Chapter 21 Dahlia
DAHLIA
Is this my life right now? I glance from him to the spectacular concert hall as the orchestra musicians take their places on the stage.
Music and him have been my two biggest loves. For most of my life, it felt like I would always yearn for one.
Emotions tug at my heartstrings, creating a soulful melody that plays on repeat in my chest, his masterful hands playing every heightened beat.
Secluded in the shadows, our love threatens to explode into fireworks, illuminating the night sky. It cannot be contained. Our love is beyond our control.
I embrace its addictive power, ignoring the possibility that it could destroy me.
He draws my chin to look at him, and I don’t want to mask my emotions. I’m exhausted from always hiding, only loving him from afar.
“Baby girl,” he rasps, that deep voice wrapping my heart in a warm blanket.
He brushes his lips against mine. I latch onto his kiss, wishing with all of me to freeze this moment while knowing it’s impossible. It feels like that’s all I’ll ever get—precious, stolen moments. Feeding on crumbs that will have to nurture my starved soul.
He nudges his face in the crook of my neck, running his nose up and down my sensitive skin, which flourishes with goose bumps. “Tell me what you desire most.”
Determination oozes from every letter. My lovely monster, who would shift the world off its axis to rearrange it into the one I want.
“You.”
“Me? When I could give you the world?” His intense eyes bore into mine, and his brows furrow as if not comprehending that he could give me everything, yet I’d choose him.
“You’re my world,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes for a second as if to absorb my words.
I’d show him every day what he means to me if I could.
Yet someone else dictates my life. Responsibility, duty.
Love doesn’t have a place at the table in the Mafia.
The exceptions are rare and in-between, causing even more bloodshed.
In our case, it would cause pandemonium.
We’re so close, I inhale his breath. I couldn’t be any closer to him physically or emotionally, making me wonder how I will ever be able to sell our connection as a friendship, a sibling one, to my brother again.
I am afraid that at his name alone I will light up, broadcasting my forbidden feelings in neon colors.
“You’re tearing me apart, fiber by fiber, baby girl. You terrify me.”
A smile teases my lips, loving that I have this effect on him.
“You’re enjoying my torment?” he groans.
“I’ll make it better,” I promise.
“You so will.”
A delicious shiver skitters down my back, eager for him to own my body and control my pleasure. Caught in his sexual spell, I forget where we are as I squirm in his lap.
His palm comes down on my thigh, his thick and long fingers spanning over my skin, making me feel tiny in comparison and even safer. That hand would cause irreparable damage to anyone who threatened my well-being.
“Thank you,” I gulp, watching the lights dim and the chatter vanish.
“I have to show the world to my queen.”
“Never stop.” I plead, hoping for a miracle.
“You’ll get whatever your greedy little heart desires.”
“What do you truly want?” I ask, genuinely curious. He could get everything with the snap of his fingers.
“To die while in your pussy, wrapped in your arms.”
I slap him playfully on his arm, biting down on my lip to muffle my amusement. His needs are basic. He might appear like a god, but he’s still just a man. My man.
His smirk remains plastered on his face, but every trace of playfulness vanishes, replaced by stony solemnity. He cups my cheek, softness reflecting in his eyes, mixed with pure need. “You. Day in. Day out. Every night. For all my life and beyond if possible.”
I’ve never doubted that he cares for me. But while I hoped he’d love me, he has been just as in love with me as I with him. Never unrequited. I can’t even be mad at him for hiding his feelings so proficiently. We were too busy battling our demons to see the other’s perspective.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” I murmur, brushing a kiss to his lips.
He holds me to his chest, breathing me in as he kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry I ever gave you the impression that you’re not the center of my world. Because that’s what you are to me. The center. My world. My fucking heart.”
His confession leaves me speechless, too busy locking them in the treasure room of my heart—for safekeeping, guarding them with every fiber of my being.
The concert begins, and I relax further into his arms, feeling lighter.
I imagine being there on the stage. When I was younger, I fantasized about traveling the world, performing on the most renowned stages, and playing with the most illustrious orchestras. The idea hasn’t completely lost its appeal, but I am happiest at home.
Occasionally, sure, but I need my familiar space to recharge. Surrounded by my piano, him, and my family, I have everything I need to feel fulfilled.
The music takes me somewhere else—to a faraway land where music is God, and the worshipers praise every note.
