Page 84 of Dirty Grovel

My eyelids get heavier and heavier until my head bobs like a wilting flower onto his chest.

He runs his fingers softly over my burgeoning belly. “Things are going to be different from now on, princess,” he murmurs.

I’m so sex-drunk that I almost let the comment go unchallenged. It’s so damn tempting to let myself be seduced by it.

They’re such pretty words, after all. My entire body sings with the need to believe in them.

But the wounded girl inside me rises up angrily, refusing to let this lie.

“I know you believe that now. But I’ve been burned before.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?” I ask, lifting my head from his chest. “Because you say so?”

“That’s exactly why.”

“And why should I believe anything you have to say?”

His nostrils flare. “You could start with a little trust.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep the cruel laughter from spilling out. “You expect me to trust you and yet you have no trust to give me in return.”

“Sutton—”

“You want me to trust you, Oleg?” I interrupt. “Then prove to me that things are going to be different. I don’t want pretty words—I want actions. I want deeds. I want cold, hard proof or else… I have nothing to give.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” he asks dryly.

I have no idea if he means to be funny or not. In the end, I decide it doesn’t matter.

Funny or not, this is no joke to me.

“I’m asking for what’s fair,” I say, rising from the bed and letting the sheets fall away from my naked body. “Trust isn’t a one-way street, Oleg. So walk it with me, or let me go. Those are the only choices left.”

25

OLEG

She avoids my gaze the next morning.

Despite that, there’s a tentative rapture in the air. The faint hint of hope that lingers in the pulsing energy between us.

I know she’s waiting for me to break the silence. Bring up last night, perhaps.

“Breakfast?”

She says nothing, just walks to the upper deck, forcing me to follow. I’m so distracted by the sight of her perfect ass in my face as she takes the steps that I almost miss her next words.

“I have no desire to sit through another interminable meal with your mother.” She turns to me, jaw squared, eyebrows arrowed downward. “I’ll be spending the morning with Jesse and Teo.”

She waits for me to object. I consider doing it, if only to get a rise out of her. Maybe even another excuse to grab her, push her against the yacht’s railing and take her right here, out in the open sun, in full view of the bungalow and the cottage.

“I don’t blame you,” I say instead.

The set of her jaw softens. “You could join us, too, you know.”

“That almost sounds like an invitation.”

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