Page 110 of Bratva Butcher

“Fine,” I shrugged, pretending it wasn’t fucking killing me that he would never admit it. “You stay the fuck out of my way, and I’ll stay the fuck out of yours. After tonight, we never have to see each other again.”

“Sounds fucking perfect to me,” he growled out.

The music picked up, and we glared at each other as we spun faster and faster. His eyes held me captive, and I was powerless to look away, to do anything except stare at him and follow his lead.

We were so immersed in the dance, in one another, that neither of us even noticed when the other couples had slowly started to depart. We didn’t notice the crowd staring at us in awe. Didn’t notice that we were now completely alone, everyone else just watching us from the sidelines as we glided around the dance floor. We just kept spinning and spinning and spinning, round and round and round, never taking our eyes off eachother, the tension building to a point where I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

He twirled me once, twice, three times, perfectly in time with the music, and then he dipped me low, his body almost completely covering mine as he supported my weight like it was nothing at all to him. The music ended. The crowd cheered. And yet, our eyes stayed locked, our chests brushing together with each hard breath we drew. For the first time since I’d met him, I could read him perfectly. See the desire blazing in those mesmerising blue orbs. See exactly what was going through his mind when his gaze flicked to my lips.

And then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he was being drawn towards me by some powerful, unseen force, he closed the small distance between us and kissed me.

Soft but firm, he pressed his lips to mine, and it was like the entire world burst into technocolour. I’d envisioned that kiss so many times. Pictured it. Dreamt it. Wondered how it would feel. And it was a thousand times better than I ever thought it would be.

His tongue dipped into my mouth, the taste of him making a moan bubble up low in my throat. Our lips moved together, perfectly in sync, desire quickly building in my lower belly.

I opened my eyes, not wanting to miss a single shred of the moment. I wanted to trace every sharp line, every detail of his face so I would remember it forever.

The moment Dimitri Volkov finally gave in.

I sifted my fingers through his hair, scraping my nails against his scalp. He groaned, kissing me harder, more forcefully.

Then, it all went to hell.

Because I had my eyes open, I was able to see the exact moment Dimitri realised what he was doing. His eyes shot open in shock. He still had me dipped from the dance, so when heabruptly let me go, I didn’t have the time to catch myself, and I went crashing to the ground, pain shooting up my spine.

The crowd gasped in unison.

Fucking ow.

Dimitri retreated quickly, eyes as wide as saucers. He stared at me dumbfounded for a moment, not moving a muscle, and then his hand drifted upwards, lightly touching his lips. The look on his face… Itscreamed, “What have I done? What have I done?”

I’d seen Dimitri face down an army of men without so much as a shred of emotion. Seen him stare death right in the eyes and say, “Fuck you”.

And yet, kissingmewas what brought forth that terrified, panicked look on his face?

What was so fucking bad about kissingme?

He stared at me for all of two seconds before he spun and marched out of the room without even an apology for dropping me on my ass in front of a room full of people.

An awkward silence ensued. I picked myself up off the floor, making sure to keep my head held high. I wasn’t going to show an ounce of the discomfort and humiliation I was feeling in front of those people, despite the pitying looks some of them were giving me.

I ran my hands down the front of my dress, straightened my spine, pushed my shoulders back and walked out the same way Dimitri had, my steps graceful and unhurried.

The moment I turned a corridor and was out of their line of sight, I let the rage fill me.

How fucking dare he.

I stormed down the hallway in search of Dimitri. There was no way I was letting that fucker get away with humiliating me like that.

He wasn’t hard to find.

The sound of furniture being smashed, of glass breaking, came from a few doors up and to the right. An angry scowl took over my face, so much adrenaline soaring through my body that I began to shake with rage. I grabbed a bunchful of my dress with both hands and marched towards the door. Irate Russian cursing came from behind it.

I’d definitely found him.

I front-kicked the door open. Pacing in the middle of what looked like some sort of bedroom was Dimitri, his suit jacket gone, discarded on the floor. He stopped moving, his head whipping to me. If I had to guess the emotions blazing in those sapphire eyes, I’d guess anger and sexual frustration.

“Leave,” he snarled, resuming his pacing.

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