INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 131
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
“Of course,” I said, my mouth stretching into a grin that felt suspiciously like a mask. “We can.”
Her eyes lit up with a soft glow, and then she beamed. “Really?” There was a flicker of surprise in her voice she couldn’t quite hide.
“Yeah.”
The word hung in the air between us, warm and solid—something she could hold on to. And she did, like it anchored her.
I arched a brow and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What sort of fiancé would I be if I said no to a night out with the woman I love?”
She exhaled, a quiet sound, part relief, part disbelief. The ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “A responsible one. The sort who probably knows it’s a terríble idea to be anywhere public when a lúnatic might be watching us.”
She wasn’t wrong. In fact, calling it a terríble idea was putting it mildly. But I’d be with her. And the bodyguards would be stationed discreetly, eyes on her from the shadows—same as always.
“Maybe,” I said, my lips quirking wryly. “But I also know you need to feel normal again. And I won’t let him take that from you. From us.”
Us.
That one word wrapped itself around me like a threadbare blanket on a cold night—frayed but familiar. She didn’t respond immediately, just looked at me. Really looked.
My hair was slightly dishevelled—probably from running my hand through it too often—and there was still a faint smear of dust on my forearm from when I’d leaned on a grimy wall earlier today. I hadn’t even noticed it. My mind had been too full.
I didn’t yet know where my findings would lead, but with any luck, they’d bring me one step closer to Viktor.
My other hand rose of its own accord, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “What time does the party start?”
“Seven.”
“Alright. We’ll stay an hour—maybe two. I’m keeping you close the whole time.”
“Is that a protective order, or a thréat to cling to me all night?” Her teasing had the corners of my mouth twitching despite the quiet storm in my chest.
“Both,” I replied without missing a beat, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth—God, that mouth. “You hungry?”
A smirk curled across her lips. “For food? Or…” Her finger dragged lazily down my chest, flirtatious and maddeniñg.
“Carry on like that and you won’t be able to walk to the party.”
“Oh?” she murmured, her tone faux-innocent as her fingers slipped to the buttons of my shirt. “Will I trip?”
“Genevieve.” A warning, clear and clipped.
“What?” she said, tilting her head with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m helping. Thought I’d be a very good fiancée and assist you with getting ready for your shower.”
Bloódy héll. I could get used to hearing her say that word.
Fiancée.
Who knew a single word could do so much? It clung to me—soaked into my skin, hummed through my bones, lodged itself in my lungs like sweet smoke.
“What you’re being is naughty.”
“Can’t I be naughty with my own fiancé?”
I felt my face heat, which was absurd considering the things I’d done in my life. But here she was, making me blush like some lovesick schoolboy.
“Ah,” she grinned, pinching my cheek with maddeníng delight. “I made you blush. You are the cutest.”
I might’ve argued the claim—insisted on being brooding and dangeroús—if she hadn’t looked so f+cking gorgeous while saying it.
“Why don’t you go have your shower, and I’ll order room service?”
I leant down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Alright.” Then I shrugged out of my half-unbuttoned shirt and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. “Could you charge my phone? Battery’s nearly dead.”
“Sure.”
I handed her the device and padded toward the bathroom, nerves slithering under my skin like restless snakes. My mind was a tangle of noise and half-formed thoughts.
Thanks to Echo’s digging, we’d finally tracked one of Viktor’s people. I’d be in Turkey by tomorrow. And if luck was on my side, I’d finally get some answers.
••
I was dressed in a dark grey coat layered over a black shirt—buttons undone just enough to expose the hollow of my throat. Sharp, clean, deliberate. A visual reminder that I hadn’t lost control.
Genevieve stepped out a moment later, and my breath caught.
She wore a fitted black dress—demure in the front, but the back… Christ. It dipped low enough to start wars. And that ring on her finger—it caught the light like a promise whispered against skin.
Still here.
Still mine.
My gaze swept over her. Slowly. Thoroughly.
She looked like a vision. Like every twisted, yearning fantasy I’d ever had had walked out of my head and into this hotel room.
“You look…” I shook my head faintly. Words failed. “That dress is going to be a problem.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m not changing.”
“Fine. I’ll just take it off myself when we get back,” I murmured, stepping closer to kiss her bare shoulder.
Her breath hitched. “Why? My hands work perfectly well on their own.”
“We’ll see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, the party’s going to be packed. Most people will probably already be drunk—and some might get a bit too touchy or far too chatty.”
“Alright.”
“Don’t cause a scene.”
“You are the scene.”
She huffed a laugh. “I’m serious. I don’t want you getting all possessive and broody the moment I chat to someone. Especially if it’s a man.”
“If he lays a finger on you, I am causing a scene, baby.”
She groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yours.” I winked.
☆☆☆☆
We stepped out into the night not long after. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a smear of indigo and violet, city lights flickering like restless stars. The streets were coming alive—music spilling from open doors, bursts of laughter echoing in alleyways, tyres humming against slick pavement.
It should’ve felt ordinary.
It almost did.
But as my hand found Genevieve’s, and our steps synced instinctively, I glanced over my shoulder.
Because the thing about shadows is—they don’t always stay where you leave them.
Sometimes, they follow.
..
After exchanging pleasantries with Cora, the rest of the night blurred into a cacophony of flashing lights, pulsing beats, and noise masquerading as music.
Thankfully, my fiancée was clever enough to notice when my patience was running thin.
God, I loved her.
She knows me far too bloody well—well enough to catch the precise moment my patience finally snapped.
I didn’t utter a single word. Didn’t need to. I’m certain the shift in my posture was subtle but unmistakable—shoulders drawn just a touch tighter, jaw clenching just enough for the muscle to twitch. I was exhausted, yet still playing the role: offering polite nods, murmuring half-hearted pleasantries, all the while feeling my composure slowly begin to fray.
So, she did what any half-decent fiancée would do. She saved me.
“I think we will call it a night,” she said to Cora, her smile warm and effortless as she reached for my hand. “It’s been lovely.”
Cora was too far gone to argue. Her laughter trailed behind us as we walked off, her champagne sloshing dangeroúsly close to spilling.
The moment the door shut behind us, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath the entire evening. Perhaps I had. Genevieve gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, drawing us closer as the world outside embraced us—horns blaring somewhere in the distance, music drifting from a nearby flat, the soft echo of our footsteps against the pavement.
“Social battery: completely déad?” she asked, glancing up at me.
“Shattered,” I muttered. “Utterly beyond repair.”
She grinned. “You were good, though. Charming. Brooding. Only mildly hómicidal.”
“I was contemplating murdér the entire time.”
Not entirely a lie.
“I know,” she replied, smirking. “That’s what made it so blóody attractive.”
Genevieve f+ckíng King—one of the few women I know who doesn’t flinch at the word múrder. She talks about it as casually as if she were discussing the flippiñg weather.
And Christ, I couldn’t love her more if I tried.
I looked at her then—really looked. Emotion churned within me; a strange blend of frustration, fondness, and something dangeróusly close to awe. I tugged her gently towards the car. The driver stepped out before we reached it, wordless and efficient as always, opening the door with a slight bow of his head. One of the bodyguards nodded subtly from across the road, ever watchful.
It was like the shadows moved with us. Observed us. But for once, I didn’t mind. Not tonight. Not when Genevieve’s hand remained wrapped in mine, steady and warm.
She thinks I haven’t noticed. Thinks I don’t see how on edge she is—how her smiles barely reach her eyes, how they flicked nervously around the party all evening. But she kept her composure. For me.
Inside the car, the noise dulled to a low, distant hum. The windows caught the passing streetlights, scattering flickers of gold and amber across her face. She looked almost ethereal—so still, so composed, yet I knew better.
I let out a long breath as my back met the leather seat. In here, I wasn’t him—not the cold, calculating man the world feared. I was just… a man. One terrifiéd of losing the only family he’s got left.
“I know it was a risk,” Genevieve said quietly, resting her head back, her voice barely above a murmur. “Coming tonight. Stepping out like this.”
She was being rational again. Too rational, and I had no words in return. So I held her gaze, hoping she could read everything in mine—the gratitude, the apology, the promise.
“But I needed it,” she went on. “I needed to feel like myself. Not a target. Not someone’s pawn. Just… a woman. With her fiancé.”
A breath escaped me, slow and deliberate. “You’re so much more than a pawn, Genevieve.”
And I hoped—God, I hoped—she knew that.
“I know,” she replied gently, as if she’d heard the thought. She reached for my hand again, weaving her fingers through mine. “But it’s easy to forget. Especially when the man I love keeps glancing over his shoulder like he’s waiting for deàth to tap him on the bloódy shoulder.”
Of course she’d noticed.
How could she not?
“I’m not blaming you,” she added quickly, softening the blow. “I’m just saying… for a little while tonight, I forgot about all of that. I saw the man I love. Being awkward. Being charming. Being—annoyingly—s+xy in a room full of strangers. And that… that mattered.”
So I lied earlier. I can love her more.
I stared at her for a long moment, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—soft, deliberate, reverent. “I’d do it all again,” I murmured.
“I know,” she whispered back.
And just like that, the silence between us shifted.
Not heavy. Not strained.
Just quiet.
Intimate.
So comfortable, I almost forgot I was leaving tomorrow.
TBC📖✍️
