Serpentine Desires

Epilogue

I should have known better than to agree to this.

Really, I should have.

Because when your fiancé was a possessive, jealous, slightly unhinged Romanovski, the last thing you should do was let equally unhinged Anya throw you a bachelorette party in a club full of men who didn't understand the concept of looking respectfully.

Yet, here I was.

In a red dress shorter than my patience, wearing a sash that read Bride-to-Be, with a shot glass in my hand and a sinking feeling in my gut.

Because I knew.

I knew he was watching.

Somewhere in the shadows, in the VIP section, in the goddamn walls for all I knew—Judas Romanovski was here.

And he was pissed.

I could feel it.

That thick, suffocating energy wrapped around my throat like a warning. That quiet rage that burned hotter than any fire, slow and lethal, curling through the air like smoke before the inferno.

A man at the bar caught my eye, flashing a grin. He lifted his drink in a silent toast.

I didn't even have time to look away before it happened.

Before the air changed.

Before the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Before I felt it—him.

The heat of his body. The intensity of his eyes. He must be sipping on his Vodka and stalking me. Damn. I told Anya this was a bad idea. But she insisted I'd been lounging at home more for my age. Well, it was true to some extent but bringing me here... when I should be sleeping, or probably helping Rara.

I should be with my mother. She just landed and I was here. My body suddenly stiffened when a hand curled around my waist.

A silent mine. And just like that, my breath stalled. "Having fun, ptichka?"

His voice was low. Rough. Laced with something dark and dripping in warning.

A shiver skated down my spine, even as I forced my lips into a smile. "Loads."

His fingers dug in. Just a little. Just enough to remind me who I belonged to. As he swayed me with the music. His muscles were bulkier now, and he looked rugged. It was a bad omen seeing the bride before the wedding, but my said fiancé didn't understand the concept. He wanted me close to him. He even brought me to his office nowadays.

"Funny," his lips brushed my ear and I unconsciously leaned into his chest. "Because from where I was sitting, it looked like you were begging to be punished."

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. My stomach twisted. My knees wobbled.

God. He and his punishments. I thought he'd change. But only his words had changed, not him. When it came to... intimacy... he was still as violent, maybe more rough.  

I hated how easily he unravelled me. How effortlessly he slipped beneath my skin, into my veins, setting my entire body on fire.

Judas was an addiction. A sickness. A madness. And I was completely, utterly gone.

"Judas—"

"Shh." His nose skimmed along my throat, inhaling deeply. His other hand found my thigh, sliding up, up, up—beneath the hem of my dress.