Page 49 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

What the fuck am I doing?

I should end this.

“Do you, even the tiniest bit, still love me?”

I’ve always loved Dimitri. There’s never been a day that’s passed I haven’t. I simply convinced myself I didn’t, in order to live a normal life, and not chase the past. After so long of lying to myself, I’ve come to believe my own lie.

It doesn’t change the fact that Dimitri and I together are like fire and ice; we’ll never properly mix. One of us will always burn, whilst the other will be extinguished.

Yes, I love him. Yes, I want him. I want what we once had…but it doesn’t change the fear of what it’ll mean being with him.

Maybe it’s dramatic not to take the chance that it’ll work this time.

Maybe it’s stupid to be the woman who’s concerning herself with situations and drama that haven’t happened yet.

But I’ve become a realist over the years.

As teenagers, I believed our relationship could take on the world, but as an adult, I understand the world doesn’t stop turning for two star-crossed lovers.

While I’m strong enough to walk away, I must. Because I’d rather lose him now when I’m still able to walk.

I love him enough to let him be the Bratva soldier he needs to continue being. To live a life that isn’t chasing the past. Exactly what his father wanted from me all those years ago.

Ironic.

He claims I’m running, and maybe I am. One of us has to, to protect the other. He’s done so much for me, and this is for him—his chance to grow and learn who he is without me being his shadow.

And me? It’s time to rebuild my walls again. Brick by brick, stone by stone, and reinforced with metal. And chains. Locks with forged keys.

I should tell him all this, and my mouth opens to do so, but the only sound that comes out is a long, ragged moan as his tongue flicks my clit.

My mind goes blank in acceptance of what he said—at least for now.

“You’re so deep in your head about what you shouldn’t want, you’re forgetting what you do. Besides, in your mind, it’s already complicated, so why not enjoy it?”

This is my ending. Our ending. We’ll either explode together…or explode entirely until we’re nothing but two broken, bloody hearts. Letting this play out could give us the more satisfying goodbye we never got the first time around.

He grips my other thigh with a growl that does things to my insides.

One that reminds me exactly what I’ve been missing.

The piece inside me no one’s ever been able to fill.

With other men, I was timid, tainted by the past, and once again, stuck in what I should have been feeling: trauma and discomfort.

With Dimitri, it’s like the past—that night included—melts away, and we’re two teenagers again, so in love. In lust.

He throws my other leg over his shoulder until I’m entirely in the air, being supported only by his grip and the wall. In this position, his head is buried between my thighs, his tongue dipping inside my core.

“Fuck.” My hand grips his hair, keeping him exactly where I need.

He’s right. For now, fuck the shoulds .

He devours, nips, and sucks. His tongue fucks me in the way he knows I need. The way that drives me to be merely a mindless body for him to enjoy.

The build inside me is slow but steady—like a fire being ignited, fanned, and engulfing the area until there’s nothing left—and I come, stuck between shame and pleasure.

He mumbles something in our language I’m too senseless to comprehend. Language no longer exists for me. Rules. Shoulds and shouldn’ts . The only thing I can focus on is the pleasure from his tongue as it returns back inside me.

He pushes against my grip on his hair as the wave between my legs begins to ebb. He tips his head back to take me in, lips wet with desire, eyes dark and deadly like a predator’s.

“I’ve dreamed of your taste so many fucking times. If I could bottle it up, I would.”

He shifts away from the wall, and in a quick yet gentle movement, he spins, resting me on the floor. My floor. The floor of my old bedroom.

I haven’t fully processed the fact that Dimitri bought my childhood house. That he paid more than the listing, simply to set my family up in their new life.

He really has done everything for me.

And me…I’ve been a selfish bitch.

But I’m scared.

You’re protecting yourself.

Scared because I once thought we could have a happy ending, but the Bratva’s politics got between us. Even with his father behind bars, what could in the future, despite him being convinced it’ll be something he can handle?

I can’t fall for him again only to lose him in the future. It almost killed me once. It’ll obliterate me the next time.

Dimitri crawls over me, once again wiping away all the dark and grim thoughts pounding through my head. He grins before tracing his finger along my bra strap, the only article of clothing remaining on my body.

“You’re as responsive as I remember.”

