Page 43 of Craving Dahlia

“Having you here is killing my appetite.” I force a tight smile at him, and I hear Dimitri’s muffled sigh. Evelyn has infinite patience with me, but Dimitri’s patience is far from that, and I know he’s getting tired of the ever-present tension in the mansion. If he had his way, Alek and I would make up, and at the very least get along, if not exist in wedded bliss together.

“Fine. I’ll leave.” Alek starts to get up, throwing his napkin down to the table, and Dimitri’s voice thunders through the room.

“Sit down!” he snaps, and Alek’s eyes narrow.

“You’re sounding an awful lot likeotetsthese days,” he murmurs, and there’s a veiled threat in his words that I don’t understand. “You should be careful who you bark orders at, brother.”

Dimitri’s hands tighten on his silverware. “You live here by my grace,brother,” he says coolly. “Because you’re my family, and because I know that the last five years have been?—”

“Don’t say another fucking word.” Alek starts to get up again, but I shove my chair back, my stomach turning as I push away from the table.

“Dahlia—” Evelyn starts to say my name, but I shake my head, unable to sit there a moment longer. Dimitri can’t makemestay at the table.

I throw her an apologetic look, bolting out of the room. I don’t want to hide in my bedroom, so I end up going to the first room I can think of that might offer some privacy—the library downstairs. By the time I get there, closing the doorfirmly behind me as I hurry inside, the twisting sensation in my stomach has settled a little.

The room is warm, and cozy enough to make me feel like I can breathe again, despite the fact that it’s fairly large. Someone started a fire in the fireplace, and the scent of burning wood mingled with the crackling sound of it calms me down further.

I walk over to the fire, resting one hand on the back of one of the velvet wing chairs and another on my stomach, drawing in slow breaths through my nose and letting them out through my mouth.There’s no need to let him get to me,I tell myself, closing my eyes and listening to the comforting snap of the flames.He’s just a man. He doesn’t deserve my?—

The sound of the door opening startles me, making me jump and gasp aloud, and I spin around to see Alek walking into the room. He freezes mid-step as he sees me standing there, jaw tightening as he seems to waver between leaving and something else—probably telling me to get out.

“What is your problem?” The words burst out before I can stop them, and Alek looks momentarily even more startled than before.

“You’re here, in my family’s house.” He bites out every word, his dark gaze fixed on me from where he’s standing. “That’s my fucking problem.”

“You agreed to marry me.” I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest. “Where did you think I was going to go?”

“I’m already regretting it.” He hesitates, but he starts to walk towards me, almost as if he can’t stop himself. Like I’m drawing him in without meaning to. He stops an arm’s-length away, his eyes narrowed as he looks down at me. “I’m regretting everything that’s ever happened between us.”

“That makes two of us.” I glare up at him.

“Because your life was fine before we met?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard bits of your conversations with Evelyn, youknow. You’d be happier back in Washington D.C., living with some man that your father wanted to marry you off to?”

Something burns in my gut at the thought that he knows anything about me. “It’d be better than being married to you!” I snap, stepping forward as I jab at his chest with a pointed finger. It’s not true—even Alek isn’t worse than an endless existence with Jude—but he doesn’t know that.

His hand shoots up, grabbing my wrist, and with one swift move he pulls me close, up against him. The feeling of his hard body against mine sucks all the air from my lungs, and I’m momentarily breathless, looking up at him as those cold hazel eyes stare down into mine.

“I don’t believe you,” he says smoothly. “In fact, I think I heard you telling Evelyn just that.At least I’m still in New York, and not married to Jude, were your exact words, I think.”

My cheeks burn hotly. “I changed my mind,” I bite out, and Alek looks at me, those dark eyes feeling as if they’re burning right through me.

“Changed your mind about what,zhena?” he murmurs. “About wanting me to touch you? I can feel your heart fluttering,malen’kaya ptichka.”

His words spill over me, seductive as silk, choking like smoke, wrapping around me and making me forget why I want him to let me go. His rasping voice, tinged with that accent, makes my knees feel weak, and even though I’m still glaring up at him, even though I still swear I hate him with every bone in my body, a traitorous voice in the back of my head whispers that angry sex can be a lot of fun, too.

That angry sex withAlekcould be the hottest fucking sex of my life. Even better than that first night.

The hand not holding my wrist drops to my waist, down to my hip, his fingers curling there and pulling me closer. I hadn’t thought there was any space left between us, but somehow Alekfinds it, erasing it, our bodies so close together that I can feel the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, even with the layers of fabric between us.

“Do you want me to fuck you in here,zhena?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over my lips, his mouth painfully close to mine. I can feel how hard he is, grinding into my thigh, and I feel myself clench at the memory of how it felt to have all of that thick, hard length inside of me. “I could bend you over that chair, right there, and make you scream for me.” His hand tightens on my hip, tugging up the skirt of my dress. “Do you want to come on my cock again?”

I feel as if I can’t breathe. His hand is sliding under my skirt, fingers grazing my upper thigh, finding the edge of my panties. My eyes squeeze shut as they slip between my legs, because I know what he’ll find there—the fabric clinging to my skin, soaked through with my arousal.

“Shlyukha,” he growls, his fingers rubbing back and forth over the outside of my panties, dragging a whimper from my lips. “I’d barely get inside of you before you came.”

I’m not sure what he said at the beginning of that sentence, but from his tone—derogatory and thick with lust at the same time—I don’t think it was something sweet. But my body doesn’t care. It’s clamoring for him, my hips arching into his hand even as I try to summon the strength to pull away, and I feel his lips near my ear, his breath warm against the shell as his fingers dip beneath the edge of my panties.

“Ah,” he groans, as his fingertips slide in the slick wetness there, finding my clit instantly. A moan escapes me, and I grab his shirt with my free hand, clinging to him as my urge to run disappears with the promise of what his talented fingers can do.

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