Chapter 16 #2
“None of that matters,” Dmitri said evenly, every syllable coated in steel. “I want this moment with my wife. Alone. Without a forced intruder poisoning the air.”
For a heartbeat, Seraphina froze.
Then her chin lifted, her gaze sharp, eyes glittering with a storm of hurt and defiance. “Maybe you should push me away yourself,” she said, voice trembling but resolute. “Because I’m not leaving this table.”
Dmitri’s fists clenched, veins corded along his forearms as he took a menacing step toward her. I could feel the heat emanating from him, the kind of rage that could snap steel. This was the Dmitri I knew—the man who could make rooms quiet with a single glance, who could kill without hesitation.
And I knew Seraphina. She thrived on chaos, and this was a trap. One misstep, one burst of violence, and she’d spin it into proof of cruelty, a weapon for her father to unleash against Dmitri. She wanted the drama; she wanted leverage.
I moved before he could take another step, pressing my hands firmly against his chest. My palms were warm, but my grip was steady. “Dmitri,” I said softly, but with an urgent edge, “stop.”
For a heartbeat, his storm-gray eyes locked onto mine, fury coiled like a drawn bow. Then, somewhere between his temper and my insistence, reason flickered. He paused.
I forced a smile, teasing, light, as if none of this mattered. “Perhaps we should give Miss Seraphina exactly what she wants,” I murmured, loud enough for her to hear. “A show.”
Before he could question me, I took his hand—calloused, warm, familiar—and led him around the long dining table. The chandelier above cast a soft, golden light, the polished wood gleaming like a stage.
Seraphina’s gaze followed us, sharp and calculating, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation.
I stopped in front of him, my hands rising to cup his face. His stubble grazed my palms, grounding me in a way nothing else could. I rose onto my toes and pressed my lips to his.
The first touch was tentative, almost reverent, a gentle brush of mouths testing, remembering. For a heartbeat, he remained still, surprised, as if trying to place the weight of five years of absence in that single contact. Then his hands curved possessively around my waist, pulling me closer.
What had begun as soft and exploratory ignited like wildfire.
The kiss deepened—hungry, demanding. His tongue brushed against mine, claiming, tasting, asserting.
I melted into him, fingers threading through his thick hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
Heat surged between us, years of longing and denial crashing together in one devastating wave.
His hands roamed my back, gripping, lifting slightly, and I arched against him instinctively.
Mine were no less desperate, tugging at his shirt, ripping buttons free.
Fabric tore under our fervor, falling to the floor.
He shrugged it off, chest bare beneath my palms, scars and muscle familiar even after all this time.
The room blurred around us—the glittering chandeliers, the polished silverware, the lingering scent of pasta and wine.
Seraphina sat frozen, expression oscillating between shock and fury, powerless in the face of the undeniable bond we shared.
I pulled back just enough to look into Dmitri’s eyes, our breaths mingling, chests rising and falling in tandem. “Do you feel it?” I whispered against his lips.
His gaze darkened, desire and something unspoken—ownership, protection, and the weight of everything we’d lost—flickering there. “Every second I’ve waited,” he murmured, voice low, harsh, “I’ve burned for this moment.”
He backed me against the table’s edge, lips trailing fire down my neck as his fingers worked the zipper of my dress.
The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but lace underwear.
His mouth returned to mine, fierce now, as he lifted me onto the table’s polished surface.
Plates rattled, silverware clinked, but neither of us cared.
I reached for his belt, fumbling in my urgency.
He helped, kicking off trousers and boxers until he stood gloriously bare before me.
His eyes met mine—dark, questioning—as his fingers hooked the clasp of my bra. I nodded, breath hitching.
He unfastened it with practiced ease, letting it fall away before lowering his head.
The first pull of his mouth on my nipple sent lightning through my veins.
He sucked hard, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp, my back arching off the table.
His free hand slid down my stomach, past the waistband of my panties, fingers brushing through the soft curls before finding slick heat.
My jeans from earlier were gone—this was only lace now—and his touch was unhindered, stroking, circling, teasing until I was writhing.
“Dmitri...” I moaned, head falling back, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “Don’t stop... please...”
He moved to my other breast, lavishing the same attention, while his fingers finally slipped inside me—slow at first, then deeper, curling just right.
Pleasure coiled tight and hot in my belly, building with every thrust of his hand, every pull of his mouth.
I was lost—utterly, gloriously lost.
My wet dreams in Greece had nothing on this reality.
“I’m removing these,” he growled against my skin, tugging at my panties.
I silenced him with another kiss, desperate and devouring, as I helped shove them down.
In seconds, I was naked beneath him. He set me fully on the table, plates crashing to the floor in a distant clatter.
His erection pressed hot and heavy against my thigh.
He paused, eyes searching mine one last time.
I nodded frantically, wrapping my legs around his waist.
He entered me in one deep thrust.
I cried out—pain and pleasure intertwined—as he filled me completely. “I’ll take it easy, Maliya,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.
Hearing that old nickname—Maliya, his private endearment from a lifetime ago—shattered something inside me.
He began to move—slow, deliberate strokes that quickly built to something harder, faster.
The table rocked beneath us, cutlery scattering, wine glasses toppling.
I clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, meeting every thrust with my own.
“Look at me,” he commanded, hand gently collaring my throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding.
My eyes, which had rolled back in ecstasy, snapped to his. The intensity there undid me.
He slammed deeper, hitting that perfect spot over and over until I was chanting his name like a prayer. Pleasure crested, sharp and overwhelming.
Then, abruptly, he pulled out.
Before I could protest, he flipped me—gently but firmly—until I faced forward, bent over the table.
Seraphina sat mere feet away, pale as death, eyes wide with shock and humiliation.
Dmitri entered me again from behind, one hand fisting my hair, the other gripping my hip.
The new angle was devastating—deeper, harder. I couldn’t hold back the screams of pleasure.
“Yes... yes... Dmitri!” Each thrust sent waves crashing through me.
I locked eyes with Seraphina, a triumphant smirk curving my lips despite the ecstasy rendering me boneless.
Shame burned in her gaze; she looked ready to vanish into the floor.
Dmitri’s pace became relentless, his ragged breaths hot against my ear. “Come for me,” he growled, plunging deeper and faster.
I gasped, again and again, each wave of sensation pulling me closer, until suddenly everything shattered—an orgasm crashing through me like a storm.
My body convulsed uncontrollably, cries tearing from my throat as the world narrowed to the heat and force of him.
He followed moments later, burying himself deep with a primal groan that vibrated through my back.
He collapsed over me, peppering kisses along my shoulder, my neck, as we both trembled in the aftermath.
Slowly, gently, he pulled me upright and into his arms.
I was limp, boneless, but he carried me effortlessly—naked, sated—up the stairs to our bedroom.
He laid me on the cool sheets, sliding in beside me.
I curled into him immediately, desperation I couldn’t hide driving me to press as close as possible.
His arms wrapped around me, strong and warm.
I knew questions burned in his mind—why this intensity from a woman he believed he’d known only days? But he asked none of them. He simply held me, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back until sleep claimed me.
When I woke, blinding light stabbed my eyes.
I squinted, blinking rapidly, confusion mounting.
This wasn’t the bedroom.