Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen by Nelson, S. (classic reads .txt) 📕

"What's going on with you, huh? You're like… like crazy woman, running around here mad as hell." He circled around her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She folded her arms.

"Oh, you don't? I don't recall you being such a bitch before you got married to my father. In fact, you weren't like this a year ago. What the fuck is going on with you?"

"I don't expect you to understand, Anatoly. And I don't owe you an explanation. What is going on with your father and me is my business."

"It's everyone's business when affects as many people as it does."

"How do our marital problems affect you? You live in Memphis, remember. You're only visiting."

"And why did he leave?"

"Because he didn't want to… "

"He. Left. For. You." He pointed at her.

"I know why he left." She flared her nostrils.

"You know. I'm going to say this and then I leave alone," he ran his hands through his hair. His broken English worsened as he became more agitated. "You used to be someone totally different, someone more for him than anyone else. Now, you're into titles, money and this proper fake-ass lifestyle instead of being the mother and wife he sacrificed for. If you ask me, he got raw end of deal with you."

"Sacrifice?" She prepared to defend.

"Don't give me your same old Ivan-fucked-me routine."

Royal slapped him hard in his face. Tears dropped from her eyes as she did.

His voice was lower now. He moved closer to her. "You don't think he's made sacrifices too? Whether you like it or not, he doesn't owe you anything. He just chooses to give it to you, but you know, if I really look at it, you owe him everything."

"Then it's a good thing that your view doesn't count," she said angrily. "You men are all the same. Shake it off. Move on. What if it were your mother, Anatoly? Or a woman you really loved? It's not that easy to get over, even when you try your best. And my best may not be up to your standards, oh great and powerful fucking mob boss, but it's mine. And when your father, my husband feels the need to address it, then it will be addressed with him—not his son."

Anatoly was silent.

Royal rolled her eyes but did not move. She was not the least bit intimidated by him. And after all that she had gone through, Anatoly knew it.

"If you love him… "

"I do love him."

"Then maybe you should drop the act."

"Let this be the last time that you ever feel comfortable discussing my marriage with me."

"Yes, Mistress," he said condescendingly as she slammed the door behind her.

Walking fast, she headed down the long corridor, opening the doors to the many bedrooms as she went. She checked Anya's room, Davyd's room, five guest rooms, and finally she came upon the last guest room at the end of the hall.

As she opened the large, embellished wood doors, it creaked. Under the moonlight, shining in from the large windows, she saw Dmitry lying in bed asleep.

Quietly, she closed the doors behind her and walked slowly over to him. He lay naked on his back with his hands planted behind the pillow. His muscles bulged from his colossal biceps, rippled down through his long, carved torso into his concrete abs that showed his vascular curves at his hips. The hair on his legs was dark and thick and covered the nearly five feet of length from his hip to his ankle. She was still amazed by his graceful temple, engulfed by his beauty.

Crawling into the bed beside him, she could not help but let her eyes linger down to his manhood snaked over the side of his thigh.

It had been so long since she had felt him inside of her, so long since she felt like a real woman. The thought made her cringe, and she paused in her anxiety for a moment as she remembered how alive she used to be.

As she turned to tap his chest and wake him, she found Dmitry staring at her. His eyes sparkled like polished diamonds in the night. Barely blinking, he pulled his hand from behind the pillow and placed his gun beside her on the nightstand.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked, rubbing her back. "Another nightmare?"

Her voice whispered out. "Yes… " she cleared her throat. Butterflies erupted instantly. It baffled her how such a thing could happen so many years into their relationship. He still made her feel like a school girl.

"Are you afraid? Here, come and lay beside me. You're shaking."

"It wasn't about Ivan—not exactly," she said quickly. "It was more about you."

"Me? My love, I'm fine," he said finally, devouring her with a hungry, insatiable look. "But I could be better." He ran his hand down the side of her arm. Goose bumps formed. It made him smile. At least she still reacted somewhat to his touch.

The look in her face was sheer agony. Dmitry could see it, even in the darkness. He pulled her closer to him and pushed her long, wild hair out of her face. She looked absolutely breathtaking, even in her frantic state. Her caramel skin glowed in the darkness. Her full lips were pouty and in desperate need to be kissed. The gown had fallen over to the side of her arm, revealing the round orb of her full breasts, and suddenly Dmitry could feel the heat rising inside of him.

"I had a dream that Ivan killed you," she bit out. "He killed you, and he killed Anatoly in a lake. It was on fire." She tried to catch her breath. "He came out of the water, and he killed you both, and I had to watch. He… he was never dead, just waiting for the perfect