Page 12 of Craving Dahlia

A shudder runs through me.Am I ever going to be able to get off again without a man cursing in Russian as he comes?It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, and as I start to come down from my high with Alek’s cum streaked over my skin, I feel a wave of disappointment that it’s never going to happen again.

I feel him trail his fingers down, through the lines of cum between my breasts, over my stomach. He presses his slick fingers against my clit, rubbing once in a tight circle, and my entire body seizes with a jolt of pleasure at the feeling of him coating my clit with his cum. I wait for him to say something, but he jerks his fingers away, and I feel the bed shift as he gets up. I start to reach for the blindfold, and then I remember what he said, and my hand goes still.

I hear the sounds of him picking up his clothes, theclunkof his gun being taken off the nightstand. For one brief second, it occurs to me that he could have brought me back here to fuck me and then kill me, and a paralyzing fear grips every muscle in my body.Genevieve knows he brought me here,I reason.He wouldn’t get away with it.But if he’s Bratva, he can get away with just about anything he wants.

Nothing happens, and I sag back against the pillows, hearing him move through the room. Slowly, I push myself up, trying to find the courage to ask for his number. It was clear that this was incredibly good for him, too—so why wouldn’t he want to do it again? I’m not getting married tomorrow. I’m not even going back to D.C. for another six weeks. The fact that I was terrified of him a moment ago flits out of my head, a clear sign that he’s completely fucked me senseless.

“My phone is in my purse,” I blurt out. “Or you could write your number down. If you don’t want me to take off the blindfold. We could do this again…”

My voice trails off as I hear my front door slam shut. While all those frantic thoughts were rattling around in my head, I didn’t realize he’d left the room entirely. I sit up abruptly, snatching the blindfold away, and look around the room as I blink, my vision coming back into focus.

He’s gone. His clothes, the gun, every trace of him. I jump up, running to my bedroom door, but the apartment is empty except for me. The front door is closed. And with a rush of disappointment that’s almost painful, I feel one thing with absolute certainty.

I’m never going to see him again.

—

“You didwhat?”Evelyn’s voice, shocked and laughing, rises over the chatter of the other guests outside on the heated patio at Over Easy, our favorite brunch spot. I narrow my eyes at her, hissing out a hushing sound, but I bite my lip to hold back my own nervous giggle, too. My cheeks are bright red, and to my right, Genevieve is smirking at me.

“No, keep going,” Genevieve urges. “I want to hear all of it.” She picks up her mimosa, taking a sip. “Every filthy detail.”

Evelyn wrinkles her nose, reaching for her sparkling water. At eight weeks pregnant, while Genevieve and I are sipping a mimosa and a Bloody Mary, with the promise of a latte at the end of brunch, Evelyn is sticking to sparkling water with lemon and decaf coffee. But I can tell that despite the restrictions, she’s happy. I know deep down, she thought she might want children one day, even if her dating life was dry as a desert before Dimitri and her boutique was practically like having a child in and of itself, in terms of time and upkeep.

Genevieve and I are more on the same page when it comes to kids. Genevieve has no desire for them. She’s long said that whatever maternal instinct she has, she’ll satisfy by teaching dance to children once she ages out of professional ballet. And I don’t really think I want them, either. I don’tdislikechildren—I can’t wait for Evelyn to have my honorary niece or nephew so I can spoil them to death. But I can give Evelyn’s baby back to her at the end of the day.

It’s the commitment that makes me nervous. The responsibility. It’s something that there’snoway out of, once it happens. Another entire person, dependent on you for everything. If you screw up, they probably become a bad person, probably. Or they hate you. Their life is messed up, at the very least. I don’t want that on my conscience.

I never really worried about it before. My string of short-lived flings were never going to turn into anything that would result inme having a family of my own, anyway. But now that my father wants me to get married—and to someone who will undoubtedly expect the picture-perfect wife and two-point-five kids that his public image demands…I’m scrambling to figure out where I land on all of that. If I can stomach the idea of not only marrying Jude, but giving him children.

“Dahlia.” Genevieve snaps her fingers playfully. “Earth to Dahlia. Don’t leave us hanging. You went down on that guy in acab?”

“A New York cab.” Evelyn shudders. “Dimitri talked me into doing that once in the car, but it was aprivate car. And one with a divider so the driver couldn’t see.”

“He could probably hear, though,” Genevieve says with a wicked grin, and Evelyn flushes a startling shade of red.

“He was very…demanding about it,” I admit. “It was rough. But it was so hot.” I can feel my cheeks turning pink, too. “I don’t think I’d do it again, but in the moment?—”

“What about the rest?” Genevieve looks at me. “Was he as good in bed as he looked?”

“Better. He went down on me in the elevator, and then he blindfolded me in bed?—”

“Blindfolded?” Evelyn bites her lip. “That sounds fun. I’ll have to take that suggestion home.”

“Chris does it all the time. Mostly so I don’t see his small dick, I think,” Genevieve adds. “How about this guy, Dahlia? Was he small?”

I shake my head. Two days later, and I’m still sore. “It was almost too much,” I admit, taking a sip of my drink, and Genevieve lets out a delighted laugh.

“Good for you.” She grins at me. “Anything else you want to share?”

“He had a Bratva tattoo.” I blurt it out before I can think better of it, and I see Evelyn freeze, her hand around her glass.

The server picks that moment to arrive with our breakfast—avocado toast for Evelyn, smoked salmon eggs Benedict for me, and a green salad with berries and dressing on the side for Genevieve. I can see Evelyn’s thoughts racing as we thank the server and they walk away, and her attention snaps back to me.

“Describe him again?” she says curiously. “Was it one of Dimitri’s guys?” There’s no judgment in her tone—she’s seen me flirt with Gus. But there is some surprise. I haven’t seriously tried to pursue any of the men I’ve seen while at her house, despite the fact that they’re all fit as hell and some are incredibly hot. It has always just seemed like a bad idea, to fuck someone who works at the place where my best friend lives. A recipe for an awkward run-in later, at the least. And I’d hate for one of them to break my heart, and then for Dimitri to feel like he needs to kill them over it.

He’s practically my brother-in-law, so I can see him reacting that way.

“Tall. Pale, sort of sandy blond hair. He had it long on top, shaved on the sides, lines buzzed into it. He looked like he was tattooed all over—although I only saw his hands and the sides of his neck before he blindfolded me. He had on jeans, a sweater, boots, and a leather jacket. Carried a gun under it. I’ve never seen him around Dimitri, at the mansion, the penthouse—anything like that.” I start to mention the scars, but stop myself. Even though Alek left without a word, and even though I’ll never see him again, it feels like something I shouldn’t share.

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