Page 86 of Sinful Games

I hesitated. “You better not be standing there naked, Romaniev, or I swear I’ll grab a knife and?—”

His laughter cut me off. “I assure you, I’m not naked. Now, open your eyes, Caia.”

I peeked through one eye, half-expecting a prank. With a final dramatic breath, I openedthem wide.

No way!

He was holding a stunning Asahi Pentax Tower 26 camera, with intricate engravings and a f/2.4 58mm Takumar lens. It was a collector’s dream, and incredibly expensive and rare. Yet, here it was, in his hands, asa gift.

“Why? How? Oh my God?—”

He interrupted my jumble of thoughts with a mischievous grin. “You mentioned how much you love black and white photography, so I thought I’d get you a ‘70s camera that specializes in that.”

I reached out, trembling with excitement. This wasn’t just any gift.

“I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

As he settled beside me as he handed over the camera. “It’s all yours now.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, my voice barely a whisper.

Between this and the photography studio, he had made two of my wildest dreams come true in just two days. I met his eyes, and in that moment, maybe driven by gratitude or just overwhelmed emotions, I found myself inching closer and pressing my lips to his.

This game had evolved beyond deception, betrayal, and bruised egos.

It was uncomfortablyrealnow. And just as he warned, playing with fire means you're bound to get burned.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

“Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love.”

?Gabriel García Márquez

Alexsei

Caia fucking Mankiev will be the end of me. I’m certain of it now.

"Take it off," I said, feeling her smirk against my lips as she slowly lifted her black dress, exposing her thighs. Her hands pressed against my shoulders, pushing me back onto the couch as she straddled me. With a deliberate motion, she removed her dress, revealing a set of black underwear. Damn it, she’s wearing that thong again.

I couldn’t help but lick my lips, my hands instinctively reaching for her ass.

I knew this extravagant gift—a camera worthmore than 20k—would please her. What photographer wouldn’t be thrilled? But I never expected her gratitude to manifest in a fucking kiss.

It was beyond my wildest fucking dreams. I had prepared myself for a curt thank you and the same cold demeanor she’d maintained for the past week. But certainly not that fucking kiss.

When her lips touched mine in a brief peck, I couldn’t suppress a growl of satisfaction. I grabbed the back of her head, pulling her closer and crushing my lips against hers. I set the camera down on the couch, my hands quickly finding their way to her neck and waist.

I knew I was going to fuck her tonight. It was part of the plan. But I expected more resistance. Not that I’m fucking complaining.

Her nails dug into my scalp as I trailed my hands up her back, relishing the feel of her skin against mine. “Romaniev?—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish. I slammed my lips onto hers, my kiss rough and demanding, drawing a moan from her that shot straight through my groin. I licked her lips and forced my tongue into her mouth; she tasted fucking perfect.

Sweet, intoxicating, and undeniably mine.

She tasted like my fucking wife.

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