Page 65 of Dmitri

“Come here,” Daelyn says softly.

My heart thuds heavily as I step into the tub with her. All my words catch in my throat, and I have this horrible ringing in my ears. After the past few weeks, my world has imploded and I think I’m using Daelyn as a coping mechanism, which isn’t fair.

I’m still going to do it, though.

No one’s perfect, especially not me.

Chapter 17

Daelyn

When Dmitri lowers himself into the tub, I have this strange urge to hold him between my legs and cage him in false safety. Because, let’s face it, I can’t do shit to save him. I’m here to fuck him. I’m a liar and a trickster and bad, bad person.

But with D, in this moment, I’m just a woman who’s found solace in the arms of a monster I’m quickly adapting to. I blame my past. If I didn’t adjust fast to my surroundings, I always feared there would be consequences. The Brenner’s were the last foster family I was with, not the first, second, or third. I counted my lucky stars with them because they were the least violent of all my shelters, and I had Kaleb, who eventually taught them a lesson.

My belly twists at the memory of how terrifying that had been.

Stop it, Dae.

I think Kaleb robbing them blind then setting their house on fire, with them still in it, was the pivotal step on my path to damnation. Luckily, they’d escaped with only a few minor burns, but Kaleb didn’t want to stop until they were six feet under. I had no clue what he was planning to do to them. He only ever said shit like,“I’ll take everything from them, babygirl. Just for you…”

I tried convincing him that revenge wasn’t necessary. That it was too much, too wrong. But he only harped on the ways they’d treated me throughout the years, and the things they’d done to other foster kids who lived with them as well. Back then, I thought he was a psychopathic hero. Now, I see he’s just apsychopath.

Especially considering arson isn’t the worst things he’s done “on my behalf.”

Letting out a long sigh, I reset my mind and refocus on the present and the better, badder man I’m with now. Dmitri and I face each other in the tub, the hot water rising over my breasts as we settle in.

He leans back, resting his arms on the edge of the porcelain and regards me with a look of indifference. “What’s racing through your pretty little head, Firefly?”

I’m not telling him the truth. That’s way too much damning information. I also don’t want Kaleb in my head anymore. “Why do you call me Firefly?”

“Do you not like it?”

I do, but it’s such a weird nickname to give me. “I’m just curious.”

Does he call all the women he sleeps with Firefly or just me? I hate how the term makes me feel special and endeared. I don’t deserve it.

He smiles and does the same thing I just did by answering my question with another question. “Where did you get that burn scar on your wrist?”

I sink my arms into the water and keep a straight face. “Tell me what burned that triangle in your lower back first.”

The corners of his mouth slightly lift. “An iron. It was just the tip, though, so it’s not nearly as big as it could have been.”

The way he’s comparing what is, and what could have been, makes me queasy. I’ve rationalized my own traumas the same way.

“Your turn, Firefly.”

“Mine’s from a ring. It was just something stupid I did when I was younger.” Not a complete lie. I may not have held myself down and branded my body, but I agreed to it.

Sort of.

Dmitri stares at me until goosebumps erupt down my arms and my nipples harden, even as I’m submerged up to my throat in hot water. The lavender scented bath salts relax me as I mirror Dmitri’s posture.

He closes his eyes, and a sigh leaves him.

We drop into a dead silence, and I grow antsy. I can’t relax around a killer. It’s bad enough I’m in a tub with him. Or that I’m sleeping with him.

Or that I’m “fucking” him.

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