INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 25
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
The door to my room swung open, and the only person who could possibly be behind it was Genevieve King. After all, we were the only two here.
And we would be for an entire week. It was bound to be torturoús.
I paused in the middle of unbuckling my belt and turned to face the door, curious about her sudden intrusion. Her eyes widened in sheer admiration, and it hit me that I was shirtless.
This could either go remarkably well or terribly wrong, depending on how much she pushed my buttons or how much I managed to resist whatever was brewing in her mind.
To my surprise, she simply said, "It is here."
I didn’t need her to elaborate; she had practically begged me to order dinner instead of cooking, and her persistence had worn me down.
"Alright," I replied casually with a nod. "I'll be right out."
Genevieve's doe eyes lingered on my chest a moment longer, a sparkle in those beautiful orbs. "Right, don’t take your time."
I let out a mix of a chuckle and a scoff. She spun on her heels, her hair following her as she closed the door behind her.
After slipping off my pants, I took a quick shower and threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants before heading to the living room.
There she was, popping a fry into her mouth at the table. When she spotted me, she waved, and I couldn’t help but smile, even if it was unintentional.
She had that effect on me.
"How did you get fries?" I asked, taking a seat across from her at the small square table.
"Chips."
"What?"
"It’s chips, not fries."
Oh.
And no, it’s not.
"How long have you been in the UK?" Genevieve asked as she unpacked the food I had let her order. When I opened my mouth to question her about it, she added, "You should know that the British don’t call it that."
"Well, I’m not British."
"Yeah, you’re not," she replied, a playful snark in her tone.
"You’re awfully patriotic about your country."
"Yeah, and why not?"
I shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to focus on the food before me. I could identify the noodles, fried chicken, and the two drinks on the table.
I had a feeling I wouldn’t enjoy this very much. But as long as she was okay, I could manage.
Genevieve shifted the food that was supposedly mine toward me and silently urged me to dig in. I sighed in resignation but complied.
It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either—pretty much just edible.
"How is it?" she asked.
"Not bad."
"You refuse to praise any food that isn’t yours."
That was true.
"You couldn’t be more right," I admitted, earning one of her famous eye rolls. "I’m simply the best at cooking. In fact, in everything. Perfectionist should be my middle name."
Genevieve scoffed. "No, it should be cocky."
"Self-aware, Vixen, self-aware."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
After a moment, silence enveloped us, and we ate in comfortable quiet. But I knew she would soon break it, as her curiosity was evident.
So I decided to take the lead since I was curious about her curiosity. "Vixen?" She looked up at me, her expression quizzical. "Do you have something to ask me?" She nodded. "Then go on."
"I don’t want to intrude because it feels like I’m about to."
"I don’t mind," I replied truthfully. "Intrude all you want."
Genevieve let out a low laugh. "Alright. Do your tattoos mean something?"
"Do they have to mean anything?"
"Well, yeah. One wouldn’t get anything permanently inked on their skin if it meant nothing."
That seemed like common knowledge, but I couldn’t help but wonder what went on in her mind, given how intelligently she spoke.
Deciding to drop the air of mystery, I cleared my throat to answer her. "Yes, they do mean something. Everyone in the clan has them; mine is a lot different since I’m the Dón."
The tattoo we were discussing was the one she had seen on my back. It was a massive cross with a viper coiled around it—a beautiful masterpiece I had established as my official logo after stepping in following my uncle Ivan.
He had never objected because he loved it too. I mean, when have I, Dominic Morozov, ever done anything unworthy of admiration?
The answer? Never.
Genevieve let out a soft hum as comprehension began to register on her face. "So, I’m assuming the clan is like your mà fia HQ?"
"No, Vixen." I mused quietly, pushing aside the food I had already finished. She tilted her head slightly, eager for more information, which made me chuckle. The sound earned me a frown from her. "The clan is the organization itself." Understanding finally lit up her beautiful features, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. I struggled to maintain my composure, resisting the urge to lose myself in those captivating blue orbs. "The base is where we handle mà fia-related activities."
"Hmm, sounds intriguing. Can I see it— the base, I mean?" The pleading look on her face and in her tone forced me to briefly look away, trying to escape her hypnotic gaze that could lead me to yet another mistake. "Dominic?"
"No." My reply was curt and firm, a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside.
Dà mn it, this is why I always say emotions are for foóls. Decisions made with feelings rarely turn out well.
"Why not?"
"Because I said so."
"You can be really annoying sometimes," Genevieve muttered under her breath, pushing aside her unfinished food and crossing her arms over her chest.
I didn’t mind being annoying in this case. She already knew too much, and that posed a significant risk.
Even with her glaring at me with those piercing ocean-blue eyes, she remained outrageously beautiful.
Despite the intensity of her stare, I needed to clarify my stance. "If being annoying means being careful, then yes, I am annoying. You knowing this much is already a considerable risk."
