INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 109
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
Her lips hovered above mine—just a breath away—as if offering me one final opportunity to back out. To stop this from becoming what we both knew it was about to be.
But I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
My hand slipped from her cheek to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair the way I’d ached to for years. And when I angled her face up to mine, I didn’t hesitate.
I kissed her.
Gently at first—slow and deliberate, like I was relearning something I’d once known intimately but thought lost to time. Her lips were soft, warm, still kissed by sleep, and laced with a dangerous sort of trust.
She sighed against my mouth, the sound delicate, breathy, and so intimate it reverberated right through my chest. Her hand clutched at my shirt, fisting the fabric like she needed something to hold onto—and God, I hoped it was me.
Then it deepened.
She opened to me like a secret waiting to be unearthed, and I met her without hesitation, without reserve. My other hand dropped to her waist, drawing her flush against me until there wasn’t an inch left between our bodies.
Her fingers found my hair, curling in, and when she tilted her head just enough to let our mouths fit more perfectly—Christ, I was gone. Completely undone.
The kiss turned ravenous, desperate. Four years of silence and longing, of torment and sleepless nights poured out of me with each movement of my mouth against hers. If I kissed her hard enough, maybe I could erase the time, apologise for every second I’d been gone.
But she didn’t want an apology.
She kissed me back like she only wanted me.
Her tongue brushed mine, and the low, guttural sound that left me was instinctive—primal. I’d forgotten her taste, the feel of her, the exact way she fit against me.
And now? Now I never wanted to forget again.
When we finally broke apart, our breathing was ragged, foreheads resting together, lips tingling and swollen, our hearts drumming in unison. Reckless and real.
Her eyes fluttered open, dark lashes kissing flushed cheeks. That deep sea blue—I’d fallen into them once before and never truly resurfaced. Now, I could almost see it.
The love.
It was there—gathering, blooming, slowly igniting like embers waiting for a breeze.
I could feel it.
Even if she said nothing, I knew just by looking at her. But she had said it—in her way. Not in words. But in the way she let me kiss her. In the way she kissed me back.
My gorgeous, infuriating vixen still cared for my poor, ruined soul. For a moment, I dared to believe that the man upstairs didn’t completely despise me.
She didn’t speak, and honestly? She didn’t need to. Her silence wasn’t empty—it was loud, full of meaning. Her breathlessness was my doing.
Me.
I’d kissed her until she was gasping for air, lips plump and bruised from mine. Just there, hovering—an inch, that’s all it would take to have her again.
I was going to. She didn’t stop me. Her eyes were half-lidded, drunk on me.
But then—
“Nicky?!”
Aurora’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade. We both went still, eyes snapping toward the entrance of the my room where my cockroach of a sister had appeared, nose buried in her phone. “How was your night? I hope you had—”
She looked up.
One second. That’s all it took for the colour to drain from her face.
Aurora and awkward had never belonged in the same sentence. But now? My little sister stood frozen, radiating discomfort.
It was both hilarious and maddening.
“Hey,” she squeaked, her voice high-pitched and very un-Rory. She winced, eyes scrunching shut as the realisation hit. “I interrupted, didn’t I?” Her gaze pinged from me to Genevieve.
Genevieve—who had instantly stepped away, cheeks glowing crimson, flustered and breathtaking. I wanted to frame the image of her like that—my handiwork.
Aurora dashed closer, eyes wide. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were still here,” she said to Genevieve. “If I go now, you two can carry on, yeah?”
“Still?” I cut in, stepping between them. “You knew she was here?” I pinned Rory with a stare.
She laughed nervously, dodging my glare and scampering past me like a mischievous gremlin. “I’ll just be in my room. You two continue.”
“Actually,” Genevieve said, her voice firm despite the redness clinging to her cheeks, “I’d like a word with you.”
“A word? With me?” Aurora blinked. “Why?”
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“Dominic,” Genevieve said sweetly, “could you get me some water?”
My mouth parted. She was sending me away. Deliberately.
The cheek of her.
“Sure,” I muttered, still blinking.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
I made for the kitchen, walking faster than I needed to because, truthfully, I was nosy as hell. I grabbed a clean glass, opened the fridge, and twisted the cap off a bottle of water with exaggerated slowness, listening.
“You drugged me,” Genevieve said flatly.
“What? No, I didn’t.”
From the moment Rory uttered her very first full sentence, she’d had a flair for lying—and not just casual fibbing, mind you. She was bloody brilliant at it. Still, Genevieve was no amateur either. That woman could lie with the poise of a seasoned barrister delivering closing arguments.
Two expert liars squaring off. Marvellous.
“You sure?” Genevieve asked, voice silky.
“Absolutely.”
Genevieve let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “You’re aware the hall your brother used for his party has CCTV coverage on every corner? If I decided to check the footage… you could land in very serious trouble. I am a lawyer, you know.”
“Is that a threat?” Aurora asked, sounding far too entertained.
“Oh no, love. That’s a promise.”
“You can’t touch me. I’m a Morozov.”
“I’m a King.” Genevieve’s tone sharpened. “But trust me—I won’t need my surname to bring you down.”
