Her dark eyelashes frame her amber eyes, liquid with emotion.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Artyom.”
22
NINA
Ican’t stop admiring the gorgeous ring. The antique gold band is textured with intricate vine leaves, and the iridescent diamond winks even in the low light of Art’s bedroom.
This is insanity, of course.
We can’t get married. One conversation can’t erase everything that we’ve been through. We’ve grown apart, in different directions, and I don’t know if anything can bring us back together.
But I can’t bring myself to take off the symbol of our engagement.
“It wasn’t an accident, was it?” I stare at the ring even as I ask the question that’s been on my mind for months.
Art has changed, in the years we’ve been apart, and I’m only starting to understand how.
I’ve never known him to be desperate. Obsessed. Vulnerable. I saw all of that in his eyes, in that moment when he thought I’d kept Avaa secret from him.
“What wasn’t an accident?” He runs his fingers through my hair absentmindedly.
“When we saw each other at the bar.”
“I never said it was an accident.” Art’s hand stops beside my face, then he smooths the strand back against my head.
“Right, Art. Be a lawyer right now if you want. You know what I’m saying.”
His eyes smolder, burning gold and blazing blue. I can’t look away.
“Then say it, Nenoka. What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“Stalking me. Buying the hospital where I worked.”
“Oh, baby,” he chuckles, the sound low in his throat, as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. “That’s only the start.”
Art runs his teeth from my ear all the way down to my shoulder, making me shiver.
“I’m not telling you everything, because I don’t think you could handle it.”
His voice turns dark and compelling.
“But I do know what you can handle right now.”
Art places a hand on the back of my neck, and pushes me forward onto the bed.
“What do you say, Nenoka? Shall we seal the deal?”
He presses himself against me, and I gasp at the feeling of how hard he is, my back arching so that I can grind against him. I want him. I always want him, so much that I can hardly breathe with it, somuch that even the thought of being with another man makes me feel sick.
“I think that normally happens after the wedding,” I gasp, out of breath as he trails his hands over my thighs and up to the waistline of my panties. Every touch makes me lightheaded and weak, yet I crave more.
“A bit late for that.” I can’t see Art’s face, but I can hear the smirk in his voice as he yanks the fabric down my thighs. “But I’d do it again.”
“You don’t feel like I’ve trapped you into this?”
I hear Art removing clothing behind me. He pulls my hips back on the bed, notches himself at my entrance and pushes inside me with a groan before he answers. I grip the sheets as my pussy stretches open to take his girth, letting out a sigh.
