Page 58 of Sinful Games

She scoffed, barely glancing at me. “You’re only saying that because you’re the one in the picture.”

I studied it for another moment, admiring the artistry in it. “Nyet, really. You’ve got talent. I mean, I always knew I was fucking handsome, but this? This is a masterpiece.”

She truly was skilled—the contrast of shades, the way my face was perfectly centered against the stark backdrop of the forest and lake, and how the smoke seemed to dance amidst the falling snowflakes.

She rolled her eyes, gathering the photos and shoving them back into their holder. “I passed my exam thanks to these. Apparently, my professor has a peculiar taste for your ugly face.”

I smirked, letting that slide. “And what about the one with your babushka?”

She flipped through the holder, a flicker of genuinewarmth touching her lips. She selected a photo and handed it to me, her expression softening just a little.

It showed two hands clasped together—one old and rough, veins bulging and a ring glinting on the ring finger, holding onto the other, younger hand with painted nails and no rings, gripping it tight.

The image hit hard—one minute you’re young and the next, you’re old, but you’re supposed to hold on to the people you care about through it all.

I stared at the photo, seeing the raw, unfiltered love she had for her babushka.

"It’s beautiful, Caia," I murmured, returning the picture.

Her fingers brushed faintly against mine before she quickly replaced the photo in its spot and tucked the holder back into her bag by the sofa.

She grabbed the bag from my hand. “Tea?” she asked as she headed to her compact kitchen. Her movements were tight and jerky, her body stiff as she avoided looking at me, and a faint flush crept up her cheeks.

I nodded and took a seat on her couch, watching her. She pulled out the two pastries from the bag, arranged them on a plate, and set it on the table with a couple of small spoons. Then she grabbed two mugs, dropped an Earl Grey tea bag into each, and poured in the hot water.

“What happened today, Caia?” I asked, leaning back on the couch but keeping my eyes locked on her.

She settled onto the couch at the opposite end, her body as stiff as a board. Her legs were crossed tightly, and her arms were wrapped around herself as if she were trying to create a barrier between us.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you had a rough day. Care to elaborate?”

She let out a derisive snort. “As if I’d shareanything elsewith you. I’ve learned my lesson, Romaniev.”

She was talking about our kiss and how my fingers had been shoved deep inside her, making her squirm and moan.

I wiped the grin off my face with the back of my hand, but it was a damn struggle to hide how much it fucking turned me on.

All I could think about was how she’d writhed and gasped under my touch, her body tensing and then surrendering completely. The way she tried to muffle her cries, the heat of her skin, and the desperate way she clung to me—it was like a fucking addiction.

“You might be surprised at how good a listener I can be.”

Honestly, I couldn’t care less about the rest of the world, but with her? I’d fucking listen to her bitch and moan for hours. The way her full lips move, that goddamn irresistible beauty mark peeking out from under her lower lip—it drives me fucking wild.

“Oh, really? Is this part of your charming lifestyle of murder, theft, and deceit, or have you added ‘therapist’ to your list of skills?”

Yep, I fucking love that smart-ass mouth of hers.

“Come on, baby,” I leaned in. “Tell me.”

She let out a long, weary sigh. “It’s just work... One of my patients passed away today. He was eighty-seven, completely alone—no family, no wife, no children. He’d been asking for them for weeks, and we kept lying, telling him they were coming, maybe tomorrow, just to give him a bit of hope,” she murmured. “He’d believe us for a while, then forget. But yesterday, Livoi—one of my colleagues—told him the truth. His wife had died fourteen years ago.”

She paused, her gaze shifting to meet mine, her emerald eyes locking onto my blue.

I’d have loved for it to be my useless father, but that bastard’s still alive—I’ve checked his room before I came here.

“I had to rush to the university this morning to turn in an assignment and didn’t get to work until after three. When I finally checked on him, he was... gone.”

---