I wanted to have a rest but when I was a comment "This book is like a drug for me." I understood that I just need to publish another one chapter.

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Melissa "Dirty Games."

6 years ago...

Life and death. How thin is the line separating them? It's something we rarely think about in our everyday lives, but it's always there — hovering like a silent shadow. One moment, you're laughing, breathing, your heart beating steadily. The next, that breath might be your last. How fragile we are, mere mortals, living in a world that gives us no guarantees.

In a single moment, your heartbeat can skip, a lung can collapse, your brain can shut down. We live on borrowed time, in a delicate balance between existence and oblivion. Sometimes it's an accident — a car crash, a fall down the stairs, a choking hazard that spirals out of control. In other cases, it's an illness that creeps up, wearing the body down until the thin line between life and death is crossed.

There are those who face death often — doctors, soldiers, rescue workers. For them, that line might seem no more than a daily challenge, but no less terrifying. Every day could be the last for someone they encounter. Yet we keep moving forward. We work, love, play, and dream. We act as if tomorrow is guaranteed.

This paradox fascinates me the most. How, despite knowing the fragility of life, we continue to make plans, set goals far into the future, argue over trivial things as if we have eternity ahead of us. In a way, it's both the greatest strength and weakness of human nature — our ability to live as if death is secondary.

Then there come moments when life demands we face this truth head-on. Near-death experiences. A serious diagnosis. It's in those moments that we realize just how thin, like paper, the veil between now and never is. Suddenly, every breath, every heartbeat feels precious. The air feels sharper, the light seems brighter. Yet we can't live in constant awareness of this truth. It would drive us mad. We need the illusion of permanence to continue living.

And so, we choose to forget, to focus on the mundane, the everyday. We push thoughts of death away, pretending the line is thicker than it really is. But deep down, we all know it's there, waiting. And when the time comes to face it, it's that awareness that shapes how we meet it. Some do it with grace, others with fear. But either way, we will cross that line — whether by our own hand or by nature's quiet command.

For now, we live in the in-between, where the fragility of life is masked by routine. It's a thin line, but it's all we have. So, we cling to it, cherishing every moment, hoping that when the line is finally crossed, we'll be ready to face whatever lies beyond.

These are exactly the thoughts that almost destroy my mind when I wounded Roman. Yes, he said he was proud of me. Yes, he held me close. Yes, his wound was already bandaged. Yes, the threat of death was gone. But there was something that I absolutely didn't like.

It wasn't about the blood or the fact that one stab from me could have killed a man. It's just that I wanted it. Truly wanted it. It seems I'll need something more than just physical training. Maybe I should learn anatomy too. Yes, exactly. I need to know when I make a blow or fire a bullet — is it fatal or not?

Great, yes, exactly. God, woman, you almost killed your husband, and now you're already planning your next attack. It seems I'm becoming just as much of a psycho as Roman. But on the other hand, maybe that's exactly what's needed in this world. Because being strong is always harder, but who said I'm weak and can't handle it? Oh, maybe 99.9% of people don't believe in me, but there's Roman and his faith. And boom. Almost 100% failure turns into victory. An internal one, for now.

We were finally returning from training (and maybe the doctor who arrived immediately), drenched in sweat after an intense workout. Our bodies hummed with adrenaline, muscles still tingling with tension. It seemed I wasn't the only one whose head was full of thoughts, as we silently walked down the corridor of the mansion.

I opened the door to our bedroom and felt with every part of my body as Roman's large form followed me inside.

I sat on the bed, my legs hanging down, watching as my husband settled into a chair in the corner of our room. My gaze slid over how the wet clothes clung to his skin, making me swallow hard as I saw the sharp outlines of his hard, steel muscles. The black workout clothes made my skin break out in even more sweat.

It's strange, considering I see his naked body every day. To be precise, every morning, every evening, and every night. What? It's impossible not to enjoy your sexy husband when he worships your body like you're a goddess. It just feels like it's never enough. And that's scary. How strong my obsession with this man is. I've been obsessed with him, honestly, since that first day when he laid me out on his desk at our very first meeting.