"What? Do you think I’ll get kidnà pped and forced to spill everything I know about you?" As usual, she was quick to grasp the implication before I could voice it.
Yes.
"Well, if you put it that way, yes."
"I’ve never been kidnà pped before; it’ll be fun." The wild grin on her face didn’t quite match her words.
What?
She is one crà zy girl.
"Being kidnà pped isn’t fun," I told her.
She scoffed. "How would you know? Have you ever been kidnà pped?"
As if anything would dare to kidnà p me. Even if someone had the audacity to try, I wouldn’t make it easy for them.
"No."
"Then don’t say anything."
Her words hung in the air, marking the end of our exchange before a comfortable silence settled in. I watched as she munched on fries, the way she chewed was oddly endearing, though I would never admit that.
She broke the quiet with four words that took my breath away, drawing my full attention. "I have a tattoo." She popped another fry into her mouth, pausing deliberately, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "It’s a butterfly tattoo."
A tattoo on her flawless skin?
As surprising as it was, the revelation was also intriguing—Genevieve King was more than meets the eye. It was fascinating how she kept revealing layers of herself, leaving me in awe each time.
And with my self-control waning, I blurted out the first question that came to mind. "Where?"
It was a question that demanded an answer, no matter how desperate or fóolish I sounded.
A broad smile spread across her face, almost as if she had anticipated my reaction. "Why don’t you take a guess?"
I knew it was futile to search her with my hungry eyes, as I had already seen everything in front of me. I could only imagine the tattoo hidden beneath her clothes.
That smirk on her face told me she was enjoying this—leading my mind where she wanted it to go.
With a slight shrug, I admitted defeat. "I don’t know."
"It’s on my lower belly, right above my waist." Genevieve finally placed the last piece of the puzzle, allowing my imagination to wander to how the butterfly might look on her fair skin. "I got it when I was fourteen. It was my second act of rebellión against my parents."
Second?
That meant there was a first.
I knew there had to be one!
"What was the first?"
"The way I dress. My mother hà tes it." She said with a smile that conveyed her delight in annoying her mother.
"Why?"
Her sense of fashion was impeccable, and her mother should be proud to have her as a daughter. Coming from someone with a penchant for mischÃef, that was saying something.
"Oh, I don't know. I'm guessing it's because it's not prim or proper to her." As much as she tried to mask it, it was clear that she still cared about her mother's opinion. But being Genevieve King, she pushed through, making her inner conflÃct almost invisible. "My siblings don't see anything wrong with the way I dress, and neither does my dad. Do you?"
"Me?"
The only issue I had with her style was that it made her irresistibly tempting, complicating my efforts at self-control. Aside from that, I was good.
She nodded, her eyes fixed on me as she awaited my response. Her anticipation, anxiety, and nervousness were palpable, making her seem more human.
She does feel, even if she acts like she doesn’t. I mean, she has a best friend. My sister once told me that if the coldest person has a best friend, it means they aren't truly the coldest person.
She wanted my answer, my validation, and so, of course, I gave it to her. "No, I don’t see anything wrong with your way of dressing; it suits you."
A sigh escaped her, and I pretended not to hear it. Then a smile graced her face. "Thank you. Do you want to know my third act of rébellion?"
"Sure, tell me."
What could it be?
Another tattoo, maybe. Or dying her hair.
No, she once told me that she has never and will never do anything reckless with her hair because, in her words, "it's a masterpiece for a masterpiece creation."
But she surprised me again with three simple words: "I had séx."
"What?"
"Yep."
"You're telling me you had séx just to be rebellióus?"
"Yes."
"That's móronic."
"It didn't feel morónic to me then, and it still doesn't."
"Well, I’m telling you it was."
You're just jealous that someone else had the chance to touch her, kiss her, know every inch of her skin before you did.
My fists clenched as that thought echoed in my mind. I kept my anger in check and asked, "When did it happen?"
Genevieve didn't hesitate to reply, "When I was fifteen."
"How old was he?"
"A year older."
She knew what I was after, yet she wasn't giving it up. This game we were playing was dangérous, but that only made it more thrilling.
Except, this part wasn't fun for you, was it?
Shut up.
"What is his name?"
Genevieve beamed her signature bright smile at me, shaking her head. "Yeah, I'm not telling you that."
••
It wasn't a surprise that I couldn't sleep when I laid down on the bed to sleep after dinner. All I could do was turn and turn, looking for the sleep I know I so desperately need to no avail.
I gave up on trying at all, and stood up to leave the room, taking my phone along with me. Without just a single thought to check up on Rory, I exited the room.
I dialled her number and it rang till it stopped, resulting me to trying for the second time only to take the same result.
I opted to sending her a text, then.
Me ≈ I hope you are fine.
I wasn't prepared for the next sight I met when I turned on the light to go get water from the kitchen. It was Genevieve just sitting there on the kitchen island with a bowl of ice cream.
"Hi," was the first thing she said to me when her eyes glanced up and saw me.
