Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Yes. I like to be in control.”
“Mmm.”
“And you, Vera. Tell me. If you could have one thing in your future, what would it be? You’ve lived a sheltered life. Do you want to explore? See the world? What is it you want?”
I sigh. As a romance lover, I’ve thought about this. I’ve lived so many lives, caught in the pages of my books, that I’ve spent more time than I care to admit thinking about what my perfect future would look like.
“No. . .” I say slowly. Will it sound silly? “I really want. . . a place I call my own. Four children and two dogs, a home close enough to a city so that we don’t have to drive forever to go shopping, but it’s far enough away that you can hear the crickets at night and see the stars overhead. One of those comforting places, you know? With a porch and maybe a swing and. . . I want to be able to see the sunset from my porch.” I flush a little. “That probably sounds so cliché and boring, doesn’t it?”
“Nyet,” he says firmly. “It sounds idyllic.”
My heart squeezes.
“Now, I want to know more.” He gives me that look that makes me feel like I’m the only person on the face of the earth. Markov’s superpower is his ability to focus with unwavering attention.
“Mmm? Go on. More questions.”
“Why do you crave submitting?” he asks quietly, his gaze respectful as always but probing. I love that when Markov is with me, I am the utter focus of his attention. I love that he listens, truly actually hears me, not just what I say but what I don’t. He’s intense, and sometimes I feel like being near him is like staring at the sun. I have to look away because the brightness might blind me. But it’s also his intensity that I love about him. His attention makes me feel valued.
I pause before I answer. Why do I crave submitting? It’s so much more than the fact that it turns me on, which it definitely does. It’s deeper than that, though.
“I don’t actually crave submitting in general. I like to read about it, yes, because it’s hot. It’s a fantasy. But I’m…not really sure where fantasy and reality meet.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead and bends down to kiss it. My eyes flutter closed at the warmth that trickles over me. I swallow and continue. “You’re here to protect me. I’m learning to trust you.”
This time, his responding kiss is to the top of my cheek. I smile shyly.
“With you, I. . . it’s not just hot. It doesn’t just turn me on. There’s so much more to it than that. It’s. . . liberating.” My tone grows thoughtful as I think it over. “I’ve poured myself into my studies. I’ve worked so hard for so long. It’s a relief to trust someone else completely for once.” I shrug. “Not to mention it’s erotic as hell.”
“Mmm,” he says. “Agreed. So it’s about finding strength in vulnerability.”
“Yes, that’s it. I feel like if I can trust you. . . really, truly trust you and allow myself to give myself over to you. . . you can take me to places I have only dreamed of before.”
“There’s a lot to be learned from some power play, isn’t there?”
My next question begs to be asked, even though I cringe at the thought of hearing his answer. “Have you. . . has there ever been another woman you’ve been with like. . . this, Markov?”
His immediate response makes my mouth dry. “No one, Vera. There has never been another woman like you, and there will never be another one after you. Never.”
Oh, God. Hello, intensity.
“If you think—”
The blare of an alarm on his phone makes both of us freeze. Markov jumps out of bed first, grabs a pair of sweats, and tosses me mine. “Get dressed.”
I watch as he glides a gun to the small of his back with ease. It’s a stark and brutal reminder for me to not get too comfortable. I can’t ever forget who he truly is.
As we hurriedly dress, he receives a text on his phone. “Motherfucker,” he grunts, his eyes growing dangerously black.
My heart thumps. “What?”
He stares at his phone for a moment and quickly types something out. “I was alerted by outside security. They can send remote drones, but it might be too late.”
“Then. . . what other option is there?”
Still calm, he scowls at the ceiling and the heating vents, his eyes scanning the entirety of the room as if he has x-ray vision.
I can hardly breathe as the tension in the room thickens. I know that look on Markov’s face by now. His jaw set, his flinty gaze going from one corner of the room to the next. I feel the urge to look away so I don’t see the cold, calculating side of him that unnerves me.