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“I’m not crazy about him either,” I tell him.
“Tell me what you argued about.”
“The clothes. Why I’m here. Why none of you actually know anything real about me,” I list.
“Ahh.” Dimitri nods. “Lev is the most… romantic of us. He likes to believe that the four of us share some kind of cosmic connection. He hoped that you’d be happy to be here.”
“Were you and Vik expecting that too?”
His laugh is gruff and low. “No. I knew you’d be angry and scared, but that eventually, you’d make the most of the opportunity that’s been afforded you. We have gifted you a fresh start. You’ll never have to worry about having enough money, or a roof over your head. You’ll never go hungry, or go without the things that you desire. Things between us may not have started in the most auspicious way, but from tiny acorns, grow huge oak trees.”
“You’re really quoting a greeting card cliché to me?”
Shrugging, he smirks. “Surely it can be a cliché and still be true?”
“I’m not sure I can ever be truly happy, knowing that I’m a prisoner here,” I admit.
“Your birth and DNA made you a prisoner, we just moved you to a prettier prison. We are not your enemy, Malishka, though it may not feel that way right this moment. I could give you a lot of pretty words, but the truth will always be that this is your life now. You can choose to sulk and throw temper tantrums, or you can do as you’ve always done and survive, doing what you have to, to make your life the best it can be.”
It pisses me off more than I can explain, because I know deep down that he’s right. If this is my life now, with no chance for change, then I’ll learn to deal with it and them, but for right now, I’m indulging in a pity party for one and they keep interrupting.
“It’s been two days since I woke up on your couch in a different country and you informed me that my life was obliterated. Maybe in a month or two, I’ll be able to see your side of things and possibly even hate you a little less. But today and for the foreseeable future, I can’t see the bright side. I can’t absolve you of your guilt and tell you I’m okay with having my life ripped away from me. Because I’m not. I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m frustrated and I’m confused and all those feelings aren’t going to go away just because you told me to get over it.” I hadn’t intended to make this my third rant of the day, but once I started speaking the words just wouldn’t stop.
I expect Dimitri to argue like Vik. Or be hurt like Lev. But instead, he nods. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“You are. You deserve to feel your anger and sadness and frustration and confusion. It’s not our place to refuse you that. What I must insist on, is you feeling all those things by our side. If you need to be angry, then be angry, the three of us have broad enough shoulders to carry any pain or anger you need to lay on us. If you’re sad, then be sad, but know that one of us will comfort you. If you’re frustrated, then be frustrated, we can take it, but if you push the boundaries too far, Vik will correct you. If you’re confused, then talk to us, ask questions, demand information, immerse yourself in our world until you know all the answers, because like it or not, our world is your world now. Our home is your home, our bed is your bed, our life is your life. You were born to stand at our sides, to take the world and own it, not simply survive.”
“I hate you,” I whisper, emotion clogging my throat. For the last two years I’ve been numb, and now, when numbness would be useful, I’m thawing and the blood is rushing back in, making everything hurt as it comes back to life.
“I love you,” he whispers back.
“No.” I shake my head, a single tear falling from my eye.
“Yes, Malishka. I love everything I’ve seen for the last year and I love everything I’ll learn as we get to know each other properly. I love you and, eventually, you’ll love me too. You’ll love all of us and you won’t remember a day when you didn’t.”
His confidence is so unwavering, that I don’t notice when he starts to lean in. His lips find mine and his kiss is dominant and consuming and I kiss him back because I need to feel something that isn’t pain.
His tongue fills my mouth and I find myself mimicking his actions, kissing him with almost as much intensity, while one of his hands collars my throat and the other finds my hip. His body crowds in further, until he’s half on top of me, his chest above mine, my hard nipples grazing his shirt every time I exhale.
The hand at my neck isn’t restricting my breathing, his grip only tight enough to let me know he could stop my air if he wanted to. The hand at my hip is toying with the string holding the side of my bikini bottoms together, rubbing back and forth over the fabric, teasing how easy it’d be to unfasten it.
My core tightens, and heat pools between my thighs. When Jack and I had sex, it was in a bathroom, both of us fumbling and unsure, eager to experience sex together, even though neither of us had a clue what we were doing.
Dimi isn’t unsure or tentative. His hands are confident as they hold me in place and arousal drips from me as I imagine what else he could force my body to do. If I let him, he could give me pleasure, or use me to take his own pleasure and I know he’d make it good.
I’ve made myself come with my fingers, but honestly it made my hand hurt and I struggled to understand the hype when my orgasms were lackluster at best. Would it be different with him? Even laying here half beneath him, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life and he’s barely touching me.
“Fuck me,” I say against his lips before I can stop myself.
“What?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look down at me.
“You want that, right? You want me? So, fuck me. Make me feel something that isn’t hate and anger and…” I shudder as more tears threaten to fall from my eyes. “Pain.”
“Spell it out for me, Malishka, so I’m really fucking clear about what you’re asking me for right now,” he demands.
“I want you to fuck me, Dimitri Belov,” I say slowly and clearly.
