Chapter 61 Chapter 61 Words
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I can stay. I don’t need to go out.”
“I’ll be fine, Dimitri,” I say, sipping my rakia. I skipped the bubbly—I need something stronger, and rakia does the job.
“Don’t drink too much of that. It’s strong,” he says with a small smile.
“Okay, daddy.”
He pauses mid-step, bending to put on his shoes, and slowly looks up at me.
My breath catches in my throat. Why the hell did I just call him that? Mortified, I take another sip to hide it, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to stop the heat climbing up my neck and settling in my cheeks. We stare at each other for a second too long, the air thick and heavy, my face probably glowing red. I look away first. He laughs.
“You are so drunk.”
“That’s it, daddy,” I push, leaning into it now, because if I’m going down, I’m going all the way. “Blame the alcohol.”
Dimitri closes the distance between us in three quick steps. His hand comes up, gripping my chin firmly, forcing me to look at him.
“Stop calling me that,” he says low, his tongue dragging slowly over his bottom lip before he traps it between his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, swallowing hard.
He holds my gaze for another second, then lets go, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he turns and heads out. The door clicks shut behind him.
I exhale, long and shaky, and collapse back onto the couch. I lift my glass and drain it, then reach for the bottle and pour another generous amount. The apartment feels too big now, too quiet, the silence pressing in from every corner.
There’s a knock at the door.
I get up too fast, the room tilting slightly as dizziness hits. I steady myself and move toward it.
“Did you forget your keys?” I call out, pulling the door open—
It’s not Dimitri.
I try to slam the door shut, but he pushes his way in anyway.
“What are you doing here, Sergey?” The bitterness in my voice is sharp. “Why aren’t you celebrating New Year’s with your wife at Gemma’s?”
“I love you,” he says immediately, like it’s the only thing that matters. “And I want to spend it with you. I need to talk to you.”
“You came over to talk?” I laugh, the sound hollow and sharp.
“Fine,” he shrugs, that damn smile flashing. “My intentions might not be so honorable.” He runs a hand through his blond hair, effortless, infuriating.
“You’re married,” I remind him.
“For three years,” he counters. “Then I’m done. I’m coming here—or wherever you are—and…” He hesitates, then looks straight at me. “I want to be with you. I love you.”
“You already said that.” I finish my drink, the burn barely registering anymore.
Sergey steps closer until there’s barely any space between us. He grabs the bottle off the table and drinks straight from it before setting it down. Then his lips are on mine.
I should push him away. I know I should.
But I don’t.
Instead, I melt into him, into the familiarity of his touch. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me, my arms wrapping around his shoulders, my legs locking around his waist. He doesn’t break the kiss as he carries me to the bedroom, only pulling away long enough to set me down.
He disappears into my closet, drawers opening and closing.
“Looking for this?” I ask, lifting my hand and spinning the ring on my finger.
He leans out, eyes locking onto it, and something soft, almost broken, flickers across his face.
“Oh, baby… it should have been you,” he says quietly.
“I’m never getting married. Never.”
He shakes his head, dropping his jacket before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. One button at a time. Then his pants. When they fall, my eyes catch on it—my name, inked in Russian just below his abs.
He looks up at me, amused by my reaction.
“Take your clothes off,” he orders.
I shake my head.
“Take them off,” he repeats, voice harder, “or I will rip them.”
I shake my head again, even as my pulse spikes. What the hell am I doing?
He doesn’t wait this time.
Sergey moves fast, closing the distance and grabbing my shirt, tearing it open in one sharp motion. Cool air hits my skin, my nipples hardening instantly. His hands drop lower, ripping my shorts away, then my underwear, the delicate lace shredding under his grip.
He flips me onto my stomach, a sharp smack landing on my ass before he strips the last pieces away and tosses them aside.
I roll back onto my back, breath uneven, my body already betraying me. Heat pools between my legs, thick and undeniable.
He taps himself against me, dragging slowly.
“Open up,” he growls.
I shake my head again, just to see him mad.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wide. He pushes in hard, fast, pulling out only to slam back in again and again. The force knocks the air from my lungs, my mind going blank as his mouth finds my neck, biting, sucking.
The room fills with the sound of skin hitting skin, of breathless moans, of everything unraveling.
“I hate you,” I gasp. “Sergey…”
“Hate me all you want,” he snaps, thrusting harder. “As long as I get to fuck you like this. Fuck… I missed this.”
His hand slides between us, finding me, pulling, pressing. My back arches violently, the tension snapping as I come hard, my body locking up beneath him. He keeps going, relentless, until warmth builds—and then he pulls out, spilling over me instead, spreading it with his hand.
His fingers come up to my mouth.
I hesitate for a split second, then open without being told.
He pushes them in, and he tastes like fruit. I lick slowly, deliberately, watching the way his expression darkens, the hunger in his eyes deepening.
He pulls his fingers out with a low grunt, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
Then he pulls me into his lap.
He’s still hard.
I sink down onto him, the stretch familiar, grounding. My body reacts instantly, like it remembers every inch of him.
“You belong with me,” he murmurs.
I pull back slightly, our eyes meeting. The words echo in my head. Not to me—with me.
I start to move, slow, deliberate, my hands braced against his chest. His grip tightens on my hips, guiding me, controlling the pace.
His hands slide up, over my breasts, teasing, pulling at my nipples until my vision blurs again. My head tilts back, another wave building, crashing over me again and again, my body trembling as it gives in.
“I love you,” I breathe out before I can stop myself.
The words hang there, heavy, suffocating.
Instant regret floods me.
I never gave him those words before. Not even when I felt them. Because I never believed in them.
But they believed in me.
They hurt me.
And he… he hurt me too.