14. Dahlia
14
DAHLIA
A lek doesn’t come down for dinner. It’s just Evelyn, Dimitri, and I, enjoying a meal of braised red wine short ribs over blue cheese mashed potatoes with salad, and ordinarily that would be a perfect night. It’s not that I miss Alek’s presence, either, because I don’t. It’s that I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since this afternoon, and his absence at dinner only intensifies that.
I can still feel the sensation of that scar under my fingertips, like the others I felt on that one night we spent together. He pulled away like I burned him when I touched it, and I’m not naive enough to think that doesn’t mean anything.
He’s been through a lot . Evelyn’s words drift back into my head, and I bite my lip as I push my dinner around my plate. There’s something that I don’t know about my husband, something that I think makes him behave the way he does. But I don’t think I have a chance in hell of finding out what it is…at least not from him.
I haven’t seen him since I ran away from the stables. My stomach tightens, warmth blooming through me when I remember what I heard when I came upstairs this afternoon. I couldn’t quite believe, when I stopped outside of his room, that I was hearing him touch himself. But then he groaned—that same sound he made when he came all over me in my bed—and I knew that was exactly what I was hearing.
I was soaked in an instant, hearing it, my body still throbbing with desire from our encounter outside, that sound only adding to it. I almost went back to my room and made myself come—and the only thing that stopped me was that I don’t want to think of him while I do.
Even if he’d never know, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being the reason for another one of my orgasms.
“You said Alek was gone for a long time, before he came home,” I blurt out, looking up from my plate. Evelyn and Dimitri both pause mid-sentence, looking over at me with confusion. “Where was he? Traveling?”
Evelyn frowns, her hands going still on her utensils. “I don’t know,” she says softly, before Dimitri interjects.
“I don’t know much, either,” he says slowly. “He wasn’t traveling. Something—happened. But,” he adds quickly, seeing the look on my face, “that’s not for me to talk about, Dahlia. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask him. Unfortunately, I think you’re likely to get as much from him as I have, which is…nothing.” Dimitri blows out a sharp breath. “He’s not the same as he used to be. I’m sorry that things have gone the way they have.”
“It’s—” I trail off, unsure of what to say. I can’t say it’s okay , because it’s not. None of this is okay. But it’s also not his or Evelyn’s fault.
“Things will get easier,” I say instead, wishing that I believed that. But I don’t—and they don’t get easier. Day after day, Alek and I try to dance around each other, barely speaking. We’ll run into each other in passing in the hall, or sit across from each other at a meal, and the air will be so tense that it feels like it could be cut with a knife. We barely say a sentence’s worth of words to each other over the next week, but all the same, I can feel his presence constantly lingering. Neither of us seems to want to be alone with the other for long, and after what happened at the barn, I know why.
We might hate each other, but the memory of that one night is still strong, and it makes it hard for either of us to control ourselves if we’re close to one another. I don’t want to want him, but my body does, and I think it’s the same for him—even if he’d never admit it.
Friday night, to my surprise, he’s at the dinner table when I come down. I picked something nice to wear, not expecting him to be there, and I immediately regret the springy, yellow-flowered sundress that I chose when I walk in and his eyes rake over me.
I can feel every thought running through his head, and I know they’re all filthy. And worse, I can’t help wishing that I knew what they were.
It makes the festering hate growing in my chest even worse. And it makes me curious, too. Despite myself, I want to know what happened. I want to know why he’s like this.
His mouth presses together in a thin line as I sit down next to Evelyn, his hand flattening against his fork as he looks down at the bowl of tomato bisque that was served for the first course. He’s still not wearing his ring, which doesn’t come as a surprise. It makes me wish I’d taken mine off. Every morning, I think about doing it, and every morning I end up leaving the thin band on my finger. I don’t really understand why. It makes no sense, but whether out of sheer stubbornness or something else altogether, I can’t bring myself to take it off.
I pick at my food, knowing I need to eat more, but Alek sitting across from me makes it nearly impossible. I’ve lost a bit of weight, which isn’t ideal while I’m pregnant, and I know the doctor will tell me as much when I go for my next appointment.
“Not hungry?” he asks, when the main course of roasted chicken and lemon carrots is served, and I’m still only taking tiny bites. I look up, a bitter feeling tightening my throat.
“Having you here is killing my appetite.” I force a tight smile at him, and I hear Dimitri’s muffled sigh. Evelyn has infinite patience with me, but Dimitri’s patience is far from that, and I know he’s getting tired of the ever-present tension in the mansion. If he had his way, Alek and I would make up, and at the very least get along, if not exist in wedded bliss together.
“Fine. I’ll leave.” Alek starts to get up, throwing his napkin down to the table, and Dimitri’s voice thunders through the room.
“Sit down!” he snaps, and Alek’s eyes narrow.
