Insatiable Cravings – Episode 106

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 106

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 ~ 

My gaze never wavered from Genevieve, even as she stirred restlessly on the bed, shifting like a cold pup searching for warmth.

She was utterly adorable.

I could stay here all night, just watching her like the unrepentant bastàrd I am whenever she’s near. It isn’t my fault my body reacts this way to her, is it?

It’s hers—for existing. For being so effortlessly, infuriatińgly breathtaking every blóody second of her life. So, by all means, blame her.

She murmured something inaudible, her voice slurred by sleep, then rolled onto her side, pushing herself upright. The room was dimly lit, shadows pooling around her, but even in the faint glow, I caught the shift in her expression. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips—too flirtatious, too damn dangerous.

“Hi.” Her voice was a sultry whisper, low and sinful enough to make my grip on restraint falter. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you.” Because that’s precisely what I was doing.

I wasn’t about to risk her doing something reckless while this drunk on whatever she’d consumed.

She tilted her head, sending waves of hair cascading over her shoulder, her blue eyes glassy with intoxicàtion. “Why?” The way she asked—innocent, curious, utterly unaware of the effect she had on me—made something dark twist inside me.

A laugh rumbled from my chest. “Because I don’t want you doing something crazy, Vix… Genevieve.”

Her smile deepened, and this time, it wasn’t the shy or teasing grin she’d flashed me earlier in the night. No, this was something else. Something smouldering. Something my Vixen used to give me.

“Can you watch me while being closer?”

“I am close.”

She pouted, the soft curve of her lips drawing my gaze like a force beyond my control. “No, you’re too far.”

I wasn’t sure what was running through that beautiful, inebriated head of hers, but I knew one thing—I was powerless against it.

The moment she moved to stand, I knew she’d miscalculated. She barely made it two steps before her balance betrayed her. I caught her before she could collapse, my hands finding her waist just as her body pressed against mine.

Fúcking mistake.

Not catching her—that would never be a mistake. But allowing myself to feel her this close? That was the real dànger.

Genevieve looked up at me, her blue eyes gleaming like liquid fíre. “Hi,” she breathed, drawing out the word, her voice syrupy sweet. “Now, you’re close.”

She wasn’t in her right mind. I was. I should be the sensible one. The voice of reason. The one who knew that if she kept looking at me like that, I’d snap.

That if she didn’t stop tracing those delicate fingers over my chest, I’d close the distance myself.

But instead, I asked, “You wanted me this close?”

Her smile was slow and radiant, her answer a single, definitive nod. “Yeah. How else would I get to kiss you?”

I had no chance to react before her lips met mine. Perhaps freezing wasn’t the best response. But at that moment, it was the only thing I could do. 

My thoughts scattered the moment Genevieve came too close—her scent, her presence, her everything clouding what little sense I had left. She pulled away from my lips, just enough to trap my lower lip between her teeth, then let it slip free as her hypnotic gaze locked onto mine.

“I missed you,” she murmured, the words slightly slurred but perfectly clear. Her fingertip brushed my lower lip—the one she’d just bitten—her eyes torn between staying on mine or drifting down to my mouth.

I was losing my mind. Losing my breath. If she kept looking at me like that, I might just lose myself completely. My gaze followed the flick of her tongue as she wet her lips, and something inside me stuttered—my pulse, my lungs, my very sanity.

Genevieve, being infuriatińgly perceptive, noticed. The slow smirk that curved her lips was almost cruel.

“Dominic.”

I swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah?”

“I want to kiss you.”

“We can’t,” I told her, despite the way my mind and body screamed at me to shut the héll up. “I can’t.”

She tilted her head, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Let me help you then.” Before I could question her, she shoved me. I stumbled backwards, landing hard on the sofa. My pulse slammed against my ribs, but she only grinned, victorious, as she took a few unsteady, slightly clumsy, funny-looking steps toward me.

I wasn’t laughing. I couldn’t. My heart was hammering in a way that couldn’t possibly be healthy—beating too fast, too loud, like it was trying to escape my chest.

She was drúnk. Utterly oblivious to right and wrong in this moment. I should have been the one to stop her. I should have been the one to tell her that straddling me was a mistake.

But how could I, when I could barely breathe?

She rocked her hips, adjusting her balance, and in doing so, ground down against me. A low curse stuck in my throat.

