Insatiable Cravings - Episode 107

 

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings - Episode 107

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Dominic ~

Because tonight… tonight has been nothing short of unpredictable. And what better way to define unpredictable than Genevieve asking if I could sleep beside her?

"Dominic?" Her voice drifted through my mind like a whisper on the wind, so soft, so uncertain, that for a fleeting moment, I wondered if I had imagined it.

But it was too vivid to be a dream. Too tangible.

"What?" My voice came out far louder than intended, sharp enough that she flinched. Her blue eyes widened, all innocence and fragility, and something inside me melted. Christ. "You don’t want that," I said, this time quieter, steadier.

"I do."

"You don’t."

Letting her kiss me had been a mistake. Kissing her back, an even greater one. But lying in bed with her? Holding her? I might never recover from that. Not when she’s leaving.

"Dominic, I’m exhausted." She wrapped her fingers around mine—delicate, insistent—as she rose from the sofa, her gaze never leaving me. "My head aches."

"Then you should sleep."

"That’s exactly what I intend to do," she countered. "But with you."

"Gene—"

She tipped her head back and groaned, exasperation laced through the sound. "When did you become like this?"

"When you left."

"When you pushed me away," she corrected, her voice sharp, slicing through me like a blade.

The truth of it stole my breath—not in some poetic, romantic way, but in the brutal, gut-wrenching way that made my chest feel hollow, my ribs too tight.

The silence stretched between us, heavy, suffocating. I took a step back, desperate for space, for air—

But she wouldn’t let me go.

Her fingers tightened around mine, tethering me in place. "I hàte it when you do that," she murmured. "When you pull away. When you take a step back, it feels like you're ripping something out of me." Her touch lingered for a moment before she let go, only to step closer. Closer. Her gaze locked onto mine, searching, demanding. "So don’t do it again." I was barely breathing when she lifted her hands to my face, her palms warm against my skin. "Okay?"

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Words failed me. My mouth, my tongue—useless things in the face of her, of this. I could only stare into those impossibly blue eyes, searching for clarity in the chàos she always left in her wake.

"Dom?"

How drúnk is she?

"Sure."

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t staying long enough for any of this to matter. She was leaving. That was that.

"Good." A smile ghosted across her lips, soft, fleeting. "Now, let’s sleep before I pass out."

I opened my mouth, ready to argue—

"Dominic, don’t." The warning was quiet but firm, leaving no room for protest.

So I didn’t. 

She didn’t wait for me to respond, simply tugged my hand and led me to the bed. I let her, though every muscle in my body tensed as I watched her slip beneath the covers, shifting to one side as if it were the most natural thing in the world to make space for me.

My feet remained rooted to the spot.

She was asking for too much.

Or maybe, I was too much of a coward to give in.

"Dominic," she murmured, blinking up at me with those impossibly blue eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion. "I just want to sleep."

And I just want to breathe. But I couldn’t. Not with her looking at me like that. Not with the ghost of her touch still burńing my skin.

"I shouldn’t," I muttered, more to myself than to her.

"But you will," she countered, unwavering. She reached for my wrist, her fingers barely brushing my skin, yet it was enough to unravel something inside me. "Please?"

That word. That blóody word.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face before cursing under my breath and climbing in beside her. I lay stiffly on my back, arms folded, every nerve in my body on high alert.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then, slowly, she curled into my side, pressing her face against my chest. A breathy sigh left her lips, and her arm draped over my waist as if she had done this a thousand times before.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

I shouldn’t touch her. Shouldn’t let this happen.

But when she nuzzled closer, a soft, content sound escaping her lips, my resolve cracked.

With a muttered curse, I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against me properly. She was warm. Small. So blóody perfect that it made my throat ache.

Her fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against my shirt. "This is nice," she whispered, already half-asleep.

It shouldn’t be.

But as her breathing evened out, her body melting into mine, I couldn’t deny the truth pressing against my ribs.

It was. 

For a long time, I simply lay there, rigid, barely breathing.

She was asleep. Or near enough. Her body was slack against mine, her breath warm where it fanned over my chest. Every so often, she made the softest of sounds—little murmurs of contentment that sent a sharp ache spearing through me.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t be holding her like this.