I'm crazy, and honestly, I think that only strengthens our bond. Even now. Watching him relax in the chair, his head tilted back, it felt like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

I never knew what it meant to relax, even for a second, or to feel safe. All my life, I had to be too grown-up, calming my mother and helping my father because if I didn't, my mother would have fallen into depression. In the end, it seems her strange love for my father faded when he died, and now I'm here. And it seems I've finally started to get what I've long deserved.

Yes, Roman is possessive, obsessed, and overly psychopathic, but he's the man who would do anything for me. He would protect me or even give up his life for me. He can't live without me, and even now, just sitting on the bed while he's been quiet for too long, I feel all of that.

I stood up slowly, my skin still slick with moisture, my breathing a little uneven. Roman watched me from his spot, his gaze tracing the curves of my waist, how my damp hair clung to my neck.

I smiled slightly, catching his gaze. "You've become so quiet. Are you thinking about how to make sure your young wife doesn't run away from you?" I teased, as I always did, tying my hair into a messy bun.

He smirked, leaning back on his elbows. "Always. I can't lose you after waiting so long." There it was. And as always, his reply made me regret even opening my mouth, because it was all so dangerous for my heart.

But to not show it, I stretched, a cat-like motion that made every muscle in my body tremble under his gaze, feeling what I always feel. Desire. The unspoken connection between us hung in the air, heavy and electric.

Roman crossed one leg over the other and continued to be too thoughtful. I could have thought it was due to exhaustion, but his steps after the workout were soft and lazy, as if the workout hadn't drained him at all.

"Is everything okay?" I moved a little closer. "You seem distracted." "I'm fine," he exhaled, his dark eyes glinting. "Tonight, I'm stealing you away." "Again?" I laughed, planting my hands on my hips. "You really are obsessed with that." "I'm obsessed with you." My laughter faded, and I bit my lip.

I glanced over my shoulder, looking for a towel because I didn't know what to say, feeling his presence with every fiber of my being, even at a distance, and the same connection pulsed between us.

I wouldn't have minded enjoying the view of my husband, but it was time to get ready for the shower. The thought of cool water washing away the sweat made me feel more alive, more real. I grabbed the towel off the back of a chair, already imagining how the cold streams would fully wake me from my tiredness, and my muscles would relax under the steady flow.

"Are you going to join me?" I asked casually. And I swear, something flickered in his eyes, but the blank façade returned too quickly. "I need to make a few calls. I'll shower after you."

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Now?" "Yes, it won't take long." He was already dialing the first number, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts occupied by work. The tension of our earlier closeness dissolved as he immersed himself in whatever was on the other end of the line.

"Okay." My fingers gripped the towel a little tighter. "Never mind." I shrugged. I passed by him like an upset child with issues. Damn him.

I moved toward the bathroom, the cool floor under my feet reminding me of calm after the tension. Roman's voice began to fade as I approached the door, but when I reached it, my hand froze on the handle.

I couldn't help but think, once again, that the thoughts of the devil were the most interesting ones. Not boring at all, actually. Sometimes they were even necessary. That's what intrigued me most — how easy it was to slip into those dark corners of the mind and find something so tempting, so captivating that it was impossible to turn away.

It's not that I feared these thoughts; quite the opposite. They were a part of me, the most convincing part, and I embraced them. How else could I explain the strange satisfaction I got from wandering into this forbidden mental space? There was something liberating in it. Something empowering. Life, after all, isn't just light and purity. Shadows have their place too, and sometimes the darkest ideas are the ones that ignite the most creativity, the most passion.

That's why I hesitated, reflecting on this as my hand slowly turned the handle. For a moment, my breath caught, and a smile danced on my lips.

Honestly, these thoughts often guided my actions, making me bolder, more confident. And I didn't regret it. Not once. I had long stopped feeling guilty about indulging the darker side of my nature. Why should I? The world isn't just black and white. I quickly opened the door, tossed the towel on the shelf, and immediately closed the door.

My feet carried me back to the room where my too-busy husband sat. How could anyone turn down a woman like me? Any man—no, even most women—would have run after me. It's his own fault for playing the wrong card.

Disappointment lodged in my throat like an unpleasant aftertaste, but I refused to acknowledge it. To hell with Roman.

