INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 105
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
Genevieve was leaving next week. And when I said leaving, I meant truly leaving—out of the country, out of the continent, out of my reach.
And the worst part? There wasn’t a blòody thing I could do about it. She didn’t even want to meet up on Saturday for one last time. Instead, she had called me a friend.
A blòody friend.
That word had burrowed into my skull, festering like an infection, creeping its way into my chest, where it twisted and wrenchéd at something vital. A dull, throbbing ache. A slow, insidious destrúction.
Every time my mind dared to quiet, the thought resurfaced: "Oh, remember? Genevieve called you a friend."
I thought I was being haunted. My own brain had turned against me, delighting in my suffering, laughing at my expense.
And as if that weren’t enough, my stubborn, scheming sister was plotting something. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. But she wouldn’t tell me a damnéd thing.
My brain, so preoccupied with torménting me over Genevieve, had apparently decided that keeping track of Rory’s inevitable treachery was secondary.
I hadn’t figured out what she was up to yet, and I doubted I would any time soon, not with the incessant chattering of the blóody buffoón beside me. My patience was fraying at the seams as she prattled on and on. I was seconds away from snapping, but alas, I was surrounded by society’s so-called elite—arrogant, self-important twats who thought far too highly of themselves.
“Absolutely,” I murmured, offering a convincingly pleasant smile, despite not having the faintest idea what I’d just agreed to.
Through the shifting crowd, I kept my eyes trained on Rory. If this was the only way to catch her in the act, then so be it. No amount of mindless drivel from my unwelcome companion would deter me.
Yet my brain—unhelpful as ever—chose now to fixate on the oblivious woman beside me. Was she truly incapable of recognising disinterest? Would I have to physically sevér my ears for her to take the hint?
I had far more pressing matters to concern myself with.
Like why Rory hadn’t made a move yet. Or why Dexter was nowhere to be found. Or why the héll Salvatore was holding Genevieve like that.
Note to self: cut off his hand later.
Wait.
Why was she coming over here?
And for God’s sake, tell me she wasn’t drúnk.
Her steps were unsteady, her movements loose, but she wore a dazzling smile, and her eyes gleamed with something unreadable. No one else seemed to notice her little journey towards me—not even the human parrot still yammering away beside me.
“Heyyyy,” she drawled, grinning from ear to ear, sapphire eyes shimmering under the lights. “Whatcha doing?”
I was speechless.
Because what in the actual héll was happening right now?
Genevieve swayed closer, pressing against me as she gripped the lapels of my suit, tugging me towards her. The sudden impact nearly sent her stumbling, her balance a lost cause.
Instinct had kicked in before thought. My arm curled around her waist, steadying her—steadying us both. Her head tilted up, her gaze locking onto mine, burÅ„ing and intoxicatÃng in equal measure. Her eyes shouldn’t have looked at me like that. Not anymore.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she purred, voice dripping with feigned innocence. But she meant every word, and we both knew it. Genevieve King, drunk or not, did nothing without purpose.
Interrupting what, exactly?
Her gaze flickered—just briefly—to my abandoned conversation partner, whose lips were parted in stunned silence. Good. Perhaps now she’d finally shut up.
Genevieve returned her attention to me, a smile playing on her lips. “Has anyone told you how dashing you look tonight?”
Plenty. But none of it mattered—not when the only person who truly mattered was looking at me as though I was the centre of her universe.
A dańgerous thing, that.
It was like a chain reaction, a carefully constructed wall crumbling in real-time. Her gaze ignited something within me—something chà otic, something unravelling.
“Are you drúnk?” The question escaped me before I could stop it. Christ, how idÃotic.
She shook her head. “No.”
“You sure?” My other hand hovered near her face, the impulse to touch her overwhelming. But I stopped myself. I no longer had the right. “How many drinks did you have?”
A soft hum escaped her lips, slow and deliberate, the vibration resonating against my chest due to our sheer proximity. "Seven," she said. Then she frowned, pausing for a moment before shaking her head. "No." Her fingers released my suit so she could hold up eight. "I had eight."
“That isn’t good.”
“Why not?”
“It makes one drúnk. And when one is drúnk, they do things they wouldn’t normally do.”
“Like?”
“Like something reckless.”
“Like kissing ex-boyfriends?”
That did it. My pulse kicked violently against my ribs, my breath stalling.
“Because that’s what I want to do,” she confessed, voice drenched in mischief.
“Genevieve.” My voice was steady. Controlled. A stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside me.
Her fingers returned to my lapels, her lips inches from my jaw as she breathed, “Yeah?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
"Like I said before, Vi—" I exhaled, but of course, she caught the near slip and smirked. "No, Genevieve."
