INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 128
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Genevieve ~
I woke up to warmth.
Not just the kind you get from plush duvets or golden morning light seeping lazily through obscenely expensive hotel curtains—though both were certainly present.
No, this warmth was alive.
Dominic’s arm was draped over my waist, heavy and possessive, his chest pressed flush against my back, his breath ghosting rhythmically over my neck like he had every right to breathe me in. Which, I suppose, he now did.
I blinked slowly. The ceiling came into focus first, then the faint scent of him—dark, masculine, clean but layered with something rich and grounding—wrapped around me like a second skin.
And then I moved my hand.
My left hand.
Cold metal kissed the skin of my finger.
I froze.
Gingerly, I lifted it before my face, eyes still blurred from sleep.
There it was.
A ring.
My ring—the one he’d slid onto my finger last night.
It sat there, elegant and perfect, like it had always belonged. And God, it felt like it did.
I’m engaged.
I am engaged.
Oh my God—I’m actually bloódy engaged to Dominic Morozov.
And as if my thoughts had taken on volume, I whispered aloud, “Oh my God.” The words came out as a breathless gasp—part-laugh, part-shock. My heart stumbled over itself as I sat up gingerly, not wanting to disturb him. “I’m engaged.”
The word sounded foreign and utterly real all at once.
Engaged.
To Dominic f+cking Morozov.
I stared at the ring again, blinking like a fóol, half-expecting it to vanish. Like last night had been some deliriously decadent dream I’d made up.
But no.
The ache in my lips from too many kisses, the soreness blooming between my thighs, the ghost of his touch etched into my skin—that was all very real.
And the ring on my finger?
That was the proof. The symbol. The beginning.
“Blóody héll,” I whispered, a slow smile curling at my lips as the enormity of it all washed over me in waves. “I’m engaged. I’m really—oh my God, I’m engaged.”
Dominic stirred behind me. Still half-lost to sleep, he reached out, mumbling against the back of my neck, “I know.”
I turned, half-laughing, half-scolding, and swatted him lightly with a pillow. “You—you proposed to me. On a rooftop!”
He cracked one eye open, voice gravelly and full of amusement. “And you said yes. I was there.”
“I don’t even know how to act.” I glanced down at the ring again, completely and utterly besotted. “Yesterday I went to bed as your girlfriend. Today, I woke up as your fiancée.”
“Mm.” He tugged my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the ring like it meant everything. “Best decision I’ve ever made, Vixen.”
And just like that, I melted.
With his arm around my waist, he pulled me back into bed—into him—and nestled his face into the crook of my neck.
I inhaled slowly, breathing him in, savouring the quiet intimacy. For a brief, perfect moment, the rest of the world—the chaós, the responsibilities, the names that haúnted us—didn’t exist.
Just this.
Just us.
••
Breakfast felt like a celebration.
I padded barefoot into the kitchen, wearing nothing but Dominic’s crisp white shirt—too big on me, the sleeves hiding my hands, the hem skimming just below the curve of my thighs. The moment I passed him, he muttered something thoroughly inappropriàte, but I dodged his wandering hand with a smirk.
“Touch me and you’re cooking n+kéd.”
He raised an eyebrow, like he absolutely would, and turned back to the stove, cracking eggs like the act had personally offended him.
“You’re not going to ruiñ my celebratory breakfast, are you?” I asked, leaning lazily against the counter, chin in hand, watching my boyfriend—shirtless in grey joggers, all taut muscles and casual power.
Correction—fiancé.
I bit my lip. How could such a small word feel so immense?
“You wound me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m an excellent cook. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Mm? Why, though?”
“Because I’ve cooked for you at least a dozen times.”
“You have? Funny, I can’t recall.”
“Shall I remind you?”
“What? No. I’m starving.”
He scoffed—somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I was talking about food.”
“No, you weren’t,” I said breezily.
He smirked.
He f+ckíng smirked. “Still time for that, baby.”
I threw a grape at him. It bounced off his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch. Just kept flipping the omelette with the sort of smug confidence that made it clear—he knew I was watching him like a love-struck foól. Which I was.
He made coffee while I set the table, and when we finally sat—knees brushing, sun spilling through the windows—I looked up at him, fork halfway to my mouth.
