Insatiable Cravings – Episode 103

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 103

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Dominic ~

“We can’t go back to the way we were before.” Her voice was low, gentle—so delicate it felt like she knew she was cuttińg me open but didn’t want to twist the kńife. “Things have changed. I have changed. And you have too.”

I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t changed, that at my core, I was still the man I’d always been. But the words wouldn’t come. My tongue felt leaden, useless in my own mouth.

Genevieve, ever perceptive, saw my silence for what it was and carried on. “We’re different now. Not just older, but altered. And yes, I may be willing to let go of the past—to forgive you, even. But that’s where it ends.”

“I’m fine with that.” The lie came easily, far too easily, but it burńed the moment it left my mouth. I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “No. No, I’m not fine with that. But if forgiveness is all you’ll give me, then that’s enough.”

I waited for my body to reject it, for my chest to tighten with the weight of another lie. It didn’t. The realisation, however, came swiftly.

I would never be fine without her. But if I could have even a fragment of her in my life, I could live with that.

Wait—

“You don’t hàte me, do you?”

Silence.

A silence thick enough to drown in.

What did it mean? Was she quiet because she didn’t hàte me but couldn’t bring herself to admit it? Or because she still did, and the words were simply unnecessary?

I was still unpicking the silence when the door opened, slicing through the moment like a blàde.

The instant I saw him, rage flooded my veins. A pure, seething hatréd, sharp and ice-cold.

And the bastàrd had the nerve to hold my gaze, like he wasn’t just some insignificant stain on the floor I could wipe away if I so wished.

Does he have any idea what I could do to him?

Genevieve, ever intuitive, slid between us. A human shield.

“Umm, you two have met before.” Her voice was lighter than it should have been—a flimsy attempt at neutralising the tension brewing thick and fast between us. 

I could feel it, the weight of it pressing into my ribcage. My fingers twitched with the urge to teàr his smug face apart.

“But, umm… Liam, Dominic. Dominic”—her gaze flicked to me, as if she could steady me with just a look—”Liam.”

“What is he doing here, Vie?” he asked, positioning himself behind her—too close. Far too close for my liking.

And more importantly—Vie?

My jaw clenched.

My stomach twisted. She only let people call her that if she liked them. Enough to acknowledge them. Enough to care.

I knew they’d attended the same university. I knew they’d been friends.

But just how close had they become?

Close enough for her to be staying here?

“He, umm—”

She hesitated. That alone was enough of an answer.

I refused to let her finish. “I was just leaving.”

Close enough to be something more than friends?

“Bye, Genevieve.”

“Bye.” She muttered, guiding me towards the door. Then, softer, “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” I smiled.

And to my utter shock, she smiled back.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t out of politeness.

For the first time since she came back, it was for me.

I turned, stepping out, and just before the door shut, I heard it—his voice.

“Genevieve.”

But it wasn’t just her name.

It was a whine. A petulant, pàthetic why-did-you-let-him-in? whine. A why-were-you-talking-to-him? whine.

Christ.

The smile that spread across my face was impossible to contain.

I stepped into the cold night air, but the heat of my anger didn’t fade. It pulsed beneath my skin, my fingers itching to curl into fists.

Vie. F+cking Vie.

I knew Liam from before. Knew the type of man he was. Not a thréat, but an irritation. One of those men who thought proximity to Genevieve meant something. That if he hovered close enough, was patient enough, one day she’d wake up and see him as more than just a friend.

Pàthetic.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand down my face, forcing my body to loosen, even as my mind reeled.

It had taken everything in me not to react, not to wipe that smug expression off his face the moment I stepped into the room.

But Genevieve had stepped between us.

And that was the part that truly twisted the kńife.

Not the fact that she was staying with him. Not the nickname. Not even the hesitation in her voice when I asked what he was doing there.

No.

It was the fact that she had instinctively placed herself between us.

Like she thought I would do something.

