Chapter 15 #2
As the kiss deepens, I wonder if submitting to Viktor might not mean losing myself but rather finding a new kind of strength in our twisted, complicated bond.
He pulls away and stares at me, his pupils dilated.
“We have to go. We're already running late.”
“God forbid we leave your family waiting,” I say sarcastically.
“Lydia,” Viktor warns, his voice a low growl.
“This argument is unresolved, Viktor. But I will go with you.” I turn away. “Not because I'm conceding, but because you told me they're serving brownies. And I'm fucking starving for a brownie.”
I have to admit, I’m starting to like our little tiffs. It excites me when he gets in my space. It feels like that first scratch of a match, the excitement rising in my chest in the same way. He is like fire, danger, always skirting the fucking edge.
We walk to the car parked outside.
“Aren't you going to tell me what you expect of my behavior, sir?” I ask in a mocking tone. The way his eyes turn to fire when I call him sir…
“Yes, that's an excellent idea,” he says, opening the door for me. I climb into the seat, and he watches as I buckle up. Almost absentmindedly, he reaches over and smooths a crinkled part of the belt. I look away. That doesn’t mean anything.
No, I’m not going to soften just because he’s doing that tender thing with me again. Nope.
When I glance back, he’s looking at me with a mixture of awe and surprise.
“What?” I ask, immediately self-conscious.
“I just…” His words trail off, his voice husky.
“Just what?”
He swallows. “Sometimes it feels like I’m dreaming, like this is all an illusion.”
I look away so he doesn’t see my eyes watering.
He starts the car and pulls away from the curb. We drive in what I have to admit is amiable silence. It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and bright out. I roll the window down, the wind ruffling my hair. Without a word, his hand comes to rest on my thigh.
“How far away are we?”
“Not far. We could walk there if I wanted to, but I want to drive today.”
“Why?”
“This is why,” he says, tightening his grip on my thigh. “I sometimes feel like I'm in a dream. I'm going to blink, and you’ll be gone. It's just hard to believe that you're actually… here.”
His mouth opens as if to say something else, but then he thinks better of it.
Meanwhile, I am trying my best to get my shit together.
I'm going to marry him. We know what this means in our families. I will not ever truly belong to Viktor Romanov until I submit my will and my heart. And neither of those will ever happen.
Still, I’m not immune to the connection between us, that erotic vibe that makes me want to be closer to him. I'm not immune to being treated like I am the absolute focus of someone's desire. I am not immune to being loved.
Love me? How can he? He doesn’t really know me.
Then why does it feel like he does?
“You want to listen to some music?”
“Yeah. Whatever you want.”
It seems like that’s going to be a theme between us.
Whatever I want to eat. Whatever I want at the wedding. Whatever I want to do… except walk away.
I flip through the different stations, trying to find something to listen to. Nothing seems right, fitting. I shut it off and look out the window.
I can’t stop thinking about him touching me. His touch is possessive, his thumb gently pressing against my skin, his fingers firm.
“I don't think I can ever be who you want me to be,” I blurt out, feeling unexpectedly emotional. Why do I feel this way? I don't want to be who he wants me to be. I want to be my own person.
Why did I just say that out loud?
“And who do I want you to be?” he asks in a tone that suggests he thinks I have no idea.
“Submissive. Docile. You want me to have your kids, be a homemaker, or whatever the hell. You want me not to have a mind or will of my own.”
His muscles tense, and his eyes stay focused on the road, but his hand on my thigh suddenly feels heavier.
“Is that really what you think I want?”
I swallow. Is it? Or is that just what I’m telling myself so I can keep my defenses up?
“Of course. What else would a man like you want? Sex? Well, you'll have that, but I like that too.” Okay, that sounded petulant. Borderline bratty. I hold my chin up so he doesn’t get any ideas or solidify his position on my brattiness.
“It doesn't matter what I tell you. You've already made up your mind about what I want, haven't you?”
Have I?
“No,” I lie. “I want to hear you say it. Do you think I’m so ignorant that I don’t listen to what someone has to say, and I make up my mind before they speak?”
Maybe I do. Damn it.
He blows out a breath, doing that thing where he strokes his thumb on my bare skin. The touch is almost platonic and gentle. But it never ceases to make my heart race, and whatever reservations I had about the two of us burn to ash.
“I’ve only wanted one thing my entire life that I can remember, Lydia.”
I give him a sidelong look, my heart hammering in my chest. My hand rests atop his on my leg, and I don't remember moving it there. I know what he's going to say before he does.
“What?”
“You, Lydia. You are all I’ve ever wanted.
I know that's hard for you to understand; it might even scare you. But eventually, I hope you will understand.” He strokes his thumb along my thigh again, and I don’t understand why my eyes are watering.
It’s just a normal possessive thing to say… isn’t it?
“Oh, you’re just saying that,” I say teasingly. “You really do care about what I do and how I behave. Obviously, you’ve shown me that.”
He shrugs a massive shoulder. “Baby, you want to skydive, paint the house purple, or become a circus performer, I don't care. I literally don’t give a shit about any of that. I know that I want you, and I want you safe. Every single goddamn thing I do is for that. No more, no less. Even my home? I barely decorated it because I don’t care.
Once we’re married, you can pick out a place to go and I’m there. ”
I shake my head because this doesn’t make sense to me. “Why me?”
He smiles then as if he has a secret that no one else knows, his very special little secret.
“Eventually, I hope you understand that too.”
I blink, surprised when we stop outside a large mansion.
Oh God. It’s go time. It’s his family’s home—it must be.
“Are we here?”