With that, I stepped back inside and saw him already talking to someone on the phone, still sitting in the chair. He noticed me standing in the doorway between the room and the small hallway leading to our bedroom. In truth, it was the perfect room—large and spacious. There was a big, pristine white bed, the curtains were drawn, blocking the sunlight, and a small hallway that led to two other rooms—the bathroom and the walk-in closet.

My feet were rooted to the floor right there in the doorway, and although he paused briefly in his conversation, the way he nonchalantly resumed talking while keeping his gaze fixed on me felt like a silent challenge.

My fingers ran along the edge of my sports top, my eyes briefly catching Roman's before I pulled it over my head. The cool air of the room brushed against my bare skin, making me shiver slightly, but I didn't mind. I wanted him to see me. There was a playful challenge in the way I undressed, not rushing, drawing out the moment for both of us.

Roman watched me, his eyes full of interest, but his expression remained unreadable. Judging by how quiet he had become, his phone call was forgotten, pushed to the edges of his consciousness as I slowly, teasingly revealed more of myself.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and paused, letting the anticipation build between us. I felt the heat of his gaze on my skin, and it made me smile—a slow, secret smile that only I understood. And maybe he did too.

My shorts slid down my legs, pooling at my feet, and I gracefully stepped out of them. The room was quiet, save for the sound of my breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as I let each piece of clothing fall to the floor.

My body moved with the ease of someone who knew exactly the effect she was having on the man watching her, someone who relished every second of his silent admiration.

"I'll call you later." His deep voice made me taste victory as he tossed the phone onto the side table. "What are you trying to achieve?"

"Me?" My innocence was anything but. "I'm just getting undressed because I need a shower. You said yourself that I'm dirty." Fully exposed, I turned my back to him. "And you've got too much work to do, making money, while I waste water. I hope you don't go bankrupt because...I'm going to take my time."

Finally, I reached the bathroom door, stepped inside, and got into the glass shower, letting the cool water wash over me, perhaps turning it on a bit too abruptly.

There was a full-length mirror in front of me, and I watched myself as I showered. It must have been another one of the architect's strange creations in this mansion—damn weird. Who even designs something like this? Maybe it's one of Roman's odd quirks? I hadn't quite figured it out, because after months of showering here, I didn't really care.

I closed my eyes and tried to let the stream of water wash away my thoughts. But no matter how long I stood there, my mind kept drifting back to the mess I'd gotten myself into. Damn it. This little pact of mine, wanting to be a bigger part of the mafia world, was just a temporary fix.

There's no way I could escape it all forever. Besides, now that I felt I had a chance to become someone greater, it was just one more reason not to run from myself or from reality. I couldn't always stand behind my husband, because I would never be that type of woman. He might cover my back, sure, but I could never hide behind him because I had the right to prove to all those fools that a woman could be capable too.

A warm body wrapped around me from behind, his firm chest pressing against my wet back. He brushed my hair aside, exposing my neck before gripping it gently with his hand. Roman's lips brushed the tip of my ear, and he murmured, "Is this what you meant by 'joining you'?"

My thighs tensed as the earlier wave of arousal surged back through me. There's nothing I love more than feeling my husband's body against my skin and his hot breath mingling with mine.

His free hand slid down to my ass, and I gasped, eyes flying open. God, it felt so good with the water like this. And this was the same woman who just spoke like a feminist. That's why his influence over me scares me so much.

My eyes met his in the mirror. It was slightly fogged from the steam, but I could still make out the spark in those dark eyes.

"Why did you do this if you were going to come anyway?" My words sounded as if I were gasping for breath.

But my voice was so lustful that it would have been awkward if I wasn't so aroused.

"To get your attention. It should always be on me. Even your stubbornness is mine." He grabbed my backside tightly. "No one else. Only me. You're all mine."

"Why?" I asked in the same voice, just to challenge him. Like always. Roman loves that—being challenged, I mean. His grip tightened on my backside. "It's mine. Everything you have belongs to me, and no one has the right to touch you or hurt you under my watch. No one even has the right to think about you inappropriately."

He slapped me again, and my hand hit the mirror as water formed a trickling path from the condensation, while his words left my ears and sank under my skin. "No one ever?"

My voice was soft, thin, filled with all the insecurities I've carried for endless years. No, it seems like I was never sure of my life, even from birth. And that uncertainty only grew larger as I got older.

