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)
“Fucking delicious,” he says in a low growl of a whisper. “Do you want any more?”
“Oh my God, no,” I moan, completely sated. I watch him lazily, half drunk, half mesmerized, while he walks over to the cake, reaches in the box, and finishes every last crumb.
I watch in a daze as he cleans up the mess we made—tosses out the pastry box, puts the top on the whipped cream, and slides it into the fridge.
“How did you know?” I say sleepily. “All my favorites.”
He gives me a casual shrug. “I’ve been watching, baby. That’s all you need to know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Viktor
The next few weeks with Lydia feel like a passing dream. Sometimes, I fear that I'm going to open my eyes and she'll be gone. I don't want it to be that way. I'm not sure I could stop it if I tried. Still, I don't take any of this for granted.
The days with her begin to unfold, turning into weeks. Despite the fact that both Lydia and Aria spend hours trying to anticipate the next attack planned by the Ledyanoye Bratstvo, we find no conclusive evidence that they're going to move soon. It might seem like they've shifted their focus.
I know better, though. We can't grow complacent. One of the biggest mistakes we could make is letting our guard down.
So I don't. And Lydia doesn’t fucking like it, but I don’t care.
It helps that she has a job here with me and my family. My job is of a physical nature—I’m the group heavy. I’m the one everyone comes to when they need a heavy hand or muscle. All of my brothers can hold their own, but no one does it quite like I do. That means Lydia gets to accompany me, for better or for worse.
For better or for fucking worse.
There’s no use pretending to be someone other than who I really am. When we marry each other, we accept each other for who we are completely, no holds barred. I never understood how anyone would bother doing any less.
I’m going to make it worth her while, though. I swear I am. I’m trying now.
“Alright, so let’s go over what you’ve learned.”
I’ve given her a crash course in basic self-defense that Kolya taught all of us: escape holds and grabs, situational awareness, defense maneuvers, and the use of everyday objects. There’s no time to teach her to shoot.
“Okay,” she says, standing in front of me in a fighting stance. She’s wearing a hot-pink tank top, black leggings, and sneakers. She’s lucky I need to teach her, or I’d tear those off and fuck her right up against the side of the house. “Use the flat of my palm or a hard kick against vulnerable areas if I can—eyes, nose, throat, and groin.”
I nod. “Go on.”
“Don’t lose my shit if someone’s got me in a hold but focus on escaping. Pay attention to the surroundings and use what I can to my advantage.”
I don’t want her to have to use the skills I taught her. I want her self-defense moves to be an absolute last fucking resort.
Still, she needs to know.
“Like?” I test, my eyes boring into hers.
“Like if we’re near the fire pit. Push them off kilter so their foot hits the drain grate, then shove them into the fire like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel.” Her eyes gleam, and she grins at me.
I grin back. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“Yes, sir,” she says in a seductive purr. Good thing she just talked about kicking the groin, or I’d be hard as fuck right now.
“Go on about escape.”
“Stay calm. Shout for help as loud as I can. Use my screaming voice.” She winks. “Strike if possible, lower my center of gravity, turn, and face my attacker.”
“Excellent.” Pride swells in my chest. “That’s my girl. What else?”
“Use everyday objects if possible. Pens, keys, my handbag weighted down with the latest spree at Sephora.”
I nod. “Excellent.”
Nikita paws at the back door, jealous of the attention I’m giving to Lydia.
“Take a walk?”
“Mhm.”
I get Nikita’s leash, and we walk downtown, Nikita obediently heeling by my side. We stop at a stoplight, and Lydia bends down to scratch Nikita's ears.
I thought I loved Lydia before she moved in here. But now that she loves my dog, I’m fucking gone.
“I was thinking of making chicken parm for dinner,” she says casually.
“That makes me fucking hard,” I tease her.
She grins at me. “I never met a man who was turned on by the food he ate.”
“Not turned on by the food I eat. I’m turned on watching you cook it.”
“Oh, I get it. Satisfying all the appetites and all that?”
“Mhm. That sounds delicious. On Friday night, when we’re planning the final details, we’ll go out to dinner. Sound good?”
I don’t cook. I eat. And if I’m not with someone who can cook, I order in. I had a private chef for a while, but I didn’t like it. I don’t like anybody in my space except Lydia. It’s her space too.