Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
After what he just did to me, I’ve somehow lost the ability to push back. I’m putty in his hands.
“You’d better enjoy this while it lasts,” I say. My voice sounds like it’s distant, out of my body, coming from someone else and not me.
“What?”
“My compliance.”
He grins at me. “Oh, I seem to have figured out a way to deal with this.”
My eyes are heavy and my body boneless as he lays me back on the pillows. “Get some rest, Lydia.”
I close my eyes and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“You should get out of bed and get ready.”
“Why?”
“It's getting harder and harder to lie next to you and not fuck you,” he says, his teeth gritted together.
I’ve never had this power over anyone before.
“You don't trust yourself with me? That's interesting, isn't it? We should observe this as part of human nature.” I lean over and push myself up on one elbow.
He grunts and makes some sort of sound that is half between a growl and acquiescence before he slaps my ass. I squeal.
“Get dressed.”
“Do you say please, Viktor? Or do you just order people around?”
He quirks one eye open. Last night’s stubble grew to a dark shadow on his chin. I remember that stubble quite well…
In the morning light, I see the silver scar that runs from his forehead down his cheek.
“Let’s try. Please, get ready, my love,” he says in a sappy, unrecognizable voice. “Before I pin your wrist to this headboard and fuck you. I don't know how much longer I can last, so I’m warning you. Stepping away from me would probably be in your best interest. I'm not sure if you remember anything about yesterday, but I only have so much self-control.” His eyes narrow. “Was that better, doll?”
I actually swallow a giggle. “Much.”
Am I letting him get to me? I walk to the bathroom, grab some clothes, and quickly change.
My hair is crazy from the day before, but I'm starving. I blame the adrenaline. So I pin my hair up in this crazy bun on top of my head like a ballerina, wash my face with some of the excellent skincare products Polina picked out, brush my teeth, and slap on some quick makeup.
She's chosen a little white peasant top that accentuates my curves in all right ways, slimming my waist and accentuating my breasts. Comfortable, stretchy jeans that are wide and go all the way to the floor. I'm still wearing these slippers because they're so comfy, but I guess I'll have to wear shoes, too.
Viktor’s changed into gray sweats and a white tee. Hot damn. What is it about a white tee and gray sweats that just do it for me? There's something just… manly and sexy and raw about it. Especially the way he fills those out.
“We have a couple of interesting developments. We’ll talk it out over breakfast.” Frowning, he reaches for my hand. “Did you cut yourself?”
I look down. I think I did it yesterday at the warehouse, but I don't want him to feel bad.
Why? Why the hell do I care whether he feels bad or not? It was his fault that I was at the warehouse.
I shrug. “It’s fine. I don't know how I cut it.”
“Does it hurt?” he asks in a gentle voice that makes a lump rise in my throat.
I swallow it hard. God, I'm fucked up.
“No, it's fine,” I lie. Because when he brushes the top of his finger against it, I wilt.
“Liar,” he says, his tone rough. “Sit on the bed.”
He stalks off barefoot to the bathroom and comes back with a Band-Aid and some type of cleansing wipe.
“Viktor, I'm fine,” I say. Jesus, what would he do if I actually hurt myself? This is practically a paper cut.
Quietly, he bends on one knee, reaches for my hand and frowns, his eyebrows flashing together as he cleans little cuts on my skin before he opens the Band-Aid carefully and slides it on my hand. When he's done, he crumples the papers and lifts my hand to his lips.
But he doesn’t stop there.
He kisses the top of my wrist. My forearm. He keeps going until he’s gone the length of my arm, the warm, erotic touch of his mouth making my belly squirm deliciously.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he says reverently before he says the last thing I expect him to.
“Marry me?”
I can't help it. My heart turns in my chest. I'm only human, after all. And there's something about this powerful, dangerous man who only goes soft for me that's making me swoon a little.
Timur wouldn't have put a Band-Aid on my wound.
Goddamn, I can't think of that asshole now.
“I suppose you’ll do,” I say in what I attempt to be a haughty tone, but instead, it comes out all breathy. I need to change the subject. “What are these developments?”