Craving Dahlia

13. Alek

13

ALEK

T he first thing I feel when I wake up is the pressure of the ring on my finger, a little too tight, digging into the skin just below my cheekbone where my hand is tucked under my face. I pull my hand free, holding it up as I blink awake to the sun coming in through the window, and I see the rays glint off of the gold band.

Gritting my teeth, I yank it off, feeling the air leave my lungs in a sharp exhale as I set it on my bedside table. I don’t want the physical reminder of the vows I made yesterday, vows that I didn’t mean and don’t intend to even begin to keep.

We have an understanding, I remind myself. Dahlia heard me loud and clear when I told her there would be no expectation of love or sex in our marriage, and whatever I said in view of the public yesterday, that’s what I’ll stick to. If she expects anything else, then she’s a fool.

Wide-awake now, I sit up, the sheet pooling around my hips as I rub my hands over my face. The room is cool, my bare skin prickling, and I glance instinctively towards the door. I locked it last night, the way I have since I came to stay here, but I don’t want anyone to walk in and see me without a shirt on. Just the thought makes my stomach tighten, and I look at the lock once more, almost compulsively, before flinging myself back down to the pillows, drawing in a deep breath.

There’s no escaping my new wife, not entirely. She lives here, and she’s hardly going to hide herself away in her room in perpetuity. Maybe she might if it were just the two of us, but she’s Evelyn’s best friend, and I’m sure the two of them will have no end of fun playing house in Dimitri’s mansion.

The thought makes my hands curl into fists in the sheets. I don’t want to think about her, and yet it’s impossible not to.

She makes me feel things that I thought were dead, emotion and desire that I thought I’d forgotten and had no plans to awaken with the ferocity that she’s stirred in me. When I saw her coming down the aisle yesterday, I couldn’t so much as look at her, or I would have been rock-fucking-hard while standing in front of a priest, waiting on my bride.

Dahlia had to have picked that fucking dress on purpose. It clung to every inch of her, barely showing any skin, and yet still making me feel that same primal, feral urge that I felt the night we met: the need to devour her, to ravish her, to rip that dress away like some kind of caveman and bury myself in her so deeply she’d feel the imprint of my cock for days.

It made me feel like an animal. I hadn’t been able to let myself touch her while we stood there, saying our vows. Just that kiss made me want to grab her and pull her close, feel every warm inch of her body pressing against mine, made me want to devour her mouth in front of every single one of those guests and God himself.

And I hated her for it. I still do. As far as I can tell, there’s a not insignificant chance that she’s trapped me into marriage with a baby that might not even be mine. Once again, a woman is trying to bring me to my knees, to use my desire against me, and I want no fucking part of it.

It was meant to be one fucking night. I let out a growl of frustration, ignoring my now-hard cock as I roll out of bed and go to get dressed.

The idea of going down for breakfast, of sitting and making small talk that will undoubtedly either involve the wedding or a pointed silence regarding it, feels impossible. I head away from the dining room instead as I go downstairs, going out the front door and into the sunshine just beyond.

It’s a beautiful day—a good day for a walk. I head down one of the walking paths that leads towards the back of the estate, hands shoved in my jeans’ pockets, taking in the rolling greenery and the gardens. Anything to get Dahlia out of my head, to stop thinking about her.

Eventually, I see the stables rising in the distance, getting closer as I head further back on the property. Something tightens in my chest as I look at them. I was never any good at riding, but Dimitri enjoyed it, and from time to time, he dragged me out here. A flicker of curiosity prickles over my skin as I wonder if they’re still the way I remember, and I turn down the path that leads me that way, pausing before I walk into the cool, dim light of the barn’s aisle.

It smells the way I remember—dirt, hay, the warm scent of animal fur. I wait for the heavy hand of nostalgia to settle over me, to feel something about this place, but nothing comes. I stand there, listening to the whickering of the horses and the stamping of hooves, and start to head down the aisle, planning to walk through and take the roundabout path back to the mansion.

I’m not one to be easily caught off guard. But I’m lost in thought, frustrated and irritable, and I don’t see Dahlia until I nearly run into her as I walk out of the other side of the barn.

“Alek!” She gasps my name, throwing her hands up to stop me, and they momentarily brush against my chest. Even that small touch, combined with the sound of her gasping my name, sends a jolt of near-painful desire through me, my cock instantly hardening. In the space of a second, I go from soft to straining against the front of my jeans, and I let out a sharp hiss, stepping back abruptly.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?”