But her fingers twitched against my side, gripping my shirt as though she feared I’d slip away. And just like that, every rational thought disintegrated.

I exhaled, long and slow, before tightening my hold on her. Not much, just enough to let her know I wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight.

She stirred, shifting just enough to press her nose into my collarbone.

A deep, painfùl warmth bloomed in my chest.

"Genevieve," I murmured, barely recognising my own voice.

She hummed sleepily in response, too drowsy to form words.

I closed my eyes. Christ. This was tortúre. The slow, agońising kind. The kind that dug its claws into you and refused to let go.

I should have pushed her away. Should have reminded her that this—we—were have been broken up. But all I could do was tighten my grip, burying my face in her hair, inhaling deeply. She smelled like something achingly familiar—something I’d spent far too long pretending I could live without.

Her fingers flexed against me again, and then—so softly, so sleepily I almost missed it—she whispered, "Don’t let go."

My throat tightened. My arms curled around her properly, fully, as if I could somehow anchor her to me with the sheer force of my will.

"I won’t," I whispered into the dark.

Not tonight. 

Not ever again, if she lets me.

The room was silent save for the rhythmic sound of her breathing, each inhale and exhale lulling me into something daṅgerously close to peace.

I should be sleeping.

Instead, I was memorising her. The weight of her in my arms. The way she fit so perfectly against me, as though she was carved from the same broken edges I carried. The soft scent of her hair, filling my lungs with something warm and torménting all at once.

Her fingers twitched again, but this time, she wasn’t quite asleep.

"You’re still awake," she mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust myself to.

Her hand—small, warm, familiar—slid from my side to my chest, resting over my heart. It was unfair how easily she could do this. Slip beneath my ribs, burrow deep, dismantling every wall I had built.

I swallowed. Christ.

"Dom?"

"Sleep, Genevieve." My voice came out rougher than I intended, frayed at the edges.

She let out a quiet sigh, her fingers spreading slightly, as if feeling the steady, betraying thump of my heart beneath her palm.

"You used to hold me like this all the time," she murmured.

I clenched my jaw.

"You remember that?"

Of course, she remembers.

A small nod against my chest. "Mhm." Another pause. A soft breath. Then, "You used to kiss my hair. Every night."

F+ck.

I had.

And she still remembered.

I stayed silent, my fingers flexing against her back.

"Do it," she whispered. A soft, dańgerous plea. "Please."

I shouldn’t have.

But I did.

A slow, reluctant movement. A press of my lips to the crown of her head.

She exhaled, long and satisfied, her body melting further into mine.

And I—God help me—I held her closer, letting my lips linger just a moment too long, breathing her in like a man starved.

I was in trouble.

Deep, aching, inescapable trouble. 

The warmth of her settled into my bones, sinking deep, threading through me like something I would never be rid of.

I should have stopped at the kiss to her hair. That should have been the limit. But with her curled against me like this, I found myself tracing slow, absent-minded circles along her spine, feeling the rise and fall of each steady breath.

This was a mistake. A slow, insidious one.

But I didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Her hand slid from my chest to my ribs, fingers splaying slightly, resting there like she belonged. And maybe she did. Maybe she always had.

"Dominic," she whispered, her voice softer than I'd ever heard it. A plea. A confession. A thousand things all at once.

I closed my eyes. Don’t do this, Genevieve.

But she already was.

Her fingers traced the faint outline of a scar on my rib, slow and thoughtful, her warmth seeping into me through the fabric of my shirt. It was an old wound, barely a memory now, but the way she touched it—like she knew exactly how I got it—made something twist sharp and painfùl in my chest.

"You used to tell me everything," she murmured.

Not everything. Never everything.

But she had always known more than she should.

"And you used to sleep without tensing every time I moved," I countered, my voice quieter now, less sharp.

She exhaled a small breath, her fingers stilling.

"Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn," she murmured, "you’d have me in your arms every night instead of just this once."

Christ.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because it was just this once.

