this evening. He returned to his reading while she returned to her thoughts of yesteryears.
They were silent for a while longer until Katherine was fully dressed – lingerie, stockings, slips, dress, shoes, and hat now were placed on her body to make for a true lady of royal lineage. She had applied her layers of age-defying makeup and sprayed on a rather expensive perfume that her young husband had bought her a month before in Paris.
Now, she was ready to resume the conversation. “I want you to get dressed, Dmitry,” she said, hand on her hip as she stood by the bed.
Dmitry’s voice was low. “And I want you to get in bed with me,” he insisted, still sitting in the same place as when she went into the bathroom, now on the last page of the newspaper. He tapped the empty space beside him. “Come here. Let me make you forget about your father and your civic responsibilities and your philanthropic bullshit.” He licked his lips seductively and glanced over her body. The slow roll of his crystal blue eyes, flitting under heavy blonde lashes and the sun-kissed glow of his tattooed skin glimmered in the dim light of the lamp beside him. “Let me fuck you, Katherine,” he said using the same stern consternation she had failed to adequately use on him earlier.
“Dmitry,” Katherine said, breath catching in her chest at the side of him.
“Yes, wife,” Dmitry answered, turning on his side.
Katherine heaved a heavy sigh and roamed her gaze over his heavenly, naked body before sitting down on the edge of the bed. If she got to close, she would give in. Keeping her distance, she placed a hand over his. “My dear sweet boy, I’m trying to teach you an important lesson - one that will hopefully help you long after I’m gone.”
“And what would that be?” He put a hand under his head, muscles flexing as he moved.
Although it was such a very simple movement of very little effort, his wide chest flexed with rippling veins and chorded muscle, which caught his wife’s attention. No older man, regardless of social status or wealth, could do that with such ease. He was a lion among lambs - a sexually enhanced maverick of the original design. But he was also being a brat.
Dmitry’s wheat-blonde brow shot up to receive his over-bearing wife as he lifted an objective finger. “Before you say another word, let me say this.” His eyes warmed with concern for her delicate physical state. “I know that you are tired, even though you don’t say so. We’ve been on the go all day. And the doctor has already told you not to push yourself. I’m sorry, Katherine, but you take your good days for granted, putting too much on your plate when you should be relaxing and conserving your energy.” Now, he was the one lecturing her, but for a good reason. She was being a very bad girl.
Katherine licked her lips, fighting the urge to give in to his pleas and his hypotonic bedroom eyes. His argument, while compelling, was more for himself than her. She schooled her face before responding. “I’m trying to teach you something it took far too long for me to learn, something that I didn’t appreciate until I was much older than you.” She trailed her fingers over his gold wedding band. “Just because someone tells you to give up, doesn’t mean you should – not a doctor, not a lawyer, not anyone. Just because time is against you, doesn’t mean you stop running toward your goals. This life is only worth living if you get up every day and fight for it – no matter the obstacle.” She raised her finger to him. “But when you’re done fighting and working, you must stop and spend time enjoying life’s beauty, smelling the roses if you will. There is a beautiful world out there, even on the worst of days. You have to appreciate it.” A breath escaped her at the thought that one day, he would possibly have a new family, and all her advice would come to bear for another woman. She pushed back sadness. “Now, we’ve had our meetings. We’ve done the work. And now, we will reward ourselves with something more beautiful and meaningful. It’s a part of self-care, in my opinion.”
Dmitry bit his plump bottom lip in contemplation, sending a zinger up his wife’s spine. The things that he could do to a woman with those lips were sinful. “So, for you, this museum trip is about self-care, eh?” he asked, mentally storing her other advice to ponder at a more convenient time.
“For both of us. Yes. Before or after doing something emotionally or physically exhausting, you should always center yourself with something that will replenish your soul. It’s a way to keep a healthy balance.” She smiled at him with such gentle innocence that it temporarily disarmed his need to argue.
Checkmate.
Dmitry ran a hand over his chiseled jaw thoughtfully. “Very well,” he said, giving in to her request. “Where do you want to go?” If it would make her happy and give her a longer life, Dmitry could not find the fault in playing along.
“To the Hermitage Museum.”
“Fine. We’ll go.”
“Thank you,” she said, pleased with him.
With that, he kicked the gold silk sheets from his lower legs and stood up beside the bed to his full seven feet of toned, muscular splendor. The slap of his unrepentant, half-erect penis against his inner thigh made her head snap up and gawk at his perfection.
Goodness, did he have to be so virile? She had never seen a man who could command his penis with such immaculate precision. Through their mundane conversation, he had still managed to be ready for her if she had chosen to change her mind. The evidence was before her in the form of an elongated, somewhat engorged, snaky member, throbbing with thick veins and wide girth.
Her cheeks flushed at the thought of what they could have been doing at that very moment. She could have him inside of her now, filling her to the brim with twelve inches of steely flesh. Instead, she wanted to go to the fucking museum.
Maybe she had lost her mind.
Dmitry, however, had quickly put away all thoughts of sex and leisure with her heart-felt plea of responsibility and balance. Now, he was focused on giving her what she said that she needed.
Stretching, he slapped his face to wake up from his groggy state and strode across the room. “Let’s go get some self-care then,” he said as he disappeared into the bathroom.
“Yes, let’s,” Katherine said under her breath, watching his perfectly toned buttocks as it moved out of view.
Instantly, she regretted her decision to make him emerge from their hotel room, but it was imperative that she teaches her young Dmitry as much as possible before her affliction consumed her.
The water shooting from the showerhead echoed through the bathroom. “I assume you want me to wear a suit?” Dmitry called out as he prepared for their evening.