“You’re sounding an awful lot like otets these days,” he murmurs, and there’s a veiled threat in his words that I don’t understand. “You should be careful who you bark orders at, brother.”
Dimitri’s hands tighten on his silverware. “You live here by my grace, brother ,” he says coolly. “Because you’re my family, and because I know that the last five years have been?—”
“Don’t say another fucking word.” Alek starts to get up again, but I shove my chair back, my stomach turning as I push away from the table.
“Dahlia—” Evelyn starts to say my name, but I shake my head, unable to sit there a moment longer. Dimitri can’t make me stay at the table.
I throw her an apologetic look, bolting out of the room. I don’t want to hide in my bedroom, so I end up going to the first room I can think of that might offer some privacy—the library downstairs. By the time I get there, closing the door firmly behind me as I hurry inside, the twisting sensation in my stomach has settled a little.
The room is warm, and cozy enough to make me feel like I can breathe again, despite the fact that it’s fairly large. Someone started a fire in the fireplace, and the scent of burning wood mingled with the crackling sound of it calms me down further.
I walk over to the fire, resting one hand on the back of one of the velvet wing chairs and another on my stomach, drawing in slow breaths through my nose and letting them out through my mouth. There’s no need to let him get to me, I tell myself, closing my eyes and listening to the comforting snap of the flames. He’s just a man. He doesn’t deserve my ? —
The sound of the door opening startles me, making me jump and gasp aloud, and I spin around to see Alek walking into the room. He freezes mid-step as he sees me standing there, jaw tightening as he seems to waver between leaving and something else—probably telling me to get out.
“What is your problem?” The words burst out before I can stop them, and Alek looks momentarily even more startled than before.
“You’re here, in my family’s house.” He bites out every word, his dark gaze fixed on me from where he’s standing. “That’s my fucking problem.”
“You agreed to marry me.” I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest. “Where did you think I was going to go?”
“I’m already regretting it.” He hesitates, but he starts to walk towards me, almost as if he can’t stop himself. Like I’m drawing him in without meaning to. He stops an arm’s-length away, his eyes narrowed as he looks down at me. “I’m regretting everything that’s ever happened between us.”
“That makes two of us.” I glare up at him.
“Because your life was fine before we met?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard bits of your conversations with Evelyn, you know. You’d be happier back in Washington D.C., living with some man that your father wanted to marry you off to?”
Something burns in my gut at the thought that he knows anything about me. “It’d be better than being married to you!” I snap, stepping forward as I jab at his chest with a pointed finger. It’s not true—even Alek isn’t worse than an endless existence with Jude—but he doesn’t know that.
His hand shoots up, grabbing my wrist, and with one swift move he pulls me close, up against him. The feeling of his hard body against mine sucks all the air from my lungs, and I’m momentarily breathless, looking up at him as those cold hazel eyes stare down into mine.
“I don’t believe you,” he says smoothly. “In fact, I think I heard you telling Evelyn just that. At least I’m still in New York, and not married to Jude , were your exact words, I think.”
My cheeks burn hotly. “I changed my mind,” I bite out, and Alek looks at me, those dark eyes feeling as if they’re burning right through me.
“Changed your mind about what, zhena ?” he murmurs. “About wanting me to touch you? I can feel your heart fluttering, malen’kaya ptichka .”
His words spill over me, seductive as silk, choking like smoke, wrapping around me and making me forget why I want him to let me go. His rasping voice, tinged with that accent, makes my knees feel weak, and even though I’m still glaring up at him, even though I still swear I hate him with every bone in my body, a traitorous voice in the back of my head whispers that angry sex can be a lot of fun, too.
That angry sex with Alek could be the hottest fucking sex of my life. Even better than that first night.
The hand not holding my wrist drops to my waist, down to my hip, his fingers curling there and pulling me closer. I hadn’t thought there was any space left between us, but somehow Alek finds it, erasing it, our bodies so close together that I can feel the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, even with the layers of fabric between us.
“Do you want me to fuck you in here, zhena ?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over my lips, his mouth painfully close to mine. I can feel how hard he is, grinding into my thigh, and I feel myself clench at the memory of how it felt to have all of that thick, hard length inside of me. “I could bend you over that chair, right there, and make you scream for me.” His hand tightens on my hip, tugging up the skirt of my dress. “Do you want to come on my cock again?”
I feel as if I can’t breathe. His hand is sliding under my skirt, fingers grazing my upper thigh, finding the edge of my panties. My eyes squeeze shut as they slip between my legs, because I know what he’ll find there—the fabric clinging to my skin, soaked through with my arousal.
“ Shlyukha ,” he growls, his fingers rubbing back and forth over the outside of my panties, dragging a whimper from my lips. “I’d barely get inside of you before you came.”