Dahlia’s eyes widen. “Evelyn and Dimitri told me I should come out here and check the stables out—” She trails off, her lips flattening. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

“Isn’t it?” I raise my eyebrow, and her expression turns murderous.

“If you say a single word about it being your business because you’re my fucking husband now…”

Some dark, devilish part of me wants to taunt her. To push her. I want her to explode, so I can find out all the ways she’s undoubtedly lying to me. So I can find out what her angle is, what she stands to gain from all of this.

“Aren’t I?” I look pointedly down at her left hand. The gold band is still there—she didn’t take hers off. Something clenches oddly in my chest as I see it, and I shove the feeling away forcefully.

Dahlia’s gaze flicks to my ring finger. “You’re not even wearing your ring,” she scoffs. “This means nothing to you, clearly.”

“And it means something to you?” A tight, sharp sound barks from my chest, something almost adjacent to a laugh. “This entire thing is an arrangement for your benefit. To make sure you don’t end up on the street with a child that might be mine…”

Dahlia’s eyes flash fire. “I swear to god, Alek, if you say that again?—”

She reaches up, shoving at my chest as she starts to push past me, and I feel something snap. Something that I hadn’t even realized was strung so tightly until it’s too late.

I move without thinking. Before I even know what I’m doing, I grab both her wrists in mine, swinging her to one side and pushing her back so that her back hits the barn’s outer wall, hard.

Almost instinctively, I move closer, caging her in as I pin her wrists over her head. Dahlia sucks in a sharp, sudden breath, her eyes going wide as she stares up at me, and I see all the blood drain out of her face—except at the height of her cheekbones, where the skin is flushed red.

Her throat moves convulsively as she swallows, and I nearly groan as my cock throbs, pushing against my zipper with a force that threatens to break it. I remember the feeling of her mouth in the back of that cab all too well, the heat of her lips around me, the way her throat closed around it as she swallowed my cum. My hips rock forward of my own accord, pressing my thick, straining erection against her thigh, and Dahlia gasps again.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispers, her eyes narrowing, and I raise an eyebrow,

“I’m already touching you, zhena .”

The word startles me. Wife . But that’s what she is. My wife—and my body is rioting, demanding to know why I didn’t take her to bed last night, why I didn’t fuck her the way I should have.

I could fucking come inside of her now, and it wouldn’t matter. She’s already pregnant. My eyes close briefly at the thought, my cock throbbing at the imagined pleasure of driving myself into her as deeply as I can, raw. Of letting myself come inside of her, filling her up, of feeling that exquisite pleasure again for the first time in so long that I can’t even remember any longer just how good it was.

I could fuck her right up against this wall. I feel her back arch slightly, her soft, perfect body wanting to welcome me, even if she’s resisting it. I can feel the pulse of the desire between us, like a tangible thing, something I could reach out and touch the way I’m touching her right now.

This is what she wants. To entice you. Entrap you. To make you want her, and then destroy you. Bitter pain writhes in my gut, tangling with the lust that’s fogging all my senses, and Dahlia squirms against me, trying to wrench her hands free. She manages to get one loose, planting her palm against my chest in another effort to shove me away from her, but she might as well shove a brick wall. I’m not going anywhere unless I want to.

And the longer I stand here, breathing in her sweet scent, feeling the heat of her body so close to mine, the less I want to.

My gaze flicks down to her soft, full lips, and I’m so close to leaning in and kissing her. The only thing that stops me is how intimate it seems. I’ve been inside of her, and yet the thought of leaning forward and pinning her to this wall, my mouth devouring hers, seems so painfully intimate that I recoil from it instantly.

And yet—I don’t move. I’m frozen there, staring down at her, her scent and her warmth filling my senses. Dahlia’s face softens slightly, her eyes wide as she looks up at me, and I feel her hand start to slide down my chest, stuttering with every motion as her fingertips trail over the ridges of my abs, only the thin fabric of my shirt between her skin and mine.

I can’t recall ever having been so fucking hard in my entire life, except for the first night we were together. My breath catches in my throat, memories of that night flooding in, burning through me, as Dahlia’s fingers drop to the edge of my jeans. My hips arch forward, grinding my stiff cock into her thigh, and she lets out the smallest, whimpering moan as her fingertips graze the taut skin of my abdomen just beneath my shirt…and catch on one of the thick, raised scars there.

