Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The sound of running water soon fills the air, but I stay frozen, my mind a haze of desire, confusion, and fear. A part of me wants to run, to escape the suffocating presence, to find out who I am without being colored by his touch and his need for me. To find a place that's safe. Because he is anything, fucking anything but safe.
A sudden wave of nausea hits me, and I clutch my stomach. I don't remember who I am, but I know this—when he touches me, I awaken. It's both scary and exciting.
I sit in silence, weighing my options. He's drawing a bath for me, that much is clear, but do I trust him enough to go to it? I glance at the doorway, then back at my reflection in the mirror across the room. I look down at my skin, pale, naked, save for the scrap of panties, bra, and my blonde hair that falls in waves down my face and shoulders. My icy-blue eyes are wide with uncertainty. And while my reflection is somewhat familiar, it's scary that I don't even recognize the person in the mirror.
Though I have no idea who I am, I do have the certainty of one definite detail—Rafail Kopolov is a man I cannot afford to disobey or cross.
“Your bath is ready. Come here.”
Chapter 10
RAFAIL
I love the way her body trembles when I touch her. The way she yields to me, soft and pliant. A surge of primal instinct slices through me. She's not really fighting me anymore. Her defiance crumbles.
She hasn't caved in, not fully, and my instincts rail against me. You fucking know she isn't really your wife.
I logic my way around it. By all intents and purposes, she is. She was given to me. She's my possession. And I will not make any excuses for what I do next because I fucking own this woman.
The difference between her and every other woman I’ve ever touched demands a different approach. I feel something deeper, something that claws at the edges of my control and makes me want to fucking ravish her. A primal part of me wants to please her, to see her lips part as she screams in pleasure. Somehow, that would be my greatest victory.
So I keep my hands steady as I touch her, relishing the way her skin brushes against mine. When my fingers graze her delicate skin, the warmth of her body sends my senses into overdrive. She's pale, soft, vulnerable. My little swan.
I admire the curve of her waist, the strong column of her neck, her pale porcelain skin. Wide blue eyes framed in thick blonde lashes. There's a little dimple in her chin when she smiles bashfully at me, but right now, she looks as if she's Little Red Riding Hood and I'm the Big Bad Wolf.
Everything about her calls to me, and I know it's not just my imagination the way she responds. Her mind is trapped in confusion, but her body knows exactly what the fuck to do. I can't help but feel twisted pride at that.
She doesn't remember, but her body knows.
Guilt makes me pause, but I quickly bury it because I have needs, too, and logic tells me she belongs to me. I don't want her afraid of me, necessarily, but I can't relinquish all my power. Not now. Not ever. Weakness gets you fucking killed. I've seen too much, lost too much to give in to weakness now. But something tells me she is my kryptonite.
Her eyes meet mine as I guide her to her bath, the raw fear in them whispering a plea. Don’t hurt me.
I’ll make no promises. I can’t.
As I pull her closer to me, the scent of her arousal, sweet and seductive, fills the air. I take in deep, cleansing breaths, wholly unfamiliar to me. Steadying. When she looks up at me with those wide, blue eyes, her body slightly trembling, I know she isn't just afraid. There’s more to it.
"Beautiful," I whisper, my voice thick with desire. I brush my knuckles against her cheek, and she shivers. I enjoy the way her skin flushes under my touch. My little swan is fragile, and yet… There's strength there, buried in the confusion in her eyes. This is a woman who ran from me, now dependent on a stranger.
She doesn't know her own strength, not yet. It's almost laughable that she, of all people—the one who's my victim, my possession—is the only one with the strength to fucking challenge me, and here she is… dependent.
She's mine now though. She was before, and she is now. No one will ever touch her. No one else will ever know her. No one else will even breathe the fucking air she does. She's clean, a blank slate, and I have a new chance. When she spares me a look, my hands tighten on her hips.