“Do you have any idea how devastatíngly hot you are?” she mused, fingers trailing over my chest before finding the buttons of my shirt. She toyed with them, teasing the fabric apart.

I wanted to tell her to stop. To say, Genevieve, please, you need to stop before you do something neither of us can undo.

But the only thing that left my lips was her name. And it didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like permission.

“Shhh,” she hushed me, pressing a finger against my mouth before leaning in, so slowly, and claiming my lips.

And f+ck—I kissed her back. I kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Like this was the last time I’d ever get the chance.

Our lips moved in perfect sync, our heads tilting instinctively for better access. One of my hands found her waist, pulling her closer, while the other cradled the back of her neck, keeping her exactly where I wanted her. Not that she seemed to want anything different—her fists clenched around my shirt, dragging me nearer, her hips grinding into me with devastatíng precision.

Then she parted her lips, let her tongue flick against mine, and I—I let her. I let myself drown in her. Let myself get drúnk on Genevieve, reckless and willing and utterly lost.

Until her hand slipped beneath my shirt.

Sanity returned like a slap, the sharp flood of reality knocking me back into my own mind. I forced myself to tear away, breathing hard.

Genevieve frowned, irritated by the distance, and Christ, she looked too beautiful like that—flushed, tousled, her lips swollen from our kiss.

I cupped her face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” she whined, pouting.

“Just because.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well,” I exhaled sharply, my breath stuttering as another shudder ran through me. “For one, you’re drúnk.”

She rolled her eyes. “And for two?”

“You hàte me.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” 

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not hàte you.”

“You said it yourself,” I countered, voice low. “With your own mouth, Genevieve.”

She huffed, then leaned in, brushing a teasing kiss against my lips. “This mouth,” she murmured, kissing my cheek. “That once said it hatéd you,” another kiss—this time, daṅgerously close to my jaw. “Is now saying,” her lips pressed to my neck, and I swore I stopped breathing. My hands clenched around her waist, holding on for dear life. “That she wants you right now.”

I swallowed hard. “Y-you don’t.”

She is drúnk.

She is drúnk.

“Dominic,” she muttered, irritated. “Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want. It’s annoying.”

She had no idea what annoying felt like.

This—this—was annoying. Having the woman I still loved, the woman who was supposed to despise me, draped across my lap, whispering things that would only end in disaster.

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

Her pout deepened. “You don’t love me anymore?”

“Genevieve…”

“Yes or no, Dominic?” she demanded. Her voice was softer now, but no less insistent. She searched my face, waiting for an answer. And when I didn’t give one, she tilted her head. “Huh?”

I let out a shaky breath. Melted at the way she smiled—small, knowing, dańgerous.

“Of course, I love you.”

Her eyes softened. “Then kiss me.”

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “You’ll cut out my tongue tomorrow when you’re sober.”

That made her laugh. “No, I won’t.”

“You absolutely will.”

“You talk too much,” Genevieve murmured, tugging me forward by my necklace until our lips met once more.

I was a breath away from self-destrúction. My pulse hammered—no, it was outright rioting, thundering so fast it felt like my heart might give out. The dim light of the room swayed at the edges of my vision. I was dizzy, untethered, utterly ruinéd by the taste of her.

And yet, I kissed her again when I shouldn’t have. I knew I shouldn’t. But I also knew she was well aware of the chàos she was wreakińg within me, given the way she smirked each time she tilted her head, deepening the kiss, drawing me further into oblivion.

My grip on her waist tightened, fingers digging into the silk of her dress as a ragged sound escaped me—half-whimper, half-surrender. I was careening towards madnéss. The pleasure—the godforsaken, intoxicatíng pleasure—ravaged through me, seeping into the marrow of my bones as her lips left my mouth, charting a path along my jaw. Each brush, each deliberate press of her mouth, set my skin alight, a slow-burníng inferno that consumed everything but her.

When she finally reached the junction where my neck met my shoulder, she pressed a kiss there—soft, fleeting—yet it sent a vicious shudder tearing through me. And then she giggled.

The little minx giggled.

Drúnk Genevieve was an entirely different creature—far more dańgerous, utterly impossible to resist, and infuriatińgly playful. Playful enough to weave her fingers into my hair and give a teasing tug, her tongue tracing a slow, torturoús path along the side of my throat.

I had a fraction of a second to find my senses, to tell her to stop—only for my resolve to shatter as she bit down on my earlobe, catching it between her teeth before sucking, her lips so warm, so devastatíngly sińful. 

