Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
His rhythm stutters as he slams into me. My pleasure rolls through me as I ride him. He glides a thumb over my clit, my hips rise. I’m gasping, coming.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls as he comes inside me. We collapse together, messy and breathless, sweat-slicked and tangled. His forehead rests against mine.
“Tell me you’re mine, Anya. I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours, Semyon.” And it finally feels right.
“Don’t think you can get away with interrupting my phone calls,” he says with a halfhearted slap to my naked ass.
I snort and wink at him. “Whatever you say.”
Chapter 24
SEMYON
The grand hall of the Romanov estate gleams. Crystal chandeliers hang like constellations, and gold-trimmed mirrors illuminate everybody here. Some might think the gold-trimmed mirrors are just for show, but I know they give Mikhail Romanov and his brothers a better vantage point around the marble columns in this huge place. Mirrors are helpful—they give you a second set of eyes.
What people don't know about my glasses…
The air hums with murmured conversations, soft laughter, and the clink of champagne flutes. Since I've known the Romanovs, they’ve been famous for holding these galas. Here, people pretend that we're civilized for a little while.
I fucking hate them.
In a way, it’s reminiscent of grand dances they held in ages past, the kind where tension simmered beneath every polite bow and curtsy, where hidden motives and unspoken feelings played out across a crowded room.
Of course Rafail’s wife, Polina, loves it. This is her family home, after all. Though she grew up in New York, her roots are firmly planted in Moscow’s elite circles. My sisters adore it, too, a chance to get dressed up and mingle, to pretend for a little while there isn’t a constant shadow of danger that lurks and follows us. Everyone’s on their best behavior at a Romanov gala.
Not me though. There’s no need.
There are so many different people here, so many different families, and Anya looks a little out of place and confused. But tonight, she's the only one I'm focused on. She's wearing that champagne gown that hugs her figure and cascades in soft waves to the floor. But like a good girl, she's wearing her shawl.
I’ll take that off tonight.
The color sets off her auburn hair, swept up in a sophisticated updo, and her hazel eyes seem to shimmer under the lights. If there was ever a doubt in anyone’s mind that Anya has come into her own, they’ll be gone tonight. Anya has come into her own.
Heads turn as we ascend the staircase together, me at her side in a tailored black suit, my hand resting gently on the small of her back.
"Stunning," I murmur under my breath.
"It is beautiful," she says, looking around. "I feel like—"
"Not the ball, sweetheart."
I love the way her lips quirk, and her cheeks turn pink. She's so cute.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," she says with a wink. I give her a discreet little pinch to the ass. I'm the only one who knows she's wearing a vibrator—remote-controlled, the remote in my pocket. She said I’m kinky and wicked.
She has no fucking idea.
Tonight, I’m the one who has to stay sharp, to keep control. But Anya? She can lose herself entirely—and if I have anything to say about it, she’s going to end up screaming my name in our bed before the night’s over. I want her so fucking wound up, so desperate for me, that by the time I get her home, she’s begging, pleading for me to take her. To ruin her.
Every look, every touch will be a slow, deliberate tease until she can’t take another second without me inside her.
“Is Matvei here tonight?”
“Should be. Why?”
With a frown, she shakes her head. “I don’t… trust him.”
Good. She shouldn’t. But she’s safe with me.
As we enter the ballroom, a familiar figure approaches. Speak of the devil. He greets us with a courteous nod, his dark eyes darting around the room. But there’s an undercurrent of something else. Large events like this draw plenty of locals and their attention. If we’re going to get any word about Polina’s sister, it’ll be tonight.
Anya bristles beside me. I don’t blame her. We’re pretty sure he’s a psychopath.
"Good evening, Anya," Matvei says, his tone smooth, distant. "You look lovely."
"That's enough of that," I say, dragging her away from him. He chuckles, and she thanks him, but her smile is plain and guarded. She told me he unnerves her. She knows he's loyal to Rafail, and I’ve explained to her that his brother Gleb betrayed us. Matvei is polite on the surface, but there's a hard edge beneath his charm—a quiet ruthlessness she’s very aware of. Matvei will stop at nothing to show his loyalty.
Once inside, I’m ushered to a more private area where Rafail and Polina are already having drinks. Anya stiffens when she realizes this isn’t a huge crowd but a small, intimate gathering. Elegant food is being served on small silver trays, and drinks are being poured.