Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Like a tight cocoon made of hot silk,” he murmured when their eyes locked in the mirror.
He began to move again. This time not so quickly, not so demanding.
He took his time, watching her face. Watching his own movement.
She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth and with hooded eyes, she watched his face, watched his movement, too.
This would be so much better in his bed and under that huge mirror. But having sex in his space might seem too personal. Unlike what should be a quick fuck in a neutral zone, the bathroom.
This should’ve been short, dirty and intense. Simply a fast, satisfying scratch for their itch.
Over and done within minutes.
Instead, he was unexpectedly drawing it out with his current pace. She wanted to complain, but honestly, she couldn’t. He was good with his hips, even better with his cock and his lips…
She couldn’t get enough of his mouth. So much better than those dry, condescending kisses Frank Russo, Sr. had continually pressed to her cheek, her temple, her mouth.
A patronizing pat on the ass, a kiss to her bare shoulder, or a painful squeeze to her hand to remind her to be seen but not heard.
He did not like her speaking up or asking questions.
She learned quickly to keep her mouth shut and only listen.
But then, that was the reason she remained in his presence. To listen. To witness. To learn. To make notes and collect evidence.
He was the boss. Her opinions were unneeded and unwanted. She learned quickly to keep them to herself or she’d pay for being outspoken.
The less she said, the better.
The less she said, the more she was forgotten.
The less she said, the more she blended in with the background.
A fatal mistake for Frank Sr.
She was treated as arm candy. A trophy. A way to prove to his “family” that the don was still capable of bagging an attractive mistress almost forty years his junior. One willing to be intimate with him.
Even though that was farthest from the truth.
Secrets and lies were the foundations of the Russo organization.
Loyalty among them only smoke and mirrors.
In the end, she did what she needed to do. Smile and act empty-headed. Appreciate all the “gifts” he bought her. Simper and fawn over him when he was generous. Bite her tongue when she was degraded, insulted or treated like property.
In the world Frank ruled, side-pieces, like children, were meant to be seen, not heard. They had no valuable opinions and if a woman in his presence had one, it would often be beaten out of her. She would be “reminded” of her place.
The Russos liked their women meek and mild. Quiet and subservient.
Nova had been considered nothing but decoration.
Decoration who also kept many secrets and told just as many lies.
In the end, her patience and tolerance paid off…
She ripped herself free from her spiraling thoughts and forced herself to come back to the present. To the bathroom and to Fletch.
“Lost you for a minute,” he grumbled.
She wanted to tell him it was because he was going too slow, giving her time to think and not only act.
But the truth was, even though she had stepped out of her head and the game, her physical response had not. She had learned to separate the mental and physical a long time ago. That skill came in handy when she had become Russo’s goomah.
It also made that particular undercover assignment successful because it kept her sane. It prevented her from killing Russo Sr. during the night as he obnoxiously snored on the pillow next to her because he was too fucking proud to wear his goddamn CPAP.
However, sex with Fletch wasn’t a part of the job. It wasn’t needed to keep from blowing her cover.
Having the ability to be able to choose what to do—or not do—might seem simple enough and even be taken for granted, but when that decision was stripped from someone and they were forced to live under someone else’s thumb, it left behind a feeling of powerlessness. Even helplessness and hopelessness.
“With me,” came the gruff order.
Gripping her hair, Fletch used it to yank her head back, arching her neck, exposing her throat. The pull on her hair rough enough to make her scalp tingle.
A flush rose from her chest and climbed up her throat. Her tank top had gathered at her waist, leaving her breasts completely exposed. She certainly didn’t need the mirror to see how puckered her nipples were. They were beaded to the point of discomfort.
“Nova.” Her name rumbled from deep inside him and spread goosebumps along every inch of her skin. He pinned his cheek to hers and their eyes met once again in the mirror. “Keep them open. You need to stay with me. Otherwise, I’m ending this right now.”
Why would he care if she was fully present or not? He was getting what he wanted. Wasn’t he?