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And I push past her.

EIGHTEEN

Elara

Two months left.

The man was pouting.

His eyebrows scrunched together, pulling his bottom lip out, he was pouting like a toddler.

I’ve saved him from hitting the same table three times now, he keeps on walking in circles knowing I’ll catch him before he hurts himself.

“Baby, can you text Roman from my phone?” He mumbles sluggishly. “I have his vodka glass with me; tell him I’ll give it back tomorrow.” He raises said glass, throwing back the remaining liquid down his throat.

Setting the glass on the table, he pats his back pockets, then his front, wiggling his brows together adorably when coming up empty, and I have to cover my face to stifle a laugh.

I had seen an angry Sergei, horny Sergei, obsessive Sergei but never a pouting, drunk Sergei. And the sight is setting butterflies loose in my stomach.

The entire ride back home, my jumbled head couldn’t think of one good reason behind my impulsive decision of going to the party.

I was more worried for Sergei than hurt after basically being thrown out of the hall.

Self-respect: Defenestrated.

Sergei’s father didn’t seem like a good man, and the way Sergei’s hands turned iced cold around mine only further proved my point.

I was worried for him. I had half a mind to unblock him and drop an ‘are you okay’ text. And just then it dawned on me, that I cannot fight this anymore.

Whatever this is.

I’d let him use me, for however long he feels like, until he discards me. Because thinking about him, these feelings, it’s giving me hope of a future I don’t deserve.

A future I don’t have.

Fighting it is pointless. Exhausting.

So, I’ll take whatever he gives me until I reach the finish line.

Imagining him with someone else prompted me to consider how easily I could be replaced. And that terrified me more than all of Aleksandr’s threats combined.

“Sure.” I chuckle, taking a step towards him, waiting for him to hand over his phone. He’s still rummaging through his pockets when I stop him.

He eyes me down, taking my hand and placing it on his hard cock.

“Found it.” He whispers and I quickly jerk my hand away. “Go to bed, Sergei.” I roll my eyes, taking a step back,

doubting if he’s really drunk. Cannot put it past him.

His hand lands on my shoulders, trailing upwards, softly touching my neck, the back of my head and he begins stroking my hair, leaning close and taking a long, lingering inhale.

He groans so loud, the sound reverberates within me.

“Why did you remove the dress?” He whispers again, tracing his hands down my shoulders, scrunching the fabric around my waist in his arms. “The dip in your back looked so delicious, I wanted to bite it.” His words slur together again.

I scoff, a feeble attempt to hide the heat crawling up my cheeks and spreading through the rest of my body.

And the stubborn, infuriating man only makes it worse.