A sharp hiss escapes me, and I jerk back as if I’ve been burned, putting several inches of space between Dahlia and I as I stumble backwards. Her lips part, and I see the moment that she realizes what we were about to do, recognition dawning on her face as she pushes herself away from the barn wall and darts away before I can catch her again.

She turns, looking at me once more, her mouth open as if she’s about to say something, before it snaps shut again. She turns, fleeing up the path back towards the mansion, leaving me standing there rock-hard and stunned.

The feeling of her fingertips against the scar still feels seared into my skin. My cock throbs against my zipper, demanding relief, and I clench my hands into fists, resisting the urge to run after her. To chase her, grab her, topple her into the grass and fuck her until she screams my name like she did that first night.

My hand is already at my belt before I realize it. My mind is fogged with lust, and I clench my teeth until they grind together, flinging myself back against the wall where I had her pinned a moment ago as my fingers feverishly find my zipper and yank it down.

Someone could walk by. Someone could see me, Dimitri Yashkov’s once-feared younger brother, the enforcer of the Yashkov Bratva, jerking off outside over a woman, too feral with lust to wait until I get back to the privacy of my own room.

But I can’t wait. My hand closes around my cock, hard and hot, palming it free of the constraints of my jeans as I start to stroke. My head falls back against the sun-warmed wood of the wall, the pleasure jolting over my skin like pinpricks of electricity, my abs already tightening in anticipation of my orgasm as I stroke.

My shaft is already wet with pre-cum, and I rub my palm over the head, getting it wet as I start to stroke faster. I spread my legs wider, hips thrusting up into my hand, wanting to think of anything other than Dahlia—any woman, any infatuation I’ve ever had or anyone who’s ever been in my bed—but she’s all I can think of. The scent of her in my nose, the wet heat of her against my mouth, the way she moaned and writhed as I ate her out in that elevator. The hot clasp of her around my bare cock, so fucking tight, the most exquisite pleasure I can remember feeling in so long that nothing else can compare now—and those memories play over and over again in my head until I fixate on the one that makes my balls tighten and heat gather at the base of my spine, my cock throbbing in my fist.

Her on her knees in that cab, her lips wrapped around me, eyes wet with tears as she choked on it, my hand fisting in her hair. The raw eroticism of it, the control, the power I had over her, forcing her to suck my cock while the cab driver listened—that might have been the hottest fucking moment of my entire life. And as I play it over again in my head, my hand a blur on my cock now as I stroke it roughly, I know that’s what’s going to make me come.

Right out here in the open, because there’s no fucking way I can stop even long enough to go inside. I’m going to come, and as much as I hate it, I know I’m going to come for her .

“All over your fucking face—” I snarl, envisioning her on her knees in front of me, head back and mouth open for my cum, and the white-hot pleasure overtakes me in an instant as I slam my hand down to the base of my cock, my shaft rock-hard and throbbing as I explode.

I moan, the ragged sound filling the air as my cum arcs out onto the grass, splashing everywhere as I stroke roughly, imagining that I’m coating Dahlia in it. Covering her in it, like I did that night that I fucked her. I remember the feeling of her clit under my finger, slick with it, and another shuddering spasm wracks me, more shooting from the tip of my cock as I close my eyes and groan.

Years without sex, and after one night, I can’t fucking control myself. I feel dizzy as the pleasure ebbs, my cock softening in my fist, my stomach twisting with self-loathing as I look at the mess I’ve made. I shove my cock back into my jeans, zipping up as my jaw tightens, fresh resolve to not let myself lose control like this again washing over me. But I stare in the direction that Dahlia walked away, and I know that control is fraying with every day that passes.

Marrying her was a mistake. I should have left well enough alone, made her prove that the child was mine before I agreed to anything at all.

I was already barely keeping it together. Now, her proximity might be enough to drive me fucking insane.

—

Thankfully, Dahlia is nowhere to be seen when I get back to the mansion. I go to the kitchen, where the cook is more than happy to fix me a ham sandwich and chips to take back up to my room so that I don’t have to see the others for lunch, and I retreat to the privacy of my bedroom. I pace as I eat, feeling caged, frustrated at feeling the need to stay in this small space in order to avoid Dahlia. I wish she’d never fucking moved in here.

