Page 89 of Forsaking All Others

“The pleasure was mine,” Maksim assured me. “Do not be a stranger. Either of you.” His gaze slotted up to Dario’s over my head, and he waited for something I couldn’t see before nodding slightly and leaving on a sharp turn of his heel.

“Nice man,” I observed mildly.

Dario huffed into my hair and moved slightly into my side so he could look down at me. “I thought I was your nice man?”

“Momentarily,” I corrected. “A blip, I think.”

“Hmmm,” he mused. “Why don’t I show you how nice I can be? Come dance with me.”

I blinked.

There was a band playing over by a stage on the other side of the room, but I had never, not even on our truncated wedding day, danced with my husband.

“Why?” I asked baldly.

“It’s a good excuse to feel you move against me until I can get you alone and naked,” he offered easily.

I swallowed thickly as a flush of heat poured down my body like scalding water, almost uncomfortable in its intensity.

“In that case, lead on,” I allowed casually, but my heart was dancing out of tune, and my palm was sweaty as Dario took it in his to lead me through the crowd.

I adjusted my hold on my drink and cocktail napkin as I was jostled by someone and frowned as it dislodged an object into my palm. Adjusting my grip, I glanced down at the napkin to see something poking out of the soft folds.

A Polaroid of my husband that night at the event talking, stern faced, with the mayor.

Written in spiky capital letters on the bottom white border: Don’t trust your husband.

My head snapped up, and I searched the room for the Pakhan, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Don’t be a stranger, he’d said before parting.

Did this mean he knew about what had happened yesterday?

Was he a key piece in solving the ever-present puzzle of the stranger that was my husband?

I quickly tucked the Polaroid into the bodice of my dress, deposited my glass on a table as we passed by, and let Dario sweep me into his arms on the dance floor with a flourish.

“You can dance!” I laughed as he banded an arm around my lower back to lift me against him in a spin.

“There isn’t much I can’t do,” he countered. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The photo burned against my breast in answer to his mystery, and I resolved to use every resource at my disposal to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fiammetta

I woke up on my belly, each limb tied to a corner of the four-poster bed. For a moment, I was disorientated because I’d been dreaming of Dario’s body over mine, pressing me into the mattress, and when I blinked my eyes open, I felt the same sensation.

“Good, you’re awake,” he said into my ear before licking down my neck to suck at the join of my neck and shoulder.

His cock was a hot iron bar against my backside.

I groaned as he thrust between my cheeks, feeling my wetness pool at my entrance and drip down to the silk sheets. He must have been working me into a state in my sleep. Or maybe I was still wet and aroused from the hard fucking he’d given me before I fell asleep.

In the four days since Dario’s faux abduction, he had been insatiable.

He . . . we.