Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“You’re not home for the night now?”
“I wish. I need to prep the function hall. The Sokolovs and the Petrovs in one place, with all our men… It could be fireworks. We need air-tight security.”
“What about me? What do I do?”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, giving me a warm, intimate feeling. “I’ll tell you when the time is right, Lia.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I mutter.
He drops his hand, walking to the tall library balcony window with his hands behind his back. He looks so powerful with his broad, strong back, his jacket tugging from shoulder to shoulder as if he could explode into action any second. “You said you trust me.”
I walk up next to him, grab his arm, and look into his eyes so he has to acknowledge I’m here and see me. I wonder if that’s why I feel so intoxicated when I’m with him. It’s as though I’ve been waiting all my life to exist, and now he’s here, with a snap of his fingers and that intense gaze, making me feel so real.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not about that,” he says. “I promise I’ll explain, but I need you to be ready.”
“I am ready for anything.” I let him see how serious I am. “I want to help and be a part of this. I can’t just sit here and let you do all the work.”
He leans down and kisses me again, pulling me closer against him. It’s so difficult not to melt into his body, feel how hard he gets for me, feel his solid muscles and the rock-hard outline of his lust.
“Lunch?” I say, breaking off the kiss.
He smirks. “Worried we’ll get carried away?”
He’s right on one level. I’m worried he will, and then I’ll be left here like the biggest dork ever, wondering what to do all over again—wondering if I’m good enough.
“I just thought you had work to do,” I murmur.
A flicker of something like disappointment enters his eyes. I almost snap at him when I see it, but then he pushes it away, looping his arm around my waist. “We’ll have to get you a dress for the party,” he says. “Something befitting a Bratva queen.”
I playfully dig him with my elbow. “I’m not queen of anything.”
He slides his hand further down my body, smoothing it over my hip as we walk through the house together. I’m still wearing my shabby clothes, sweats, and a hoodie, spattered in paint, but he doesn’t seem to care. In the large entranceway, I stop. “I should get changed.”
He smirks down at me. “My queen can dress however she wants.”
It’s all a big joke, but my cheeks turn red anyway. “Seriously…”
“What is the king’s woman if you’re not a queen?”
“I can’t be your woman at the party, though,” I murmur, trying not to think of him and Mila together.
“You are my woman,” he growls passionately, “and I’m not going to hide it.”
His words send those tantalizing shivers dancing through me. My core pulses almost urgently as if my body is screaming at me to give in to the lust right here. “I do want to get changed, though,” I tell him.
“I’ll wait for you,” he says. “Ania wants us all to eat together before I leave.”
I head up the stairs, feeling his eyes on me, his gaze burning into me. Even walking out of his sight triggers a change in me, the voice whispering to be alone. Run. Find a way out. Now. In the bedroom, I get some jeans and a more presentable shirt, then walk over to the window, looking past the long garden, the walls, and the dusty desert. Even if I got out of here, where would I go? What would I do?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says from the other side of the room, his voice deep and commanding in a way that makes me feel like he owns me, which should be a bad thing.
“Nothing,” I whisper.
The floorboards creak as he approaches me, his footsteps heavy and confident. From behind, he wraps his arms around me, pressing his body against mine. I can feel his heart thudding high up in my back, his stiffness pressing against me. He shifts as though redirecting his stiff rod.
“What are you feeling?” he says, like he wants me to know just because he’s hard, he still wants to keep this emotional.
It’s like his body can’t help it. He sees me, feels me, and he lights up. He gets solid. Ready for my…
“I’ve been alone for so long,” I mutter.
“Me too.”
“No, you haven’t. You’ve had Mikhail. Ania. The Bratva.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “I was still alone. I was waiting for you.”
“Okay, fine, maybe poetically,” I murmur, staring out the window at the desert. This feels easier to discuss when we’re not looking at each other. “But realistically… this is all new for me.”