Page 6 of Tattooed Vow

I break away, gasping for breath, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. “We shouldn’t…”

His hand stays on my waist, and he doesn’t let go.

“Why not?”

“Because,” I whisper, trying to find air and logic, “if I let this happen, I won’t be able to stop. And I don’t know what that means.”

His eyes darken. “Then let it mean something.”

He takes my hand and leads me through the glass doors. The party noise returns briefly before being left behind. I let him guide me down the stone steps, away from the noise and the people.

He opens a discreet wooden door and motions me inside. It’s a private wine cellar dimly lit and lined with bottles older than I am. It’s cool and quiet and far too intimate.

“Dimitri…” I begin, but he’s already turning to face me, closing the distance again.

“You keep running,malyshka,” he says, voice low. “But you always stop just long enough to look back. Long enough to hope I chase you.”

It’s like he punches the breath from my lungs because he’s right. I don’t want to want him. But I do. So damn badly.

“I don’t need saving,” I whisper.

“Good,” he says. “Because I don’t save. I take.”

Then he kisses me again. Slower this time. A burn instead of an explosion. His hands skim over my sides and hips, anchoring me to him as my back hits the stone wall. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his wavy blond hair, every nerve in my body buzzing.

His lips trace down my neck, and I tilt my head, giving him access I shouldn’t. Wanting more. Needing so much more.

And then I stop him. I push gently against his chest, breaking the kiss.

“I can’t,” I breathe. “Not here. Not now.”

His breath comes in uneven bursts, his pupils blown wide. But he steps back, giving me space.

“You feel it too,” he murmurs.

“That’s the problem,” I reply.

I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

“Sandy.” The way he says my name sounds like a prayer and a curse. “We can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening.”

I pause, my hand on the cold wooden door. “I know what you are, Dimitri.”

“And what is that?” His voice is rough with a feral edge.

I turn back to face him. “You’re Bratva. You’re dangerous.”

His jaw tightens. The scar beneath his jawline seems more pronounced in the dim cellar light, a reminder of the violence that shaped his world.

“Is that what scares you? Or is it that you might want me anyway?”

I can’t answer. Because he’s right again. His world terrifies me. The Avilov family, the power they wield, the blood on their hands...but none of that changes how my body responds to him. The way my heart races when he’s near.

“Your silence is answer enough,” he insists, closing the distance again. He doesn’t touch me this time, but his presence is overwhelming. “I never lied to you about who I am.”

“No,” I admit. “But I’ve been lying to myself.”

He reaches out, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. “Stop lying, then.”

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