"Not Vixen?" She had fully summoned the seductress within herself now. Her lips skimmed my cheek as she inched closer to my ear. "Not Baby?"
It wasn’t just the temptréss she had conjured. No, she had also managed to summon the attention of the entire blóody room—especially the press. God knows why Rory had insisted on inviting them.
Rory.
The realisation struck like a bolt of lightning—sudden, deafening. My gaze swept across the hall, searching.
Found her.
And the little cockróach was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. High-fiving f+cking Dexter.
My jaw locked. Of course Rory was behind this. The little menace had been far too smug all week, and now I knew why.
Genevieve swayed slightly, her grip still firm on my lapels, her body flush against mine as she tilted her head. "Something wrong?" she murmured, voice rich with amusement.
I dragged in a breath, forcing a tight smile. "You tell me, sweetheart."
She giggled. A light, breathy, utterly carefree sound—one I hadn't heard from her in years. And it burÅ„ed. Because that laugh wasn’t for me. Not really. It was for the performance, for the show she didn’t even realise she was giving. For the blóody cameras clicking away at the spectacle Rory had so cleverly orchestrated.
My fingers curled against her waist, a barely-there pressure. "You've had your fun," I murmured, voice deceptively calm. "Now, let go."
Her lips parted in mock surprise, lashes fluttering as she tilted her head up, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. "And what if I don’t want to?"
A muscle in my jaw ticked. "Then you'll make a mistake you can't take back."
She exhaled a soft hum, considering that. "Maybe I want to make mistakes tonight."
Jesus Christ.
I fought the urge to glance at Rory again, to confirm what I already knew—she was enjoying every second of this. That little cockróach had won this round before I'd even had a chance to play.
I leaned in, lowering my voice to something just above a whisper, letting my lips graze the shell of Genevieve’s ear. "You might not regret it now, but you will in the morning."
Her grip faltered. Just for a second. A momentary pause. But I felt it.
I pressed the advantage, shifting just enough to meet her gaze, to let her see the warning in my own. "Be a good girl, Genevieve," I said softly. "Let go."
Her breath hitched. A flicker of something—something raw and vulnerable—crossed her face, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
And then, finally, she let go.
But not before she whispered, "You're no fun, Dominic."
She stepped back, her smirk still in place, her movements just controlled enough to fool the room into thinking this was all part of the game.
But I knew better.
And as I glanced over to Rory, finding her still grinning like the smug little dévil she was, I knew this wasn’t over.
Not by a f+cking long shot.
I didn’t bother looking at Rory again. I’d deal with her later. Right now, my priority was getting Genevieve out of here before she did something even more reckless.
Without a word, I took her hand, fingers wrapping firmly around hers. She didn’t resist. That in itself was worrying.
The cool night air hit us the moment we stepped outside, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the ballroom. Genevieve sighed, swaying slightly.
“Where are we going?” she murmured.
“Home.”
She hummed, as if considering whether or not to protest, then let me guide her towards the car. The driver was already waiting. I opened the door, helping her inside.
The moment she settled against the seat, her head lolled to the side.
I slid in beside her, shutting the door as the car pulled away. Silence stretched between us, thick with the remnants of whatever had just happened back in that ballroom.
Her breathing slowed.
I glanced at her.
Fast asleep.
Blóody héll.
She looked peaceful like this. No sharp words, no teasing smirks, no careful walls held up by sheer stubbornness. Just Genevieve. The woman who had once been mine.
And for a fleeting, dańgerous second, I let myself want.
The car rolled to a stop outside my house. I exhaled slowly, running a hand down my face before pushing the door open.
I could wake her. Could shake her shoulder and tell her to get up, let her stumble inside on her own.
But instead, I reached for her.
She barely stirred as I lifted her into my arms, her body warm and pliant against my chest. Her head nestled against my shoulder, breath feathering against my collarbone.
Christ.
I carried her up the steps, the weight of her in my arms heavier than it should have been. Not physically—she barely weighed anything—but emotionally. Like I was carrying something fragile. Something that had already shattered once before.
Inside, the house was silent. Dimly lit.
I moved through the familiar space, past rooms that once echoed with her presence, until I reached the bedroom.
The sheets were cool as I laid her down. She sighed softly, shifting just enough to curl into the mattress, completely oblivious to the fact that I was still standing there, watching her.
I should go.
Instead, I reached down, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Her lips parted slightly, her breath warm against my fingers.
I clenched my jaw, stepping back.
I had no business wanting her like this.
And yet, as I turned to leave, the only thing I could think about was how much I did.
TBC📖✍️
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