Page 61 of Craving Dahlia

Something in my chest warms at his approval, and I hate it. I shouldn’t want or need him to be impressed by me—but the look in his eyes is softer than what I’m used to, and it softens me.

For better or for worse, there’s something about him that calls to me, and vice versa. We’ve been drawn to each other ever since that first night, and we can’t seem to ignore that pull for long.

“Why don’t you show me around?” Alek asks, startling me out of my thoughts. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Met. I’d like to see what you do. What is this exhibit?” He tilts his head slightly. “Or what’s your favorite?”

“This is an exhibit on Norse artifacts.” I hesitate for a moment, wondering if this is some kind of trick—but the fact is that I can’t help but want to show him around, now that he’s asked. The fact that he’s shown interest in what I do at all softens me towards him a little more, and I’m a sucker for anyone who wants to hear about art and museum exhibits. There’s a reason I’ve devoted my career to this. “I’m just checking off the displays to make sure they match the floor plan that we came up with. I’ll finish and explain them to you as I go.”

I half expect Alek to bail within a few minutes, that he’s just patronizing me for some reason, or pretending to have aninterest in order to convince me to go to bed with him again. But instead, he listens with a clear interest as I explain the displays of weapons, textiles, and clothing, all found by archeologists on various digs. “These are different weights of fishing nets that were used,” I explain as we reach the last case, and I look at him for signs of his eyes glazing over, but he’s still watching me intently. “You can’t actually want to hear this.”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “I want to know what my wife does for work. And this is interesting. I used to come to the Met from time to time—before.” Something shutters briefly in his gaze, and I want to ask him once again whatbeforemeans. What he’s talking about when he speaks as if his life has a clear before and after, with something terrible as the dividing line.

But I know if I do, he’ll shut down again, and leave. And suddenly, I don’t want him to. I’m enjoying this—this moment of connection between us that has nothing to do with sex. We haven’t had a moment like this before, and I find myself not wanting it to end.

“I’ll show you my favorite exhibit, if you still want to see,” I tell him as I finish checking off the floor plan, folding it up and sliding it into my pocket.

“I do,” Alek affirms, and I smile, heading towards the door.

“Then follow me.”

I take him down a hallway and to another floor, to the armor room. “This might surprise you,” I tell him with a laugh. “But I’ve always found it fascinating. All the different armors from different time periods, what they can tell you about the status of who wore it—and the armor for the horses!” I stop in front of one of the sets. “It all seems so foreign, from so long ago. I like the history of everything that comes through the museum, the stories behind them, the more removed from the present the better.”

“Not a fan of modern art, then?” Alek asks with a laugh, and I shake my head.

“Not at all. I like what can’t be found any longer. Remnants of the past, memories of things that would be gone if we didn’t preserve them. That’s what got me excited about art in the first place, and it’s what I’ve spent my career working on.”

“It’s impressive.” Alek looks around the room, and he starts to walk to the different sets of armor and weapons, asking questions as we pass through. He seems genuinely curious, and the time passes without me realizing it, until I hear the clicking of heels and footsteps as one of the group tours finishes, and glance at my watch.

“It’s lunchtime.” I realize I’m hungry—starving, actually, since I only had half a muffin on the way and coffee for breakfast. “I should go get something to eat. This was fun, though—” I stop short of sayingwe should do it again sometime,because it sounds like a foolish thing to say to this man, who I’m married to and yet hardly know.

“It was.” Alek looks at me intently. “I’ll take you to lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that—” I’m unsure if I want him to.Do I want to spend more time with him?I’ve put a lot of effort intoavoidinghim up until now. But this afternoon felt different. Things have started to feel different, bit by bit, ever since I told him the truth about the man who cornered me in the bar. And then there was the doctor’s appointment, and last night…

“I want to,” he says firmly, and I can hear from the tone of his voice that this could be another argument if I don’t say yes. I don’t like being told what to do, especially by him, but after how nice the last couple of hours have been, I don’t want it to end on a sour note.

“Alright,” I give in. “But I need to go up and get my purse, and log out of my computer. You can come up and see my office.”

Alek raises an eyebrow, but nods. “Lead the way,” he says with a shrug, and I head for the elevator.

“Close the door behind you,” I tell him as we walk into my office, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of someone walking past and seeing him. I’ve kept my work and personal life mostly separate, and the last thing I want is questions about my new husband. I’ve never had so much as a boyfriend show up to work, and a surprise, sudden marriage would open up all kinds of questions I’m not prepared to answer. Where did you meet? How did he propose? Why such a whirlwind wedding? All normal questions, but ones that would show just how unorthodox our relationship is—and all of the holes in it—so quickly that it makes my head swim just thinking about it.

I hear the click of the door as I walk to my desk, bending over to unlock the drawer I keep my purse in. I straighten, and I feel Alek just behind me the moment I stand up, so near that I can feel the heat radiating off of him.

I swallow hard, wondering how I missed him walking up. He’s so close that I can’t think, memories of last night rushing back, and as his hands drop to my hips I feel the air rush out of my lungs.

“We should go,” I whisper, and Alek leans in, his lips brushing against the nape of my neck. He pulls me back against him, and I feel the thick, solid line of his cock pressing against my ass.

“I changed my mind,” he growls against my skin. “I do want to fuck you at work. And Iamhungry—but for you, I think,zhena.”

He turns me, one hand suddenly on the back of my neck where his lips were as he pushes me forward, bending me over my desk. “Grab the edge,” he growls, his fingers digging into the base of my neck, and his other hand slides under my hip, yanking at the button of my pants.

“Alek—” I gasp out his name, looking up towards the door.He locked it, I realize, and arousal throbs through me even as I twist in his grasp.

“I won’t hear no for an answer,” he murmurs, his voice thick and lustful as he pulls my zipper down. “And I think I’ll find that you don’t want to say no, either. Won’t I,zhena? Won’t I find you dripping for me when I slip my fingers in your panties?”

When I don’t respond, he slaps his hand against my pussy, flat between my legs. Even through two layers of fabric, I feel the sting, and my clit pulses. “Answer me,” he commands, pushing my cheek down against the desk, and I let out a gasping breath.

“Yes,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks heat, half with humiliation and half with lust. My husband, who half the time I think I hate and who hates me in return, has me pinned across my desk in my office, an inch from slipping his fingers into my panties and discovering just how wet I am. I was soaked the minute he kissed the back of my neck, the minute he bent me over the desk, and when his hand slides inside my pants and his fingers work their way under the lace beneath, I let out another shuddering breath.

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