Chapter 63 Chapter 63 Early Morning Snack
I get out of bed and slip my silk robe over my lacy undies, tying it loosely at my waist. The fabric glides over my skin, cool and smooth, but it does nothing to quiet the restless energy humming through me.
I head into the kitchen, opening the freezer and pulling out the chocolate ice cream. Three generous scoops go into a bowl. I set it aside and grab fruit—peaches, strawberries, honeydew melon—cutting them into small pieces and dropping them in on top. Sweet, cold, simple.
I slide everything aside and hop up onto the cold marble countertop. The chill seeps into my thighs instantly, making my skin pebble. Between that and the ice cream, I shiver slightly, but I don’t move. I let my feet dangle as I eat, slow spoonfuls, trying to settle my thoughts.
Dimitri walks in.
He stops.
I freeze mid-bite.
He’s in nothing but boxers.
I’ve never seen him this naked before.
My eyes betray me immediately, roaming over him without permission. His arms are covered in tattoos—intricate, dark ink wrapping around muscle. A massive lion’s head spreads across his chest, fierce and detailed. The family crest sits at his neck, something I already knew was there, but it looks different now, more intimate somehow.
His legs are bare. Nothing there.
I swallow hard.
My gaze drops lower.
Those damn dark boxers hide everything, but not enough. I can see the outline, the shape—enough to make my mouth go dry.
“Are you done?” he asks.
“Hmmm?” I barely register the sound.
“Checking me out.”
“I was not!” I shove a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, too fast, too big.
“Sure,” he says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. He leans against the counter across from me, completely at ease. “Did you sleep?”
“Ummm…” I stall. My brain refuses to cooperate. He’s too distracting, too present.
“Because I got a notification from the cameras,” he continues casually. “Haven’t checked it yet. Did someone come over?”
My stomach drops.
The cameras.
Oh my God.
Stupid. Stupid girl.
I slowly set the bowl down and reach for my phone, pulling it out of my robe pocket. I open the app, trying to remember how to delete the footage. My fingers move too fast, too clumsy.
He’s watching me.
“Who was it?” he asks, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re trying really hard to hide something.”
“No one!” I blurt, deleting one video.
Dimitri pushes off the counter and moves toward me fast.
I react instantly, lifting my arms up, then tucking them behind my back. He reaches for the phone, and suddenly we’re struggling—laughing, half-wrestling over it.
I lean back against the counter, breathless, my robe slipping open as we move. Cool air brushes over my bare skin, making everything more sensitive, my nipples pebble. Exposed. Bare. My arms stretch above my head as I delete the last video.
Four of them.
Gone.
Dimitri’s hands find my hips, steadying me as I clear the trash folder.
And then—
I slide.
My ass slips off the counter and lands directly in his lap.
My robe falls open completely.
His hands are already on my hips. Warm.
And between my legs—
Him.
Hard.
Throbbing.
My mouth waters.
Only two thin layers of fabric separating us.
Everything stills.
The playful struggle dissolves into something heavier, charged. My chest presses against him, his body radiating heat. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place like he doesn’t trust himself to let go.
My eyes drop to his lips.
Full. Slightly parted.
I want to kiss him.
I lean in slowly.
Every muscle in his body tightens beneath me, solid as stone. I shift my hips just slightly, grinding against him. His eyes flick down between us.
I do it again. Harder.
He looks back up.
Our eyes lock.
I lean closer.
I can feel his breath on my lips now. Warm. Steady.
One more inch.
That’s all it would take.
Instead—
He lifts me.
Just like that.
Sets me back on the counter.
He pulls my robe closed, tying it firmly, like sealing something away. Then he picks up my bowl and places it back in my hands.
Dimitri steps back, finishing his water like nothing just happened.
Like I didn’t just feel everything.
He looks at me, calm, unreadable.
Indifferent.
It hits me like a bucket of cold water.
I stare down at my ice cream, forcing another bite into my mouth. It tastes like nothing now. I swallow it hard, the cold burning down my throat.
He doesn’t want me.
Vladimira was wrong.
Shame creeps in, heavy and suffocating. I suddenly wish I had worn more—anything more.
“Did you bring someone over?” I ask, keeping my eyes down. “I thought I heard giggling.”
His face flushes instantly.
His mouth opens, then closes.
Silence stretches.
I can’t take it.
“You didn’t tell me Ivan is your brother,” I add quickly, deflecting.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “The walls are thin.”
“You have no idea,” I say, finally letting a small smile slip through.
I finish the last of my ice cream, licking the spoon clean, buying myself a second to breathe. Then I look up at him.
Something has changed.
There’s something new in his eyes now—darker, heavier.
I glance at the oven clock.
Shit.
“I need to get dressed,” I say, sliding off the counter.
I step closer, pressing against him just enough to reach the sink behind him and set my bowl down. I turn the water on, then off again, lingering for a second longer than necessary.
Before I can move away, his arms wrap around me.
My thoughts stall.
I inhale.
He smells so good—clean, sharp, citrus and something deeper. Familiar.
Like Ivan.
A soft giggle escapes me before I can stop it, my thoughts immediately turning filthy, spiraling into all the ways we could ruin this kitchen.
His hands slide down, settling on my ass.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“You smell like Ivan,” I laugh, pushing myself out of his arms before I do something reckless. “I have a tennis game in an hour. We need to get ready.”
I turn to leave, but his hand catches my wrist.
“When do you go back to school?” he asks.
“In a week.”
He nods slowly. “My father… Illia… he does this thing every year. First week of January. He gathers all ten of us.”
“Ten?”
He laughs. “Yeah. Big family. Ivan and I are the youngest. Illia Jr. is the oldest—he’s forty.”
“That’s… a lot,” I murmur.
“Come with me,” he says. “It’s in Spain. Just a few days.”
I hesitate.
“I don’t want to intrude on a family thing.”
“Please,” he says, a grin breaking through. “Come. I would love to see Ivan squirm.”
He laughs—deep, genuine, from his chest.