Like she thought I still had that in me.

That I’d still burń the world down for her.

And the worst part?

She was right.

I pulled open my car door, sliding inside, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn my knuckles white. The residual scent of her perfume still lingered on me—light, floral, with that undertone of something darker. Something distinctly her.

I breathed it in. Let it ground me.

Let it remind me.

She had smiled at me tonight. For me.

And that meant something.

I tapped my fingers against the wheel, staring out at the dimly lit street, contemplating. 

She said she had changed.

Fine.

She wouldn’t be the only one.

Tomorrow, we would see exactly how much. 

..

The drive back was a blur. I barely remembered the turns, the traffic, or even pulling into the underground garage beneath my building.

All I could think about was her.

That smile.

That fleeting, impossible smile that I had no right to receive.

And yet, she gave it to me. Me. Not out of politeness. Not out of obligation. But because, for a split second, something in her wanted to.

That meant something.

I killéd the engine and leaned back against the headrest, fingers flexing over the leather steering wheel.

There was a time when I knew Genevieve better than I knew myself. Knew the tilt of her head when she was considering something dangerous, the way she chewed her bottom lip when she was trying not to laugh. The way she held her breath right before she let me kiss her.

But now?

She was like a stranger wearing the same face.

And that should have made it easier.

Should have.

I sighed, raking a hand through my hair before stepping out of the car. The walk to the front door was silent, save for the steady hum of tension coiling, thick and heavy, inside my chest.

I needed a drink.

No—I needed her.

I let out a bitter laugh as I pushed open the door to my house. That wasn’t happening. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The whisky burńed as it slid down my throat, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling under my skin.

I set the glass down with more force than necessary, the sharp clink against the marble counter echoing through the empty room. Too empty. Too fúcking quiet.

I let out a slow breath, tilting my head back, eyes tracing the ceiling. I should sleep.

But the moment I closed my eyes, I knew what I’d see.

Her.

Genevieve, standing in front of me. Looking up at me. Her mouth forming words that should have been knivés, but somehow, somehow, they felt like mercy.

“See you tomorrow.”

Christ.

I dragged a hand through my hair before heading for the shower, stripping off my shirt as I walked. Maybe scalding water could wash this feeling off me. Maybe exhaustion would dull the restless energy simmering in my veins.

And maybe—just maybe—if I let my body sink into the heat, I could pretend for just a moment that tonight hadn’t gotten to me.

That she hadn’t gotten to me. 

                                  ☆☆☆☆

Morning came, dragging in the kind of restless energy that had me up before my alarm. Not that I’d slept much.

I arrived at the office earlier than usual, but the place was already humming with movement. Workers in high-visibility vests and hard hats were scattered throughout the building, the sharp scent of fresh paint mixing with the faint burń of coffee.

She was here.

I strode through the corridors, nodding absently at employees as I passed. The renovation had been going on for weeks, but today felt different. Because now, she was no longer just some contractor working on my company.

She was Genevieve.

And she had smiled at me.

I found her in the main office space, deep in conversation with a group of workers. She was gesturing towards one of the half-painted walls, her brow furrowed in concentration.

She hadn’t noticed me yet.

Good.

I leaned against the doorway, taking in the scene.

She was in her element—giving instructions, correcting details, commanding a room with nothing but quiet confidence. It was the same thing I’d admired about her years ago. She had always known how to take control, how to shape the world into what she wanted it to be.

But had she always looked this fucking good doing it?

She must have sensed me watching because she turned suddenly, her gaze snapping to mine.

Something passed through her expression—something she was quick to suppress. 

“Hey.” She spoke first, slicing through the silence between us.

A slow smile spread across my lips as I let my gaze roam over her, indulging in the exquisite sight before me. My eyes—traitorous things—devoured her, feasting as if I’d been starved.

“Hi,” I managed, my voice coming out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat, as if that could disguise the way I was openly drinking her in.

But what else was I meant to do?