Then, oh so deliberately, she dragged her mouth down the column of my throat and sank her teeth into my flesh.

“F+ck.” The word punched out of me, hoarse, wreckéd, and completely at her mercy.

Her teeth pressed into my throat, just enough to make me feel it—just enough to make me groan. My head tipped back against the headboard, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls as her lips soothed over the bite, tongue flicking out to taste me.

“F+cking héll, Genevieve—” My voice was wreckéd, raw, barely a thread of restraint keeping me from turning the tables on her.

She hummed against my skin, fingers tightening in my hair as she shifted, her body pressing flush against mine. Warm, soft, intoxicatíng.

“You’re so tense,” she whispered, her breath hot against my jaw. She punctuated her words with a slow, languid roll of her hips, and I swore under my breath, my fingers digging into her waist.

I needed to stop this. I needed to push her away before I completely lost myself, before I did something I couldn’t take back. But when she lifted her head and met my gaze—eyes dark with want, lips swollen from our kisses—I knew I was already done for.

She smiled, that infuriatińgly knowing smile, before tugging me down into another kiss.

It was different this time—slower, deeper. Less playful, more deliberate. Her hands slid from my hair, skimming down my chest, igniting sparks in their wake. My body betrayed me, leaning into her touch, craving more, more, more, and f+cking more.

“Genevieve,” I managed, though her name was barely more than a breath against her lips. A warning. A plea.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her fingers toying with the pendant of my necklace. “I love when you look at me like that.” she murmured, her voice thick with something daṅgerously close to tenderness.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to devour me.”

I exhaled sharply, my grip tightening on her waist as I wrestled with the war inside me. “That’s because I do.”

Her lips curled, and she leaned in, her mouth brushing over mine as she whispered, “Then stop fighting it.”

And God help me, I did. 

Somehow, we were moving—her hands in my hair, my fingers clutching at her waist. The sofa was no longer enough, the world tilting as I pressed her back onto the bed, covering her with my body.

Her arms looped around my neck, pulling me closer, deeper, as if she knew I was still clinging to that last thread of resistance.

I hovered above her, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers. “You’re drúnk,” I muttered, my voice rough, desperate for sanity.

“So?” she whispered, her lips brushing against mine, teasing, testing. “You want me.”

God help me, she was right.

And I was so, so f+ckéd.

Instinctively, my lips abandoned hers, trailing lower, finding the delicate curve of her neck. Genevieve arched into me, a breathy móan slipping past her parted lips. She tilted her head, exposing more of that soft, porcelain skin—offering herself to me like a sacrificiàl lamb to the slaughtér.

Another m0an—low, needy—escaped her as I soothed the bite I’d just left with my tongue. Mine.

“Kiss me, Dominic.”

And f+ck, I did.

I did, even though my rational mind—the one above, not the one below—told me to stop.

My hands moved of their own accord, slipping beneath the hem of her—ny shirt, palms skimming over fevered, silken skin. She sucked in a sharp breath against my lips, her body responding instinctively, arching into my touch. Into me.

Her fingers twisted into my hair, nails scraping against my scalp, dragging a guttural groan from the depths of my chest. I pressed her down, caging her between my body and the bed, claiming her mouth until there was nothing left but this. The taste of her. The feel of her. The intoxicatíng cadence of our mingled breaths, of a desire too raw, too all-consuming to be tamed.

It was bliss.

Sińful, unfiltered, fúcking heaven.

“You should stop me,” I murmured against her lips, though we both knew neither of us wanted that.

Genevieve exhaled shakily, her head falling back against the pillows, her throat bared—vulnerable. Jesus Christ.

“And why would I do that?” Her voice wavered, but not with uncertainty.

She wanted this. Me. Sober or not.

Right?

My lips found her jaw, then the delicate skin beneath her ear, where her pulse pounded erratically against my mouth. “But you’re drúnk.”

I tried to move, to put space between us now that my blóody self-control had made a miraculous reappearance. But the minx had other plans. Her legs locked around my waist, heels digging in, holding me there.

“You wouldn’t want this if you weren’t drúnk.”

“There hasn’t been a single day since I met you that I haven’t wanted this. That I haven’t wanted you.” Her fingers trailed down my chest. “So stop being a cóckblocker and kiss me.”

A startled laugh broke from my lips. Using one hand to brace myself so I wouldn’t crush her, I cradled her face with the other, thumb grazing her cheek.