And yet, as she shifted, pressing closer, her lips grazing the base of my throat in a barely-there movement, I knew I was in far deeper than I could afford to be.

I had never learned how to let her go.

And I didn’t think I ever would. 

Her breath was warm against my skin, a ghost of a touch that sent a violent shudder through me. I clenched my jaw, fingers curling against the small of her back as if I could anchor myself. As if I could keep from pulling her closer.

I should have pushed her away.

Instead, I tilted my head the slightest fraction, just enough for my lips to brush against her temple. A mistake. One of too many tonight.

Genevieve stilled, her fingers twitching against my ribs, and then she exhaled, slow and knowing.

“You don’t have to fight this,” she whispered.

Didn’t I?

Every goddàmned moment with her was a fight. Against my instincts. Against my needs. Against the urge to claim her in ways neither of us would come back from.

I felt her shift, the gentle press of her knee against my thigh as she adjusted, her hand skimming lower, nails dragging lightly against the fabric of my shirt. My pulse slammed in response, betraying me, and she caught it—of course she did.

Her lips curved, and then—

A kiss. Soft, just beneath my jaw.

A warning. A surrender. A f+cking declaration.

I swore under my breath, my fingers flexing against her spine. “Genevieve.”

“Mmm?”

Smug. Knowing. Beautiful.

I exhaled sharply, dropping my forehead against hers. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly. “I did.”

A lie. Or maybe just a truth that had shifted the moment I let her this close.

She angled her head, just enough for her lips to brush the corner of my mouth—light, fleeting, devastating.

"You're not helping," I ground out.

She smiled against my skin. “Neither are you.”

Christ.

She was going to destróy me.

And I would let her. 

Genevieve held my gaze, her alluring eyes locked with mine so naturally, it was as if they belonged there. Like they'd always belonged there. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked, her voice light, playful—mischievous, even—with a smile to match.

“Genevieve, go to sleep.”

“I will,” she promised, a whisper of a laugh in her tone. “After I tell you my secret.”

If I didn’t let her speak, she’d only make a game of it—and I’d be left here, aching, deprived of the simple pleasure of holding her close.

I exhaled, already defeated. “Fine. What’s your secret?”

She made a show of it, of course—of punishing me with every teasing movement. Her lips drifted nearer, brushing softly along my skin as she leaned in. A delicate trail of warmth scorched its way to my ear. Her breath—steady, calm—was nothing like my own. Mine was ragged, strained, barely held together.

“I—” she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of my ear. Then came a quick kiss to my earlobe that sent a jolt down my spine. “Love—” she whispered, her fingers clutching at my shirt, gathering the fabric in her fist as she pulled herself flush against me. “You.”

You.

She couldn’t possibly understand what that word did to me. Not from her lips. Not after everything I’d done to sever what we had.

I had loved her once—with every bleéding, broken piece of me—and I still did, in ways I couldn't bear to name. She’d loved me too, openly, fearlessly. But I ended it. I walked away. Four years ago, I left her with nothing but silence and ruiń, convinced I was doing the right thing.

And now she was here. Whispering that one word like the past hadn’t torn us apart. Like she hadn’t bléd from my absence. Like I hadn’t spent every goddàmned day wishing that my life wasn't this unfair with me. 

“…What?” I rasped, the question cracking open in my throat. But she didn’t answer.

She’d already tucked herself into me, her breathing deep, serene. Fast asleep.

Of course.

She dropped those three syllables into the silence like they were nothing—then curled up against me like she hadn’t just ripped me open with them.

I wrapped my arms around her, too tightly, maybe—but I couldn’t help it. I needed to feel her there, solid and warm, to convince myself this wasn’t another dream I’d wake up from alone.

My hand found its way into her hair, fingers curling gently at the nape of her neck. I dipped my head and pressed a kiss to the crown of it—quiet, reverent, full of all the things I couldn’t say.

And I just held her.

Held her like she was everything I’d ever wanted. Everything I’d let go.

Because she was. 

The pàin bloomed in my chest, slow and sharp, like something sacred unraveling.

How was I meant to survive this?

How was I meant to survive life without her now?

TBC📖✍️

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