I’m not sure what he said at the beginning of that sentence, but from his tone—derogatory and thick with lust at the same time—I don’t think it was something sweet. But my body doesn’t care. It’s clamoring for him, my hips arching into his hand even as I try to summon the strength to pull away, and I feel his lips near my ear, his breath warm against the shell as his fingers dip beneath the edge of my panties.
“ Ah ,” he groans, as his fingertips slide in the slick wetness there, finding my clit instantly. A moan escapes me, and I grab his shirt with my free hand, clinging to him as my urge to run disappears with the promise of what his talented fingers can do.
“I hate you,” I whisper brokenly, the word ending on a cracked moan, and Alek’s teeth sink into my earlobe, his lips sucking as his fingers slide down to my entrance.
“I hate you too, zhena ,” he growls, and two fingers slide inside of me, impaling me as he grinds the heel of his hand against my clit.
Oh god. He’s right, it isn’t going to take long. My knees are already buckling, and Alek’s arm wraps around my waist, holding me upright as he fingers me roughly. My head falls back, and his mouth burns a searing line down my throat, his groan vibrating against my skin as he bites sharply just above my shoulder.
“Fuck!” I cry out, bucking into his hand, feeling myself tighten around his fingers. I’m so close, my toes curling, my breath coming in small, quick gasps, and my lips part on another moan as I feel myself on the verge of cresting into an orgasm that I desperately need?—
Alek pulls back, yanking his fingers free and stepping away from me so quickly that I nearly fall. Only the chair just behind me saves me, and I grab for it, staring at him through lust-glazed eyes as the corners of his lips twitch ever-so-slightly.
His cock is standing out against the tight black denim, a thick ridge that I swear I can see throbbing. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and as I stand there trembling he lifts his hand to his nose, nostrils flaring as he breathes in my scent before his tongue flicks out to lick my arousal away.
My knees almost buckle.
“What a needy little whore,” Alek growls. “My dirty little bride, drenched for a man who can’t stand the sight of her.” A tight sound that could almost be a laugh barks from his lips, and his gaze rakes over me. “Get out. I want to enjoy my night here.”
I stare at him for a brief second, wanting to argue. But I can feel hot tears burning at the back of my eyes, my humiliation and stolen orgasm bringing me to the verge of bursting into sobs. I won’t let him see that, and I drag in a ragged breath, forcing myself to straighten as I lift my chin, stalking past him to the door.
I can feel his eyes on me as I walk past. Out of the corner of mine, I see him drop into the chair, bringing his fingers to his nose again as his hand drops to his belt. A shudder runs down my spine, imagining him taking his cock out, stroking it with the scent of my arousal in his nostrils, but I can’t stay here a second longer.
With tears on the edge of my lashes, I flee upstairs, thankful that I don’t see anyone else on the way to my bedroom. I fling myself inside, leaning back against the door, closing my eyes tightly as I try to banish everything he made me feel.
But I can’t. Desire pulses through me, thick and hot, dragging me under. I yank up my skirt with one hand, my fingers finding their way under the edge of my soaked panties, finding the spot he abandoned. I suck in a breath as the first jolt of pleasure hits me, every nerve in my body still primed, still desperate to come, and I try not to think of him as I stroke my slick, swollen clit.
But it’s impossible. Escaping him is impossible. A shuddering whimper escapes me with every circle my finger makes, every building ripple of pleasure, and even when I hear footsteps coming down the hall, that heavy tread that I know is him, I can’t stop.
I hate him for denying me, and I hate him for making me want him. I lean my head back against the door as my fingers move faster, gasping, stroking, imagining Alek doing the same, and I hear his footsteps stop. I know he can hear me, and it only turns me on more.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but they slip out anyway, whimpers and small gasping moans—nothing like the sounds I know he can drag from me. I swear I can hear his breathing outside the door, feel his heavy, oppressive presence, and my hand slides down of its own accord, two fingers slipping inside of me as I grind the heel of my hand into my clit.
It’s not as good as his touch. My slender fingers can’t compare with his, thick and rough inside of me, but I arch my hips up into my hand, feeling the orgasm build as I gasp aloud, and I know that the moment it breaks over me, he’ll be listening to me come.
The pleasure crashes over me in a wave that buckles my knees, sending me sliding down the door as I moan, fingers still curled inside of myself as my back arches and the orgasm spasms through me. It feels so good, a release I desperately needed, but it’s nothing like what it would have felt like with him. I close my eyes tightly, still rubbing the heel of my hand against my clit, drawing it out as I hear him shift outside, the floor creaking.
I almost open the door. This isn’t enough. I need more—I need what only he can give me, and I hate him for making me feel this way. The only consolation—the only thing that stops me—is that I’m all but certain that he’s feeling the exact same thing.
And if I’m going to suffer, I can at least make him suffer too.