"No, fuck, one, krasavica..." His voice lowered to an impossible tone. "Not even you." "Roman..." I looked at him through the small visible space in the mirror. He slapped my backside again, making me tremble with pleasure and pain. "What is it?" "I just... oh... I..." "Those aren't the words. Use the real ones. The ones you're so afraid of."

There was a hint of amusement in his command. I placed my other hand on the mirror to steady myself. For some reason, it felt like I would fall if I didn't.

My gaze met his through the mirror. "Take me." His eyes blazed, and I'm sure he didn't miss the tone of need in my voice. And he knows I hate needing. "Take you? Like that?" "Roman, please. Like you own me." "Fuck it."

Still holding my throat, he slowly entered me, filling me to the brim. My mouth opened as the water streamed down my skin to the place where we were joined. I watched the spot where his body met mine, mesmerized by the sight. But that wasn't the only place where we were connected. It was everywhere—from my back to my backside and the arm wrapped around my thigh.

He tightened his fingers around my throat, jerking my neck upward. "Look at me. Look how I own you. Look at how perfect you are when you're completely mine."

My sparkling eyes met his dark ones in the mirror. I was in a trance from the way he moved in and out of me with measured thrusts. But that wasn't the only thing that filled me with awe.

It was the expression of total surrender on my face combined with the complete ownership in his features. Oh, God. Do I always look like this? Every time we have sex? In that moment, I realized it was like I wasn't myself. Not strong, not defiant, just like a puddle at his feet—but then again, who could resist?

His lips found the hollow of my ear, and he bit it before saying in a raspy tone: "I don't care how much you see or don't see right now, but all of this is damn mine, Melissa."

He let go of my thigh and spread my cheeks with his strong hand. His thumb found my back entrance, and I let out a yelp, rising onto my toes. "What are you doing?" My eyes were wide open. "I said everything you see and don't see." The tip of his finger entered, and I pressed against his dick. "Mmm, seems untouched. Not like your pussy before me, right?" Oh, God. Damn.

I knew that ever since he first fucked me and found out I wasn't a virgin, he's been slightly obsessed with finding out who my first was.

But should I really enjoy the fact that he's sticking his thumb in my backside? I always thought the back hole was off-limits, or at least that's how it was in my mind. And that it was painful, wrong, and that there's only one hole—well, maybe two, if you count my mouth.

If regular sex didn't always satisfy me, I never felt the need to subject myself to the pain of anal. But that was before this man made me feel everything.

There's a life before him, and a life after him, and I don't want to admit how much fuller the second one is. But I must, because he's the one I want to share every part of myself with.

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin at my throat, definitely leaving a mark. "Is this your virginity?" I felt his muscles tense. The steam thickened between us. "Yes..." I knew better than to tease or joke about this. I'm not stupid.

My moan was almost inaudible under the sound of running water, but Roman must have heard it because a growl escaped his throat. Damn. "I'm going to take it and own every inch of you." "R-right now?" I don't know why, but my voice trembled with anticipation, not fear.

A dark smirk filled the air. "No, you need preparation. I don't want to hurt you with my cock. But soon." He kissed the bite mark as if sealing the wound. "I don't want to hurt you. Never."

Before I could dwell on the slight disappointment that hit me for the second time today, my husband pushed his finger a little deeper into my backside and quickened his pace in my pussy.

The feeling of fullness was so real, and there was even a slight burn of pain caused by his enormous size. It doesn't matter how wet or ready I am. He's so big, and it always hurts when he enters me.

My eyes dropped from the intensity of his thrusts, and I froze, looking at the reflection in the mirror. I seemed so small in his hands, but also, the way we were so tightly connected, as if nothing could separate us.

That sight sent me over the edge. Roman was watching me with his usual focus as I unraveled around him. My breath hitched as pleasure washed over me, making my legs wobbly.

The way I looked at him—it was more than pleasure and lust. It was more than an orgasm and dirty sex.

It was something I thought I'd never feel again in my life after realizing everyone around me was a traitor. And though all of this scared me, the feeling of going limp while he held me close, I knew there was only one thing I wanted to do—never let him go and make him the only one I could be weak with. But if one day I had to run, I'd either kill him for seeing me weak in his arms, or I'd drown in this man all over again.