"What are you doing up?" I asked, opening the fridge to take the water. When I faced her, she was just shrugging her shoulders. "And that isn't healthy."
Genevieve took a spoonful of it and slowly licked it off of the spoon. "What is healthy, then?"
"Definitely not ice cream at two in the morning." I unscrewed the bottle water and downed most of it before screwing it shut again.
"Would you rather I eat you at two in the morning" Her question felt like she intentionally set it up to lead to this point, and it didn't surprise me how fast she could turn a total innocent conversation to this. Turned out she wasn't done as she smirked. "You know what, I can eat you at any time."
Keeping the bottle water at the counter at my back, I took slow and precise strides towards her and her eyes lit up in a chaotic gleam, turning flirtatious.
I know I wouldn't have the upper hand no matter which position she was.
Holding onto my resistance to instead be the one to do the eating, especially with her lips right in front of my gaze, I placed my palms on either side of her and her lips stretched in a watchful smirk.
"Bet I'll taste better than the ice cream, huh?" The words crawled itself out of my mouth, surprising me and her both.
Back out.
Back out.
Genevieve stared at me for a second before a soft hum breezed through her lips, then she scooped another spoonful of diabetic ice cream, and I watched her with interest.
Even if I want to back out now, I couldn't. She has casted that her hypnotizing piercing gaze on my own gaze, successfully managing to keep me fixated on her.
Tension tauntingly licked my skin, clearly enjoying the hold this minx has on me. My breaths hitched in my throat as Genevieve's tongue slid out of her mouth, sensually and oh so slowly licking it off the spoon.
"I don't know," her slender shoulder that the hoodie she wore did absolutely nothing to cover rose and fell so elegantly. "I haven't had a taste of you yet."
Yet.
That single word showed how set she is about this little game of ours.
"And I so desperately want to." Genevieve added, leaning closer to my face and only stopping when she was less than an inch to my lips.
Oxygen felt far from me as her seductive as hell gaze fell to my lips and she let out a drawled out groan.
My eyelids dropped when she leaned in, her flowery scent following her as her breaths fanned my ear. Clenching to the counter, I waited for her next words and as usual, it left me ruffled.
"But I am not gonna, because you're going to be the one to kiss me, and you're going to love every second of it."
Genevieve made it more difficult to fúcking breathe when her teeth graze across the skin of my neck, definitely leaving her mark.
In a second, she completely flipped back to be friendly. "Why are you up? Can't sleep?"
I had to blink to clear the dazed fog from my vision as I nodded.
"Do you want to sleep with me?" She instantly laughed at her question and I am guessing it Is because of my expression. "Not like that, Dominic; at least, not yet. I meant, you sleep on my bed - just sleep."
That will be crossing another line I shouldn't even think of crossing.
"I can't."
"Even when I promise I wouldn't touch you."
"Genevieve, we can't."
"Speak for yourself." Genevieve said. "You need your sleep, and I can help you sleep; allow me."
"But..."
My words are cut off because of her exaggerated eye roll. "You talk too much. It's just sleep, I am not going to jump you in your sleep."
Yeah, because I might be the one who does.
And yes, I know how it sounds.
And a chuckle broke out of me when she added. "Although, it sounds tempting."
That was what we did - sleep on her bed.
Before Genevieve woke up, I was already captivated by her peaceful slumber.
Her chest rose and fell in a soothing rhythm, and her lashes fluttered gently against her cheeks. I found myself lost in the serenity of the moment, my gaze fixed on her as if mesmerized.
What struck me most was her fearlessness, despite knowing my true nature and the darkness I harbored.
As Genevieve stirred, turning away from me, I felt a sudden pang of panic. Without thinking, I gently turned her back to face me. She murmured softly, snuggling into my side, and I was surprised by how natural it felt.
I've never been one for cuddling, but with her, it seemed different.
I carefully got out of bed, trying not to disturb her, and headed to my room to shower and dress. The restlessness I felt was unfamiliar, and I knew its source was still sleeping peacefully. I pushed the feeling aside and made coffee, one for myself and one for her.
After my coffee, I felt an overwhelming urge to immerse myself in water. Maybe swimming would help distract me from Genevieve and the desires that lingered in my mind. I headed to the rooftop pool, hoping to clear my thoughts.
As I emerged from the water, my gaze met Genevieve's, who was sitting on a lounge chair, magazine in hand. "Vixen?" I called out, stifling a laugh. When she looked up, I asked, "What are you doing?"
She replied, "Reading,"
"You sure?"
"Yeah, why?"
"It is upside down,"
Genevieve's face flushed with embarrassment as she realized her mistake.
I picked up a towel, dripping water onto the ground as I dried off. Our gazes met, and I asked, "You hungry?"
Her mischievous smile hinted at a hunger that went beyond food. "Yeah, I could eat," she replied, her eyes sparkling with intent.
I knew exactly what she meant.
TBC
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