“Then no, I’m not happy.”
Marching after her, I plan to strip her bare and make her so weak from orgasms she has no choice but to not run because she fucking can’t.
When I reach the living room, she is wearing a hole in the rug with her pacing.
I open my mouth as she does and we both pause.
“You go,” I grunt, placing my hands on my hips as I watch her.
“Listen. Things got a little crazy this morning and of course there’s going to be this.” She flaps her hand between us. “Tension, chemistry, between us all. It’s normal, natural.” She shakes her head vigorously as she walks back and forth, her thoughts clearly racing. “But you’re right,” she finally says, stopping in front of me, her eyes locked onto mine with a mix of determination and uncertainty. “We shouldn’t blur the lines just for gratification.” She nods as though mentally proving the case to herself. “Things are different now.” She glances thoughtfully at the dining room behind me. “We have Roza, and considering our complicated history, it might become confusing.”
“Confusing?” I echo, incredulous at her words. “What do you mean by that? Are you suggesting that we might start believing you actually care about us and not want to just use us for fucking before you fuck off again?”
The weight of the past hangs around my feet like a cement block dragging me to the bottom of the ocean. My chest throbs with the uncomfortable reminder of the twisted emotions I still need to work through.
She blanches, her eyes widening in shock as if I’ve just struck her. “Is that what you truly believe?” Her voice trembles, revealing I'm not the only one mixed up in my emotions.
I take a deep breath, the air heavy, and run a trembling hand down my face. My fingers brushing against stubble that has grown in over the past couple of days.
“I’m not sure, Alyona, since that is exactly what you did,” I reply, my voice strained and low as I draw my gaze away from her. A simmering tension bristles through the room, wrapping around me, suffocating. I feel like a caged animal, my heart pounding in my chest. I have to fight the urge to escape. I don’t want her to see just how raw I still am.
“Look at me,” she barks, her fingers clasping my wrist.
I dip my face to hers, shocked at her closeness. I hadn’t even heard her move.
“We can’t go on like this. I need you to hear me, both of you.” Her eyes move to the figure standing at my back. I knew he wouldn’t leave us alone for long. He senses my discomfort even from a room away.
“Alyona,” he growls her name in warning, afraid of what she might say.
“No, I need to say this.” She swallows hard and trembles. “When I left, I was so deeply in love with both of you that it felt like a physical wound to my chest to walk away.” She places a hand to her ribcage. “I’m not referring to fleeting lust or the giddy feeling of being infatuated. I’m talking about a profound, bone-deep love that saturated every aspect of my being.” Tears spring in her eyes and her words brush against me like a caress. “You both transformed me during our time together, and those years apart only solidified my feelings rather than lessened them.”
She implores us with an earnest gaze, darting back and forth between us like we’re holding her life in the palm of our hands.
“This love is not something that can fade or weaken over time, it is enduring,” she continues, voice raw and filled with pain. “Real love isn’t something you can see or touch. It exists in the moments between breaths. Weaving itself into the fabric of your being without your consent. Burrowing into the essence of your soul without restraint. It’s uncontrollable and harsh, like a fire sweeping across the landscape of your world and consuming it. It takes hold of you, reshapes you, owns you. You owned me.” Her eyes move between us, a tear escaping down her cheek. My lungs have seized. “And I knew that if anything were to happen to either of you, it wouldn’t just hurt, it would shatter me completely, destroy the very core of me. I couldn’t fucking bear it.” Her voice breaks. “So don’t ever assume I only wanted to fuck the Madmen of Moscow, because if you’re being truthful with yourself, Ro, you know I could have done that anytime.”
I inhale air into my starved lungs, a warm sensation trickling into my bones and spreading awareness to the dormant corners of my heart that’s been shrouded in ice for two fucking years. Z’s hand slips into mine, his touch burning like the faint lick of a flame.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but what the fuck do I say to that? She’s left me speechless. She loves us too. It wasn’t just us feeling that way.
Suddenly, her phone shrills loudly through the room, cutting the tension. I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “Leave it,” I urge, feeling the fragility of this moment.
Taking a deep breath, she inhales shakily, her eyes glistening as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. “It might be important,” she says, her voice trembling. I reach out and clasp her wrist, trying to keep her from slipping away, but I struggle to respond, and she tugs free and walks away.
This conversation isnotover.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alyona
My confession has created an undeniable atmosphere, yet I stand by my words without regret. They needed to hear the truth—to understand that it broke me just as much as it did them when I left. This morning in the shower was nothing short of extraordinary, perhaps the most intense experience I’ve ever had, and I didn’t actively partake in it. However, the sensations and emotions it evoked only deepened my heartache.
“It’s just pleasure, Alyona,”Z had said flippantly, but it’s never been that straightforward for me. They perceive pleasure differently. For them, sharing their bodies is a simple release, a fleeting moment of elation devoid of emotional ties. Viktor is the same way, treating intimacy like a friendly offering, a comforting gesture, akin to offering me a steaming cup of soup when I’m feeling under the weather.
But I love these men and crossing that line terrifies me—I nearly did cross it this morning in a moment of weakness. Fuck, I wanted to. But if they were to continue their lives as if it meantnothing afterwards, it would shatter the carefully constructed façade I’ve put in place. I’m desperately trying to maintain the illusion that everything is okay—that living with them, sharing the same bed, and parenting Roza doesn’t feel excruciating when I don’t get the rest with them. That when they leave this house, the gut punch of what they’re doing and who they could be doing it with, steals my breath and leaves me in a chokehold.
It feels utterly pathetic.
I know they don’t owe me anything, and I have no claim over their hearts. Yet, everything we’ve been through in this brief time since they’ve reentered my life only amplifies the yearning that lived in my chest the entire two years, we were apart. It’s only because of Roza that I can put one foot in front of the other.