“You’d know best. You’ve been stalking me.” It’s meant as a joke but comes out harsh, and I immediately regret it.

“I never stayed to watch,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t. Not unless you wanted them dead the next morning.”

Last week, those words would have pissed me off—the suggestion he wouldn’t have cared about my feelings when murdering my dates. But now… Now, something’s changing. With every second passing, more and more of me forgets what we’re even fighting about.

The conversation causes me to wonder how many people he’s been with since me—and a wicked peel of jealousy begins to unfurl even when I have no right to be pissed. Pot, meet kettle.

“There weren’t many,” I find myself reassuring him. “I, I couldn’t. They never felt right.” Even my body knew what it was being denied.

“Good. I’m thrilled I ruined you here.” He taps my temple. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?” He takes my hand and presses it to his chest, over his heart. “Considering you ruined me here.”

Deeming the conversation over, he dips down, taking my mouth again. But I need to know. Need to know if his instances with others had been as awkward and wrong as mine were.

I end the kiss by tilting my head. “What about you?”

He freezes, dropping his head into my neck so he speaks into my skin instead.

“One. And I felt fucking sick afterwards. It was the third year after you left, and I was in a dark place. I was pissed at my father, at the cruelty of our lives, and at the fact you weren’t with me.

The guys took me out, and it started with one shot.

I think I single-handedly drained the bar that night.

I don’t recall much, only that after snorting a couple lines of coke, I looked up from the table, and there was a woman.

” He pauses, his breath shuddering in the space between us.

“She reminded me so much of you. At least, as high as I was anyway. The next thing I recall, I woke up in a hotel room bed with her. I didn’t stick around after that. ”

Oh. My jealousy is quickly swept away by grief—his grief, not my own. That it was his feelings for me mingled with the drugs that had him picking another. That his grief never allowed him to enjoy himself and instead created a messy night.

“She wasn’t you. She didn’t matter.”

He kisses my shoulder blade, crossing my body until he peels off my bra, one strap at a time.

He reaches behind me to unhook it, pulling it off entirely before kneeling above me.

If he were anyone else, I’d be curled up by now, silently begging them to stop looking, but Dimitri’s always been able to take the anxiety and turn it into bravery. Make me feel less self-conscious.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers. “The same way the d’yavol didn’t deserve to fall from the clouds. At least his fall eventually ended, but mine… I’m still falling. It’s never-ending.”

How do I respond to that?

He removes his shirt, and I lose all mental functionality.

He’s gotten many tattoos since the last time I saw him shirtless.

A spider is now on his shoulder, a large skull on his ribs, and religious symbols on his arm.

I wonder what they all mean, understanding each one indicates something to other Bratva members.

For me, they tell the story of why Dimitri can’t leave the organization.

He reaches for his jeans, the sun streaming through the open window and catching on his muscles, hard and defined from years of training.

Alongside them, though, are evidence of scars.

Marks, slashes, bullet wounds. They should frighten me.

After all, they’re symbols of what will continue happening to him; what could happen to me.

It’s another should I don’t listen to because they tell the tale of all he’s accomplished over the years.

He stands, pushing his pants and boxers off. Only my—arguably our —ribbon is all that remains on his body. A piece of me that’s always been with him, and it feels right.

Cock freed, he’s thick and erect, making my mouth water.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I won’t make it inside you.”

“Can’t have that,” I murmur, unable to look at his face, even as he kneels between my legs, his hands looping around my thighs as he pulls me closer to him. That cock of his rests between us as he lowers himself onto his forearms above me.

And then he kisses me like he did in his room two weeks ago—in an all-encompassing way meant to sweep me away.

He kisses me like I’m the sun on a cloudy day, the moon during the night, a breeze to wash away the humidity.

He kisses me until I’m breathless and panting with need—and he hasn’t even touched me.

My hips lift, rubbing against him. He rumbles, his mouth curving into a smile. He reaches for my hands, bringing them together into one of his, the weight of his action hitting me nearly instantly.

“I’ve been waiting a damn long time to recreate the past with you, moya dusha .

It’s exactly what I’ll be doing, unless you need to stop.

” His gaze darts from me to my hands held above us.

