Page 99 of Deadly Knight
“I never stayed to watch,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t. Not unless you wanted them dead the next morning.”
Last week, those words would have pissed me off—the suggestion he wouldn’t have cared about my feelings when murdering my dates. But now… Now, something’s changing. With every second passing, more and more of me forgets what we’re even fighting about.
The conversation causes me to wonder how many people he’s been with since me—and a wicked peel of jealousy begins to unfurl even when I have no right to be pissed.Pot, meet kettle.
“There weren’t many,” I find myself reassuring him. “I, I couldn’t. They never felt right.” Even my body knew what it was being denied.
“Good. I’mthrilledI ruined you here.” He taps my temple. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?” He takes my hand and presses it to his chest, over his heart. “Considering you ruined me here.”
Deeming the conversation over, he dips down, taking my mouth again. But Ineedto know. Need to know if his instances with others had been as awkward and wrong as mine were.
I end the kiss by tilting my head. “What about you?”
He freezes, dropping his head into my neck so he speaks into my skin instead. “One. And I felt fucking sick afterwards. It was the third year after you left, and I was in a dark place. I was pissed at my father, at the cruelty of our lives, and at the fact you weren’t with me. The guys took me out, and it started with one shot. I think I single-handedly drained the bar that night. I don’t recall much, only that after snorting a couple lines of coke, I looked up from the table, and there was a woman.” He pauses, his breath shuddering in the space between us. “She reminded mesomuch of you. At least, as high as I was anyway. The next thing I recall, I woke up in a hotel room bed with her. I didn’t stick around after that.”
Oh.My jealousy is quickly swept away by grief—his grief, not my own. That it was his feelings for me mingled with the drugs that had him picking another. That his grief never allowed him to enjoy himself and instead created a messy night.
“She wasn’t you. She didn’t matter.”
He kisses my shoulder blade, crossing my body until he peels off my bra, one strap at a time. He reaches behind me to unhook it, pulling it off entirely before kneeling above me. If he were anyone else, I’d be curled up by now, silently begging them to stop looking, but Dimitri’s always been able to take the anxiety and turn it into bravery. Make me feel less self-conscious.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers. “The same way thed’yavoldidn’t deserve to fall from the clouds. At least his fall eventually ended, but mine… I’m still falling. It’s never-ending.”
How do I respond to that?
He removes his shirt, and I lose all mental functionality. He’s gotten many tattoos since the last time I saw him shirtless. A spider is now on his shoulder, a large skull on his ribs, and religious symbols on his arm. I wonder what they all mean, understanding each one indicates something to other Bratva members.
For me, they tell the story of why Dimitri can’t leave the organization.
He reaches for his jeans, the sun streaming through the open window and catching on his muscles, hard and defined from years of training.
Alongside them, though, are evidence of scars. Marks, slashes, bullet wounds. They should frighten me. After all, they’re symbols of what will continue happening to him; what could happen to me. It’s anothershouldI don’t listen to because they tell the tale of all he’s accomplished over the years.
He stands, pushing his pants and boxers off. Only my—arguablyour—ribbon is all that remains on his body. A piece of me that’s always been with him, and it feels right.
Cock freed, he’s thick and erect, making my mouth water.
“Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I won’t make it inside you.”
“Can’t have that,” I murmur, unable to look at his face, even as he kneels between my legs, his hands looping around my thighs as he pulls me closer to him. That cock of his rests between us as he lowers himself onto his forearms above me.
And then he kisses me like he did in his room two weeks ago—in an all-encompassing way meant to sweep me away. He kisses me like I’m the sun on a cloudy day, the moon during the night, a breeze to wash away the humidity. He kisses me until I’m breathless and panting with need—and he hasn’t even touched me.
My hips lift, rubbing against him. He rumbles, his mouth curving into a smile. He reaches for my hands, bringing them together into one of his, the weight of his action hitting me nearly instantly.
“I’ve been waiting a damn long time to recreate the past with you,moya dusha. It’s exactly what I’ll be doing, unless you need to stop.” His gaze darts from me to my hands held above us.“Fuck safe words. If you want something to stop, you say so. If I see pain in your eyes or stress in your expression, I’ll let you go.”
My heart spikes and I’m left with nothing but a nod.
He repositions himself to free one hand, reaching between us to stroke my clit, and making me wet once more. “Still on the pill?”
Of course, he’d remember that. “IUD now.”
“Good.” He lines himself up, and I hold my breath, anticipating the thrust.
“Ten years of waiting. Despite everything, I wouldn’t change a second of it.”
What?Mist forms in my eyes, preventing me from questioning the meaning behind his statement.
