Page 109 of Sinful Games

That asshole always knows how to push my buttons. Ichecked my phone, hoping for a message from Caia, but my screen stayed disappointingly blank.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

After that unexpected and downright mesmerizing moment this morning, where she rode a pillow in front of me, begging me to fuck her and coming hard—which I still can’t believe—my mind hasn’t stopped replaying that scene. The way her skin reddened on her chest and neck, her tits bouncing, hypnotizing me, her hips rocking faster and faster on that damned pillow, her moans filling my ears and hardening my dick with each passing moment, and how her hair flowed around her as she threw her head back, her orgasm overtaking her.

Damn it, she had me completely under her spell. I was borderline addicted. I never imagined I’d be head over heels for my wife. Falling for her was never part of the plan, never something I wanted.

But here I am, utterly and completely in love with Caia fucking Mankiev.

I adore everything about her—her smile, her frown, the way she blinks rapidly whenever she lies, and how, despite the hardships she’s faced, she still sees the world with beauty. I love her emerald eyes that fascinate me every time and how she does a little dance whenever she eats something sweet. I’m addicted to her scent, her hands, her laugh, her courage, and her disobedience.

Even the way she snorts faintly when she sleeps or how she rolls her eyes in pleasure when she drinks warm tea. Fuck, she makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.

I could die for those little moles on her cheeks alone and her lip. And the way she calls out my name, how it rolls off hertongue—God, that shit drives me crazy. I could list the things I love about her endlessly because I’m hopelessly, madly in love with my fucking wife.

And she has to pay for it—with a spank on her ass and my dick deep inside to show her just how deep my feelings for her go. Yep, I needed to fuck her out of my system.

After I humiliated myself this morning, I quickly left, unable to believe that I’d confused my love for her. The way she stayed silent, her eyes wide, lips pursed—fuck, she didn’t say anything, leaving me in agony.

So, I had to leave. I needed some space from her, fearing I might end up on my fucking knees, begging her to stay with me forever. Pathetic.

“You coming tonight?” Dimitri asked as he entered the kitchen, grabbing a Corona from the fridge. “I haven’t met your girlfriend yet.”

“She’s my wife, you fucking asshole,” I shot back, pushing myself up from the table and setting my cup in the sink. “Da, we’ll be there.”

Tonight, marked Igor’s birthday bash.

He always threw a lavish event at the manor for the Silas, their families, and all his associates and partners in crime. Last year’s theme was “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” with belly dancers, hookahs, camels, fire-spitting shows, and Middle Eastern cuisine. The year before was “The Godfather,” which fit perfectly with our lifestyle. This year, it was “The Great Gatsby.”

I shot Caia a text hours ago, reminding her to be ready by 8 and letting her know the theme so she could pick out her outfit. But despite my efforts, I still found myself checking my phone for the hundredth time today, hoping for a reply. Nope, still nothing.

Fuck, tonight was going to be dreadful.

“Where’s your phone?” I asked as I swung open her door and took her hand to help her out.

She handed me her tiny purse as she smoothed down her short, fringed white dress, which hugged her body perfectly. The fringe swayed with every move she made. She was also rocking long white gloves, and a delicate headpiece adorned with feathers. Damn, she looked like she’d walked straight out of a 1920s film.

I’d arranged for a private chauffeur to pick her up since I couldn’t get home on time. Igor found out I left Babikiv’s body in our casino and demanded I clean up my mess. So, I had to cough up triple Chiavow’s monthly salary to keep him quiet and get rid of the body.

“I forgot it at home,” she said, reclaiming her purse and intertwining her fingers with mine as we made our way to the party.

"I texted you like a million times, Caia. You need to text me back. I have to know where you are so I know you’re safe. If some people knew my wife?—”

She cut me off. “What did you leave this morning?”

I helped her up the stairs and guided her through the ballroom where, not so long ago, we’d tied the knot. It felt like ages ago now.

The ballroom was dripping in Gatsby-style opulence, with sparkling chandeliers, walls draped in luxurious fabrics, and floral arrangements everywhere. Jazz music filled the air, taking guests back to the roaring twenties.

As I escorted her through the crowd, I couldn’t help butnotice the sea of guests dressed to the nines in their finest Gatsby-inspired attire. Men in sleek suits with bow ties and fedoras, women in dazzling flapper dresses adorned with sequins and feathers.

Laughter and chatter mixed with the sound of the Charleston on the dance floor. But honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck about the party. All I wanted was to get the hell out of there.

"I needed some space," I admitted.

She scoffed, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Space? What the hell does that even mean?"

"Yeah, space," I shot back, my patience running thin. "Even a guy like me has limits when it comes to rejection."

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