“Fuck safe words. If you want something to stop, you say so. If I see pain in your eyes or stress in your expression, I’ll let you go. ”

My heart spikes and I’m left with nothing but a nod.

He repositions himself to free one hand, reaching between us to stroke my clit, and making me wet once more. “Still on the pill?”

Of course, he’d remember that. “IUD now.”

“Good.” He lines himself up, and I hold my breath, anticipating the thrust.

“Ten years of waiting. Despite everything, I wouldn’t change a second of it.”

What? Mist forms in my eyes, preventing me from questioning the meaning behind his statement.

“Losing you was the worst pain imaginable, but having you again is the best salve possible. I wouldn’t know how much I love you if I wasn’t forced to be without you. That’s why. The pain is worth it to make this our new beginning.”

Our ending.

He thrusts inside me in one go, my back bowing off the floor, and my movements restricted from my wrists in his palm. Our joint sounds echo through the empty room, a reminder of the couple that used to be.

“Chert, ty dlya menya vse.” Fuck, you’re everything to me.

You’re my beginning and ending.

“I won’t go without this again.”

You will.

He hikes one of my legs over his hip, sinking into me even deeper. His thrusts are paced, drawing out my pleasure in the same manner he did with my orgasms against the wall. He’s reminding every inch of me how much my body misses him and the effect he’s always had on it. On me.

The way he’ll continue to. How he’s scarring himself onto me even worse than a decade ago.

His speed picks up, his focus solely on me. I feel it in my heart, my soul, his every movement.

I try to meet him by lifting my hips, but he renders me immobile, keeping me bound in the way only he’s ever made me feel safe.

Safe. Real.

I’d been asked by one ex if I enjoyed being tied up during sex, and all I saw was a dirty mattress, a cold warehouse, four villains, and one broken man screaming my name.

Dimitri’s different. He was there , so of course my heart and mind—the trauma—are able to separate him from everyone else. The acts I enjoyed with him existed pre-abuse. They’re his—for us—no one else’s. Nothing will change how Dimitri and I are together.

“Fuck, you feel good, Katya.” His hands clench tighter around my wrists, his thrusts becoming harder. My back slides against the floor, the wood rubbing and stinging my skin. “If there’s an afterlife, you’re it.”

“Dimitri…” Whatever I was trying to say trails off, my thoughts only on him and the pleasure sweeping through me in intense waves.

He clenches one of my thighs, his thrusts fast and claiming. His head drops down and he kisses me again, this time messy and breathless. I writhe beneath him, the heat expanding to the deepest parts of me.

“Come for me, moya dusha . You can take it. Only you…always you.”

I’ve always hated when other guys talk through sex, but not Dimitri. Maybe it’s what he says, or how he says it— with reverence in his tone or a rumble of need—but it’s nothing my mind and body can ignore.

“I’m gonna come,” I whisper.

The hand holding my wrists clamps tighter and he releases my thigh, leaving me in control of at least that part of me. He fists my hair, his mouth slashing across mine as the orgasm hits, my moan being swallowed by him.

My orgasm brings him to the peak as well, his own following only a moment behind in a gush of heat that marks my insides with the only brand I’ve ever longed for.

His.

His hips slow, but he doesn’t remove his cock from inside me, instead lowering a fraction until some of his body weight comes down on me. He releases my head and my hands, rubbing feeling back into my wrists.

“Alright?”

“Better than alright.”

That earns a blinding smile and an uttered, “Good,” before he rolls us over, positioning me on top of him with his cock still buried inside me.

The new angle causes him to rub at the right places that spark me to life again. Dimitri slips his fingers in between mine as he once again claims authority over my movements.

“I’m far from finished with you. Ten years is a long fuckin’ time, and there’s quite a few hours until morning. I plan on using every single one to make up for missed time.” He pauses, his grin turning wicked. “Ten years…three orgasms. You have seven to go.”

“Seven?” I squeak. “You’ll kill me.”

His smile expands, and it’s so genuine, it nearly breaks me all over again. “It’s no less than the pain you’ve caused me. Consider this punishment for taking yourself away from me. Now, let’s work towards number four.”

Three orgasms later, I’m broken.

Completely.

Utterly.

Obliterated.