Beautiful. Too fúcking beautiful. 

Her lips—swollen, waiting. Her eyes—hypnotic, pleading.

Resist, I told myself. With sheer force of will, I pulled back, rising off her, backing away.

She sat up with a groan, running a hand through her hair, a pout forming on her lips.

A pout I desperately wanted to kiss.

Snap out of it, Dominic.

F+cking snap out of it.

I raked a hand through my hair, exhaling harshly. But Genevieve—my own personal dévil—didn’t even let me breathe before she was moving towards me.

No.

I had to fight this.

I couldn’t fall.

Don’t fall.

Do not f+cking fall.

She stopped in front of me, tilting her head. “Do you think I’m ugly?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” A wicked smile curved her lips. “Then kiss me like you don’t.”

I shook my head, and of course, she noticed my hesitation.

“Dominic,” she whined.

“N-no. Baby, I can’t.”

“Should I help you?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re being infuriatíng.”

“No, I’m being careful. You’ll kíll me tomorrow when you sober up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you saying I’m not in my right mind?”

“You’re drúnk,” I repeated—for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

“Haven’t you heard? Drúnk minds speak sober thoughts.” She reached for me again, arms looping around my neck, pressing onto her toes to get closer. “This is my sober thought, Dominic. I want you.”

“You have me. You always have. But not like this. Not when you—”

A dramatic groan. A roll of her eyes.

“Let me guess.” Her fingers toyed with the collar of my shirt. “Because I’m drúnk?”

“E-exactly.”

Her body was too close. Too warm. Her waist—slender, enticing—taunted me.

I could just grab it, pull her in, let instinct take over—

No.

I wrenched my thoughts away before they became action.

“You want me,” she murmured. Not a question. A fact.

Then, that temptress leaned in, her lips ghosting over my jaw, to my ear.

“And I want you too.”

Resist.

Don’t fall.

Resist.

Don’t—

“When did you get so boring?” she huffed, then smirked. “I bet Liam wouldn’t mind kissing me if I went to him.”

Everything in me snapped.

Before she could so much as blink, my hands shot to her waist, yanking her flush against me. My jaw clenched as I pinned her with a glare, my patience hanging by a fraying thread.

“Say that again,” I dared.

And because it was Genevieve—because she loved to fúcking test me—she smirked.

Then, after an agonisingly long pause, she opened her mouth and asked, “Are you jealous?”

Jealous?

F+ck yes, I am.

But I didn’t say that. Instead, I crushed my mouth against hers, swallowing her gasp, devouring her response.

Her fingers twitched, hesitated—then fisted into my shirt.

I pulled back, just enough to look at her, and Jesus Christ—she whimpered at the loss of my lips.

My lips.

My f+cking lips.

And that was all I needed.

A low, guttural sound tore from my throat—a growl of relief, of frustration, of something darker.

Then I was on her.

Mouth hot and unrelenting, swallowing her moans. Her back hit the wall as I pressed into her, solid, unyielding, fúcking consuming.

My fingers tangled in her hair, gripping, tilting her head just so—to take, to own, to ruin.

Genevieve gasped into my mouth, and I took advantage, tongue sliding against hers, coaxing, demanding, obliterating.

She tasted like something forbidden. Something sweet, something familiar, something sińful. Something I would chase—even if it killéd me.

“F+ck,” I groaned against her lips, voice ragged.

Her fingers curled into my hair, pulling, and f+ck, I nearly lost my mind.

I kissed her harder, deeper, drinking her in like a dyìng man gasping for breath.

And maybe I was.

Her nails scraped down my back, and I swore I saw stars.

“You’re going to kíll me,” I muttered, voice wreckéd.

“Good,” she whispered back, mouth trailing to my jaw, teeth grazing skin.

A violent shudder racked through me.

“You have no idea,” I rasped, my lips finding her throat again, lingering, branding her. My breath warm against her skin. “No fúcking idea how much I want you. How much I burń for you.”

Her breath hitched. A delicious little sound.

“You still taste the same,” I muttered, tongue flicking against her pulse, revelling in the way she trembled.

“And how’s that?” she breathed.

My teeth grazed her skin, teasing, threateníng.

“Like f+cking sín.”

She yanked me back to her mouth, swallowing my groan, dragging me back into the abyss of her.

It was madnéss.

It was heaven.

It was addictión.

And neither of us was ready to stop.

TBC📖✍️

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