Where else could I possibly look when she stood there, draped in yet another impossibly lovely floral dress that cinched at the waist, skimming her curves in a way that was both modest and devastatíng? The fabric clung just enough to hint at softness beneath, teasing at what I could hold if only I reached out. She had a way of making elegance look effortless, as if beauty itself had chosen to reside in her.

“You’re staring.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Can’t seem to look away.”

A flicker of amusement ghosted across her face, fleeting but unmistakable. She fought a smile—valiantly, I might add—but she didn’t win.

I made her smile.

Me.

It was like I was a collector of rare artefacts, and her smiles were the most precious of them all—genuine, unguarded, painfùlly beautiful. And she was making me work for them.

“Yeah?” I murmured, every ounce of my attention locked onto her, unbothered by the world around us. “You might have to force yourself to look away, you know. Staring is rude.”

“Only if you catch me.”

“I always do.”

“True.” I inclined my head slightly. “You always do.”

“You admit it?” Genevieve tilted her head, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Nice. I thought you’d deny it.”

“And why would I do that?”

She only shrugged, but the slight arch of her brow made it clear—she knew exactly what she was doing.

My fingers twitched at my sides, restless. My gaze dipped, tracing the delicate lines of her collarbone, the soft curve of her throat, the way her pulse fluttered—steady, unaffected—beneath her skin. She stood there, composed, while I unravelled.

I was hungry for her. Starving for her.

For the warmth of her body pressing into mine. For the feel of those pillowy, cherry-red lips. For the sounds—those breathless, intoxicatíng little sounds—she made when I kissed her senseless.

Craving—

“Dominic.”

My name, uttered in that familiar warning tone, dragged me back.

A command. A quiet, effortless show of control. She knew precisely where my mind had wandered, and she refused to let me have it.

A low chuckle rumbled in my chest as I dropped my gaze to the floor, staring at my shoes for a beat, grounding myself in something—anything—other than her. Regaining what little shred of composure I had left before meeting her eyes once more.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

That was the power she had over me—reducing me to obedience with nothing but my name.

Genevieve didn’t reply immediately. She only looked at me, her expression unreadable, her lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smirk. As if she knew exactly how tangled up I was in her, how deep I’d sunk.

And she did know.

She was simply choosing to revel in it.

I inhaled deeply, exhaling through my nose as I willed myself back under control.

“How was your night?” she asked at last, her voice soft, casual—completely unbothered by the effect she had on me.

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Not nearly as interesting as this.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. “This?”

“You.”

The word landed between us, heavy, certain. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t take it back.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but the smirk never wavered. If anything, it deepened.

“Flirting?” she mused, tilting her head slightly. “Again?”

I stepped closer—just enough to test her resolve, to see if she would retreat.

She didn’t.

Of course, she didn’t.

I could feel the warmth of her body, the faintest trace of her perfume—something floral, delicate, utterly her. It wrapped around me, invaded my senses, threatened to shatter the last of my restraint.

“I’m not flirting.” My voice dropped lower, more deliberate. “That would imply there’s a game to be played.”

Her gaze flickered down to my lips for just a second—a mere heartbeat—but I caught it. My body caught it. A sharp pulse of heat shot through me, my fingers flexing at my sides as I fought the urge to close the space between us completely.

But then, in an infuriatińgly smooth motion, she stepped back, putting just enough distance between us to remind me who was really in control here.

“Mm.” She hummed, feigning consideration. “Good.”

A challenge.

She was toying with me. She knew she was toying with me.

I clenched my jaw, exhaling sharply through my nose. “Right.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, forcing a smirk onto my lips. 

The faintest glimmer of amusement sparked in her eyes, as if she’d won some invisible battle I hadn’t even realised we were fighting.

She turned on her heel and walked ahead, leaving me to follow.

And of course, I did.

Because where else would I be but right here, caught in her gravity, willingly following wherever she led

TBC📖✍️

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