“I don’t think this feeling’s going to wear off.”
“What feeling?”
“This.” I wiggled my fingers, showing him the ring again, laughing at myself. “The butterflies. The ridiculous giddiness. The oh-my-god-he’s-mine.”
Dominic’s expression softened. Not just with affection, but with something deeper. Something possessive and reverent. Something dangérous in its devotion.
“You think I’m going to let you forget?” he murmured, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You said yes to forever, Genevieve. I intend to remind you every single day.”
God. I wanted to melt into the chair.
Or better yet—into him.
“You’re disgustingly sweet when you want to be.”
“And you love it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately.”
He leant in, pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth—soft, fleeting. “Fortunately,” he whispered. “Very fortunately.”
..
The entire day passed in a haze of soft kisses and tangled limbs. We alternated between the bed and the sofa, then back again—lazy, content, and utterly wrapped up in one another.
The only time we weren’t practically glued together was during a mid-afternoon swim. And toilet breaks.
It was, frankly, the perfect way to spend time with a clingy fiancé.
God, that word was going to take some getting used to.
Now, we were curled up watching a film, snacking on chips I’d insisted he order.
The room was pitch-dark, save for the flickering light from the telly. The bed was too comfortable, coaxing me into drowsiness far earlier than expected.
I shoved three—possibly four—chips into my mouth and chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Does your mother know?” His voice was low, gravelly, almost hesitant.
It cut straight through the haze.
I turned to look at him. “Know what?”
“About me.”
“I told her I was seeing someone. Why?”
“Nothing. Just curious.”
It wasn’t nothing. Not even close.
I didn’t tear my gaze away. His eyes always gave him away—and tonight was no exception.
“You’re nervous,” I announced, barely suppressing a grin. “You, Dominic Morozov, are nervous.” Amusement bubbled through me like champagne. “I can’t believe it. That’s so sweet.”
“I’m not sweet.”
A laugh burst from my chest. “You’re absolutely right. You’re not.” I straddled his lap and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the sweetest.” Another kiss. “The absolute sweetest man on earth.”
“The sweetest?”
I nodded. “Hmm.” My fingers traced the buttons on his pyjama top. “There’s nothing to worry about, Dom. I love you.” The moment I said it, his eyes softened the way they always did. It undid me every time. “And because I love you, my family will too.”
“Even Everett?”
I grinned, nodding.
“And Xavier?”
I hesitated—just a beat—but nodded. “Yes. Even Xavier. He’s got no choice. If he still wants to be my favourite brother-in-law, he’ll accept you.”
“He’s your only brother-in-law.” His hands settled at my waist, thumbs tracing slow circles I adored.
“No. What about Dex? He says you’re like a brother to him.”
“Dexter.” He always did that. A quiet little battle of wills. “When did he say that?”
“Ages ago.”
Back when I was still hell-bent on s+dúcing Dominic into madnéss. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Fine. Let’s say I accept that.”
“You’ve no choice. He’s persistent.”
Dominic laughed under his breath. “He is.”
“Yeah. What about Sal?” I hesitated. Then it slipped out without thought. “And Blade?”
He went still.
His gaze dimmed. Soft turned blank.
My heart twisted.
“No, no—Dom, I’m sorry.” I cupped his face, forcing our eyes to meet. “I didn’t mean to bring that up. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“It’s fine,” he muttered. “I just thought we could go one day without mentioning the Bratvà.”
“I shouldn’t have said it.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s Blade. One of the first you trusted after learning about the Base. You spent more time with him than Sal—even though he barely spoke.”
Memories crashed over me.
“You fought for it—his trust. And you earned it. You became friends. I can’t expect you to forget him in a matter of months.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts, love.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Rory hasn’t forgotten. Neither has Echo. Or Sal. Or Dexter, no matter how he pretends. Blade mattered. To all of us.”
I nodded. “He did.”
Dominic’s voice lowered. “If things had been different, he would’ve been like a brother to me too.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Genevieve, it’s fine.”
I flinched at the use of my full name, but let it go. “What didn’t you want to talk about until tomorrow?”
His gaze darkened—quiet but full of something. Hesitation. Regret. Guilt.
“Dom?”
He drew a breath. “You were right,” he said softly. “Viktor isn’t déad.”
TBC📖✍️