If it were anyone else, they’d be dead for threatening my sister. But this was Genevieve. And truth be told, I kind of liked seeing someone take her on.
“Alright,” Aurora said after a beat, still smug. “Maybe I added a thing or two to your drink.”
Knew it.
I’m locking the little devil in the basement.
“A thing or two?” Genevieve echoed, appalled. “Why?”
“Because.”
“Because is not an answer, Aurora.”
“Ugh, you sound just like him.” There was a glint in her voice—half amusement, half reluctant admiration. “And for the record, it was only the first drink I tampered with. The rest? Well, that was all you, sweetheart.”
“You made me cause a scene.”
“No,” she corrected. “I made you two reconcile. I deserve a bloody pat on the back.”
She was getting a pat, alright. In the basement. With a Snickers and a bottle of water.
She could’ve put Genevieve’s safety at risk. If she hadn’t come straight to me that night…
“What makes you think we’ve reconciled?”
“Because you wouldn’t be kissing someone you hated.”
“You underestimate me.”
Those three words sliced clean through my chest.
Was she—
“Regardless,” Genevieve said sharply, “your actions could’ve ended badly. Did you ever consider that it might not go the way you planned? That I could’ve ended up in the wrong hands? That I—drugged—might’ve been taken?”
“I did think it through. Unlike my brother, I’m not a complete idiot. Sal, Dex and Blade had eyes on you the whole time,” Aurora said, proudly. “My brother would’ve killed me if something had happened to you.”
“So would I,” Genevieve snapped. “And my family too.”
“Yeah?”
Right. Enough.
I returned to my room, handed Genevieve the water. She took it with a quiet thank you.
“I’ll just… you know,” Rory muttered, practically sprinting up the stairs and slamming her door.
And then it was just us again.
Silence.
She was waiting for me to say something. Anything.
But what the bloody hell does one say after all that?
Oh. Right.
“Would you like to shower?”
Her brow arched. “Oh? Are you saying I smell?” she asked, eyes never leaving mine, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Strange—I thought you liked me in your clothes.”
She smirked.
Genevieve King was flirting with me.
Me.
That smirk—devilishly cruel with a trace of mischief.
And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.
Genevieve King—brilliant, infuriating, heart-stopping Genevieve—stood there in my clothes, teasing me, lips still swollen and tender from my kisses, smirking as though she hadn’t just reduced me to rubble in her hands. As though her words hadn’t just carved me open. As if she didn’t know the weight she carried in those soft, knowing eyes. As if she hadn’t just kissed me senseless and gazed straight into the hollowed places I kept hidden from the world.
Bloody hell.
I watched her, the morning light filtering through the curtains, gilding the soft waves of her hair, that sinful little smile still tugging at her lips. And I felt it—the weight of the moment—sink deep into my bones. One of those moments that marked you. Branded you. The kind you walked away from changed, whether you liked it or not.
She didn’t realise what she’d done to me.
Or perhaps she did.
She was chaos wrapped in silk—well, in this case, my bloody shirt, which I’ll admit looked far better on her than it ever did on me. And she was certainty. Pure, unwavering certainty. I’d never stood a chance. Not four years ago. Not now. Time hadn’t dulled the ache—if anything, it had sharpened it. Distilled it into something stronger. Like aged whisky—only this burned more.
What the hell was I meant to say?
How could she just open her mouth and toss something like that into the room without even thinking about the mess it would make of me?
She always made me feel—so bloody deeply it was almost unbearable. She drew the ache out of me, coaxed it to the surface with every glance, every word. Made me yearn for things I had no right to want. Peace. Love. A life I’d never imagined for myself until she stepped into it.
And right now?
God help me, I just wanted to touch her again. Her waist, her hair—still tousled from my hands—the delicate curve of her neck that had always, without fail, unravelled me. I wanted to kiss her until sense left us both, press my forehead to hers and murmur something foolish. Something like stay.
But I couldn’t.
Because I was trying—foolishly, hopelessly—to be a gentleman.
Because I was on borrowed time. A bloody trial run, if I’m being honest.
And I had a sneaking suspicion she knew it. That this—this tempting, this teasing—was entirely calculated.
“Well,” I cleared my throat, though it did sod all to steady me. Her smile brightened, the little minx, clearly delighted with her handiwork. “Umm, you…”
I trailed off, helpless. Useless. What was I even meant to say?
Words. Right. Use your words, Dominic.
When I finally managed to get my mouth working, all I could offer was, “Don’t do this to me, Genevieve.” Her name slipped past my lips like a prayer. A plea.
“Do what?” she asked, eyes glinting.
She was looking at me like she wanted something. Hunger flickering in those eyes. Heat. Desire.
“You know what.”
“Do I?”
“Genevieve.” This time, it wasn’t a plea. It was a warning.
A warning that if she didn’t stop testing me—pushing me—I was going to snap. That I’d have her up against the wall or flat on this bloody sofa before she could blink. That I’d kiss her until she forgot everything except the sound of my name on her lips.
A flash of defiance flickered in her gaze. She held my stare for a heartbeat—two—daring me to act.
Then she sighed, giving in. “Fine.” She shrugged, all faux-nonchalance. “You win. This time.”
Christ. Thank you for that.
TBC
