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I’m looking at him, but I don’t think I’ve really seen him until this moment. He’s a person like the rest of us, with a whole lot of baggage.
His brow pinches, and his fingers dig into my thighs. Not in a way that hurts, more like I’m an anchor and he’s trying to hold on, to ground himself in something solid. He nods, accepting my condolence.
When he hangs his head, my hands automatically slide up and around his neck. He leans forward, resting his forehead on my shoulder, and sighs like he carries the weight of the world on his back.
Uncertainty rattles me. This position is too intimate for us. Yet I don’t push him away. In this moment, he’s not a ruthless, manipulative asshole. He’s a grieving man, who had a terrible childhood, who just wants solace. And for whatever reason, he’s finding momentary peace in my arms.
I’m not sure why I don’t hate it, but I don’t.
I stiffen when his arms wrap around my waist and he hugs me close. When he doesn’t try anything inappropriate, my body relaxes against him.
His soft sigh speaks volumes. Did this man ever get any physical affection as a child? He did grow up without a mother, as far as I know his uncle was a widower. Besides, how affectionate could a Russian mafia leader really be to his nephew?
CHAPTER 15
Dimitri
Every time we have dinner together, Arianna pretends that I don’t exist. However, she can’t hide the way she blushes when our fingers brush as we reach for the same dish, or her sweet little moans as she eats her favorite dishes. Nina is an extraordinary cook and she’s taken up the challenge of recreating the Middle Eastern, Thai, and Italian foods that Arianna loves.
She contentedly groans around a forkful of pasta. “This is so good, I can’t believe my mama didn’t make it.” She grows still, as if she didn’t mean to speak out loud, and her gaze lands on me.
“Nina is up for any challenge. If there’s anything you want, just ask her to make it for you.”
She nods and goes back to staring at her plate. I watch her as I shove the delicious food into my mouth and chew. Honestly, the main reason I put the having dinner together every night rule into place is because I love watching this woman eat. She’s so expressive.
I love it when she moans, when her eyelids flutter closed and she tilts her head back. I imagine that’s how she looks during sex. My cock grows harder as we continue to eat, and my mind wanders to other things I’m desperate to taste. What would she do if I crawled under the table and ate her pussy for dessert?
Would she moan louder? Would that color on her cheeks deepen? I bet I could make her breathless in seconds. Someday I’m going to find out.
She drains her wine glass, and I stand up, approaching her to refill it. I don’t bother trying to hide the bulge in my jeans. Sure enough, as I fill her glass, her gaze drops to my erection and she blushes again.
I lean over to murmur in her ear, “This is what you do to me, kisa. Tell me you want it and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life.”
She meets my gaze as I pull away. “You don’t know anything about women, do you?”
I lift a brow in question.
“You strutting around shoving your dick in my face doesn’t make me want you.” She sniffs, glancing away. “I’m attracted to a man’s mind, his thoughts and feelings, and how well he can keep my interest in conversation.”
I scoff. She must be lying. Women have the same urges as men. “I know you want to ride my cock as badly as I want to fuck your pussy. You just won’t admit it.”
“Think again.” She swallows a bite of pasta. “I get more pleasure from eating this delicious meal than you could ever give me in your bed.”
“Do you want to bet?” I sit down, my gaze never leaving her gorgeous face.
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “If only I was interested in finding out, too bad I’m not.”
I scowl at my plate. Does she really want thoughts and feelings, and conversation? Or is she just fucking with me? I already told her about my childhood. What more does she want?
We make our way down the stairs at The Pit to find our reserved front row seats. Arianna, wearing a long blue silk dress that hugs her curves, looks like every man’s wet dream on my arm. I want nothing more than to tear that dress from her body and fully make her mine. A lesser man would have taken her by now, but I’m not that weak. My patience is endless. I will have her on her knees, begging. It’s only a matter of time.
I’ve seen how she reacts to me every time we’re near each other. There’s chemistry, attraction, whatever you want to call it. Try as she might, she can’t hide her flushed cheeks, the way her pupils dilate at my touch, or how flustered she becomes when we’re close to each other. She wants me. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.
If I didn’t have to show her off publicly, to let them all see that I take what’s mine, settle a debt owed, I’d hide her away from all of their leers. I hated the way people looked at her that night when I took her down to Riot. Tonight’s no different. My lip curls as men, and women, explore my wife’s body with their heated gazes.
I wish I could pluck their fucking eyeballs out.
At least I don’t have to worry about her acting out tonight. She’s been nothing but perfect since we arrived, all smiles and polite charm for everyone—everyone except for me. I try not to show my annoyance.
