Page 85 of Darkest Oblivion
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, before finally taking my hand.
His grip was firm but not cruel, and he led me down the creaking staircase of the ancient estate to the car.
The drive home was tense, silent, the folded paper tucked into my sleeve, its weight a constant reminder of the answers I hadn’t yet uncovered.
When we arrived at the villa, its marble halls cold and imposing, Dmitri halted outside the bedroom door. “Go take a bath,” he said, voice unyielding. “I’ll be waiting.”
I nodded, obedient for once, and slipped into the bathroom.
Steam rose, hot water running over my skin, washing away the ache in my ribs but doing nothing to calm the wild flutter in my chest.
I shed his silk shirt and stepped into the shower, letting the heat fill me. Afterward, I dried myself and slipped into a simple silk nightgown, forgoing underwear, skin prickling with nervous anticipation.
It would be my first time. The thought thrilled me, terrified me, and yet I wanted it—I wanted him.
But when I emerged, the bedroom was empty, heavy with his absence.
My heart sank, disappointment tangled with relief.
Barefoot, I crept through the marble halls, searching for him, until I found his study. Shadows pooled in the corners, papers scattered across the desk, a half-empty whiskey glass catching the dim light—but he wasn’t there.
“Looking for me, milaya?” His voice came from behind, teasing, and I shivered.
I turned to see him leaning against the wall, shirt unbuttoned, the stars and scars on his chest stark against hisskin. Before I could speak, he closed the distance, pressing a firm, fleeting kiss to my lips. I leaned in for more, craving the heat of him—but he smiled, that rare, genuine curve of his lips—and then scooped me into his arms as if I weighed nothing.
“Dmitri, put me down,” I gasped, heat flooding my cheeks. “I’m too heavy.”
He tightened his hold, hands firm on my ass, gaze blazing with possession. “Say that again,” he growled, low and seductive, “and I’ll prove how light you are to me. You think I’d ever struggle to carry what’s mine?”
My breath caught, heart pounding. “I...”
“Milaya,” he murmured, softening only slightly, gaze unyielding, “you’re the only thing I’ll never tire of carrying. I could hold you on my shoulder all day, Penelope. All my strength isn’t just for dominating the mafia—it’s for holding you, carrying you, and never letting you go.”
Butterflies erupted in my stomach as he carried me back to the bedroom, steady and unflinching.
He laid me gently on the bed, silk sheets cool against my skin, eyes locked on mine, burning with obsession
I reached for him, ready to give in, but the folded paper in my sleeve burned, a reminder that secrets still hung between us, heavy and unresolved.
The bedroom was a cocoon of shadows, the silk sheets cool against my skin as I knelt on the bed, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and reckless desire.
Dmitri stood at the edge, his towering frame illuminated by the dim chandelier, his icy blue eyes burning.
The folded paper from my father was tucked beneath the pillow, its secrets unanswered, but my mind was consumed by the man before me, the monster who’d claimed me, broken me, and yet made me feel alive.
“I know your father told you something,” Dmitri said, his voice suspicious, his eyes searching mine as he stepped closer, the bulge in his trousers betraying his need. “Whatever he said... it’s influencing you, isn’t it? Is this really what you want, Penelope?”
I held his gaze, my fingers trembling as I slowly peeled off my nightgown, letting it pool around my knees.
My breasts lay bare, and for the first time, I didn’t shrink from his stare.
“Say the word,” he growled, his voice thick with desire, his hands clenched as if restraining himself.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady, desire tangling in my chest. “I want it.”
Dmitri’s eyes darkened.
He ripped off his shirt, the fabric tearing under his urgency.