I flop back onto my bed, trying not to think about her. But the memory of her from earlier comes back, and just as the image of her wide eyes looking up at me as I pinned her swims back into my mind, I hear her voice floating from downstairs.

It’s not clear enough for me to know what she’s saying, but it grates on me—mostly because I like the sound of her voice. It’s soft and musical, cultured in the way that someone who’s grown up with money is, and I feel myself stiffening again as I listen to it.

Fuck . I can’t stop myself. In a matter of seconds, my cock is out and in my hand again, and I close my eyes, running my hand along my stiff length as I listen to the faint tones of Dahlia’s voice.

I’ve fucking lost it. Jerking off to the sound of a woman talking… my hand moves faster, rubbing over the sensitive head, my body completely forgetting that I came harder than I have in weeks just an hour or so ago.

I hear her footsteps on the stairs, the sound of her humming under her breath. Those footsteps come closer, and I look quickly towards the door to make sure it’s locked. It is, and I stroke faster still, imagining her hearing the wet slap of my hand against my shaft, of her feeling herself get wet, remembering how it felt inside of her.

She still has no idea how much better it could fucking feel. The things I could do to her?—

The footsteps get closer, near my door, and my cock stiffens, my balls abruptly drawing up as the orgasm hits me just at the thought of Dahlia outside, hearing me jerk off. A groan escapes me, long and ragged, filled with the pleasure of my climax as cum spurts into my hand, and I hear her footsteps stop.

I imagine I can hear her breathing, the rapid pound of her heart, that I can smell her fear and desire all mixed together. I’ve never felt like as much of an animal as I do at this moment, with my cum coating my hand and my wife standing just outside the door, not even when I was caged like one.

A moment passes, my hand still wrapped around my cock, beads of cum still pearling from the tip and dripping over my fingers as the last of my orgasm ripples through me. And then…the footsteps move on.

My chest heaves, my breathing coming hard as I let go of my cock, shoving myself up from the bed. That feeling of self-loathing hits again, and I rub my clean hand over my face, groaning into my palm as I get up on shaky legs, staggering to the shower to clean up.

A hot shower and change of clothes later, I feel slightly more human—and frantic to get out of the mansion. My room feels too small, too confined, and I finish getting dressed, grabbing the keys to my bike and stalking downstairs. I pass Dimitri just as I head for the door, and he stops, frowning.

“Not joining us for dinner?”

“I’m going out.” I bite out the words, barely looking at him, feeling my muscles coil tightly. I know he doesn’t deserve my ire—that there’s nothing that points to him having been responsible for what happened to me, that the only way to know why he or my father didn’t come for me is to ask. But instead, I’ve been avoiding him, Dimitri dancing around the past and me stubbornly refusing to broach the questions that need to be asked. It’s not his fault I felt compelled to make Dahlia the offer that I did, either, but I need someone to blame, and my big brother, the one who suggested it in the first place, is right there.

“You should come to dinner,” Dimitri says evenly. “Sit down with your family. With your wife.”

“I don’t want to see her,” I growl, and Dimitri’s frown deepens.

“She’s your wife now, Alek?—”

“I feel trapped!” The words spill out, each one cut off sharply, startling me. It’s the most honest thing I’ve said to my brother since coming back, the first time I’ve let him see even the flicker of an emotion. The first time I’ve allowed one. “With her here—I feel fucking boxed in. I need to get out. I need—” I feel a sick, tight feeling coiling in my stomach, panic prickling over my skin. That feeling of being trapped sets me off like nothing else, and right now it feels like this whole fucking family, everyone in this house, is conspiring to force me into a corner. I need to get out of here for a little while. I need to be away from all of them, to clear my head.

I stalk past him, my keys clutched so tightly in my hand that they bite into my skin. I’m almost to the door when I hear Dimitri’s icy voice behind me, full of disappointment and exhaustion.

“Don’t bring a woman back here, Alek. And for fuck’s sake, don’t get another one pregnant.”

“I have no fucking intention of that,” I snap, shoving the door open as I step out into the cool night air.

The door slams behind me, and I suck in a lungful of it, trying to calm myself. But anger is rioting through me, anger and betrayal and a feeling of loss that I’ve tried to bury deeply enough that it’ll never resurface, and the only thing that can help that is to go for a ride.

Somewhere that I can get a drink, and forget about all of this for a little while.