Page 87 of Darkest Oblivion
“Say you’re fucking mine,” he growled, his thrusts relentless, driving me wild.
“I’m yours,” I cried, the words torn from me as he fucked me harder, deeper, his cock filling every inch of me. “I’m all yours, Dmitri!”
My body trembled, pleasure overwhelming, and I came undone, cumming mercilessly, my pussy clenching around him as waves of ecstasy crashed through me.
He thrust a few more times, his own release knotting deep inside me, his growl vibrating through the room as he spilled into me, my sensitivity spiking with every movement.
He pulled out slowly, his hand delivering a sharp spank to my ass, the sting grounding me in the afterglow.
He collapsed beside me, pulling me into his arms, my body curling against his chest, exhausted and spent.
My breathing was ragged, the hot, hour-long sex draining every ounce of energy I had.
His warmth enveloped me, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, and I drifted into sleep, the folded paper beneath the pillow a distant thought, its secrets waiting to unravel.
Chapter 23
PENELOPE
It had been four months. Four fucking months since I’d last seen Dmitri Volkov—since that night I’d surrendered to him completely, body and soul—only to wake to an empty bed and a villa that felt colder than stone.
The silk sheets still carried his sandalwood-and-steel scent, a cruel reminder of his absence. I thought he’d slipped away for an hour, maybe two, as he often did, but days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and he was gone.
Giovanni, his loyal shadow, offered no answers, his scarred face impassive when I demanded to know where Dmitri was, if he’d ever return.
The villa, with its marble halls and gilded cages, became an open prison, its silence suffocating.
I couldn’t make friends; Dmitri’s reputation had turned me into a pariah, eyes averting as if my presence invited death.
No friends, no companions, no escape from the loneliness that gnawed at me like a living thing.
I was a shadow of myself, betrayed, used, deceived.
The memory of our night haunted me—his hands claiming every inch of me, his voice growling milaya—as he filled me, the way he’d held me after, as if I were his world. Had it all been a lie? A game to break me further?
The hurt twisted like a knife, the boy I’d loved turned monster, leaving me to wither in his absence.
Had he taken my virginity, my trust, only to disappear, leaving me to rot in this opulent hell?
What hurt most was the secret growing inside me—his child, a small bump on my tummy that I hid beneath loose dresses.
The nausea, the fatigue, the pregnancy symptoms tore through me, relentless, with no one to guide me, no doctor to check me.
How could one night, one reckless surrender, leave me pregnant? I thought it took months, countless tries, but here I was, alone, carrying the heir of a monster who’d abandoned me.
I stood in his study, a place I haunted daily, surrounded by his books, his whiskey glasses, his lingering presence.
As for the paper my father had given me, it had vanished the moment I woke up after that night... that night I’d surrendered everything to Dmitri. I’d searched everywhere, my fingers rifling through the villa, heart pounding, but it was gone. Had he taken it? Seen what was written on it?
Was that why he disappeared without a word, leaving me to rot in silence?
God... I was losing my mind. The uncertainty gnawed at me.
I picked up the phone again, my thumb hovering over his name, each second a battle with my fear.
My tummy suddenly twisted, a slight pain at first, like a cramp, but it sharpened, intensifying until I doubled over, clutching my abdomen. Gosh, what was happening?
The ache spread, hot and insistent, my lower back throbbing as if something inside me was tearing apart. I gasped, sweat beading on my forehead, a wave of nausea rolling through me, stronger than before.