“Not better than your music. No wonder they want you,” he mumbles behind me.
Do I love how much he loves my music? Definitely. But these are some of the best classical musicians in the world. And I am just one of them.
“You insisted I’d spread my wings.”
He groans unintelligible sounds, but I discern something like. “I’ve been a fool.”
“That I’m wasting my talent in Reno.” I air quote and roll my eyes at him.
“Careful, baby girl. I could as well keep you at home where you could play only for me.”
Our eyes lock, the intensity reflected in them, leaving me breathless.
“Better than me being thousands of miles away…”
“Oh, Dahlia, you’d be mine even millions of miles more. I’d follow you anywhere.”
I gulp through the lump of emotions lodged in my throat. He would.
In theory, it would be no problem. It’s the practical aspect that would be the issue. I know it. He knows it, but we’re in our bubble where nothing is impossible and our love bends the laws of time, space, the life we know.
His phone vibrates, and a groan vibrates in his throat. “I’m going to kill someone if they keep interrupting us.”
“Take it. It’s okay.” I nod in assurance and stand up so he can slip out.
He doesn’t close the door, talking on the phone just a few feet from me, running an agitated hand down his face. Nothing new, so I shift my eyes to the stage.
The music steals my entire attention, but my heart catches his return. “Is there a problem?”
“Only people pissing me off.”
I giggle. “So, nothing new.”
“Brat.”
I stick my tongue out, and the amusement slips from his face, something darker emerging.
“No,” I blurt out, knowing something runs through his mind. I am not even sure I want to stop him, but it feels like the most sensible thing to do.
He arches a sharp brow that makes me swallow hard. “Are you denying me what’s mine?”
Only he can take over my thoughts, scatter my rationality into dust. Only he can turn my body into clay—malleable. Something for him to bend, stretch, and twist at his will.
“No,” I whisper, so hot and bothered and flushed.
This man will make me combust one day.
Keeping eye contact, he gets on his knees in front of me, and my eyes double, watching over the balcony to see if anyone can see us. But even that is forgotten when his hands graze my thighs. I jump, knowing it’s wrong, but the temptation is too great to abstain.
“What if—” But I forget my question when I notice his expression.
“I’d commit atrocious things to anyone who would even glimpse what’s mine.”
A shaky moan rolls out of my mouth. His unapologetic possessiveness drives me wild for him.
He’ll get what he wants. I lose the fight with what’s morally or societally acceptable. On his knees, looking like a beast ready to tear through its mate, he is a vision—famished for me, driven by raw lust.
I freaking love him going down on me, but damn, I think he loves it even more.
He tugs at my thong, slowly slipping it down my thighs, awakening goose bumps to pepper my skin. His fingers travel down to my ankles before he wraps his hands around them and brings my feet to his shoulder, forcing me to lean back and scoot forward.
Music is all-encompassing, but it stopped being the focus of my attention. I can’t stifle my moans. The pleasure vibrates through me, causing me to tremble and demanding to express it.
“Look at this glistening pussy. So eager to get fucked.”
His dirty mouth only increases the desire running rampant in my belly and wreaking havoc.
“Your fault,” I whisper.
He chuckles before he buries his face between my thighs and devours me. There’s no words to describe what he does between my legs, inflaming the passion so much that our balcony might catch fire.
He groans low in his throat, savoring me with gusto, I am pretty sure he would rather eat me than a six-course meal prepared by a Michelin chef.
I try to keep quiet while everything in me constricts—pulled taut to the point I might break apart.
He plays with my folds like the conductor plays the orchestra—shapes, guides, sets the tempo, having total control. His mouth is wicked, his fingers relentless, making me ride a wave that will most definitely crash over my head and drown me in euphoria.
“Mika…” I cry out his name as my hands shoot to his hair to hold onto him.
His teeth drag along my clit, sending pleasure that intoxicates me.
“Is my good girl asking for permission to come?” he asks hoarsely as he rubs his thumb along my slit.
Why does that sound so hot? I almost come on the spot. Nothing is more sensual, more erotic than the man you love possessing you, firmly trapped in his web of sin and carnality.
I grip the armrest, losing my damn mind by the second. It feels too good, and I choke out on stuttered breath.
“What melody are they playing?” he asks, his tongue flicking my clit as he pumps two thick fingers inside of me.