Page 127 of Viripotent

“I’ll have Vitali set up a stream so you can watch live, but you will never be there, Inessa.”

I don’t like it when he says my name. It’s always a reprimand or threat laced into the word. There were other women in the crowd today, so it’s not a sexist rule, and I deflate, avoiding his eyes.

“Why?” I ask the edge of his reflection.

If he has some other woman there, I’ll kill her in front of him. Remembering I’m the other woman, I remove all emotion from my voice and act like it doesn’t hurt as I amend my question.

“What’s her name?”

He called her malysh, she’s in every part of his life while I’m a show pony who’s there for the occasion.

I’m the equivalent of Vlad’s suit, something he shows the world but doesn’t match inside.

An act. A costume. A fraud.

He lies easily and presses his deceit into my neck, “There’s no other woman, meely moy.”

I focus on the wet patch on his chest as he turns me to face him. But he forces me to look up, holding my nape, and says, “You’re better than everyone else. They don’t deserve to be in your presence.”

Relaxing at his honesty, I lean up on my toes and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

His reaction is weird. He’s never frozen or hesitated, but he pulls his head back looking between my eyes with his brows together.

“You’re not disgusted?”

My own confusion has me moving back at his dumbass question, and anger comes back.

“You need to take your own advice and learn when to shut the fuck up,” I hiss back.

He grips my throat and presses into the side as he walks into me, so my ass is resting on the vanity. There’s no anger, and the crease deepens.

“Why are you never afraid of me?”

He’s joining me in the question that doesn’t have an answer. I don’t know why, other than the fact he’s never actually hurt me. He’ll act like an asshole, but it’s playful, there’s never a real threat. I feel safe in his bloody hands. Whether it’s because of the blood or despite it, I’ll never know. I shrug and give him a bullshit answer.

“Better the devil you know. At least you know his tricks and motive.”

There’s a pause as we stare at each other.

Mine is in response, but his is searching. Whatever strange openness we’ve found has the most gentle kiss being placed on my lips. He strokes across my jaw with his busted knuckles and takes me to a new world where I’m breathless due to the intimacy of it. My eyes are still closed as he breaks the connection. His dumb question has me slamming to earth.

“When I die, will you marry someone else?”

My body turns cold, and all the comfort he just infused into my blood disappears.

I can’t imagine Vlad not existing. It’s like imagining the world without a sky. My mind can’t make up the image, and mytongue won’t push out the lie. Kissing my cheek, his whispered confession has tears burning my throat.

“I want you to be happy, but I’d prefer if you wait until my death, so I can steal time I don’t deserve.”

He doesn’t allow me time to process my emotions as the gentle kiss comes back, and he picks me up by my hips. He sits me on the vanity as he steps between my thighs in one smooth move.

There’s no stupid taunt or order, and my hands automatically go under his t-shirt. He lifts his arms, helping me to take it off. Without his lips on mine, the emotion comes back, threatening to choke me, and I wrap my legs around him to force it to be chased away. I can’t think anymore. Neither of us can. We need the escape, and I wish he’d drown me again, so my body only focuses on trying to breathe.

He bands an arm around my back and lifts my hips to push my dress up. He still has his shorts on, and I hug him. I flatten my palms on his back, feeling his warmth, and his heart beating against my hand. When my fingers brush the forced tattoo in the middle, I hug him tighter. But he’s allergic to emotions and cups my jaw to tip my head back and seal his lips over mine.

There’s no crazed undressing, his rough hands are gentle, and he slowly lowers my zip. I gasp into his mouth as the cool stone touches my ass, and he smiles into me. There’s a brief moment of uncharacteristic hesitation before he pulls my dress over my head.

My arms are above my head with the fabric bunched around my ribs. His lips don’t move from my skin as he pulls it off the rest of the way. Moving from my jaw to my lips, he kisses me again, getting rid of my underwear. It’s more than lust passed between us. It’s not emotion or chemicals fueling our movements, but deep need. He’s a work of art, and I moan intohis mouth, feeling his muscles flex as I smooth my hands over his ribs and work my fingers into the waistband of his shorts.

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