Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“That’s nice, malyshka,” he murmurs. “So good.”
I wrap my lips over my teeth and bob up and down over the head of his cock for a while then make him shudder but change the rhythm and take him deeply again. With my bound hands, I use the heels of my thumbs to massage his balls then work even further back, where the prostate gland supposedly lies.
“Good girl. So good.”
There are those words again. The ones that get me wet and excited. Not that I wasn’t already incredibly turned on by giving him pleasure. My nipples poke against his soft Henley, and I squirm my hips around, trying to get relief.
He plunges one hand into the open neck of the Henley and toys with my nipple. His touch is coaxing at first. A soft caress that turns rougher the closer he gets to coming. He cups the back of my head and pulls me on and off, forcing my head down and up.
I love it. If I didn’t trust him, it would frighten me. The loss of control. Choking on his cock when he goes too deep. But there’s something hot about it. Me on my knees with my hands bound. Him, forcing me into this.
I know he’s not really forcing me, but we’re walking an edge here.
“Kat…I’m going to come,” he warns. He lets go of my head, I guess giving me the choice to come off.
I don’t stop. I suck hard, even though my jaw aches from being open this long.
He shouts something in Russian and comes down my throat, and I swallow his salty essence down. It burns a little, but I love the taste. Love knowing I made him come. Love the way he touched me while I did.
“Blyad’, Kat.”
I suck him clean, and he strokes my face.
“Good girl.”
I sit back on my heels and look at him. “Do you always say that after a blowjob?”
“What?”
“Do you call them good girl?”
He shakes his head. “Nyet. Never. Only you.”
“Because you know I like it?”
He shrugs.
I wait for more, but that’s all he offers.
“Come here.” He stands and tugs me up off my knees.
“Come where?”
Instead of answering, he leads me toward the kitchen area, where he grabs the conditioner he bought.
“Aw, do I get to shower?”
“I’ll wash you,” he says gruffly.
My pussy clenches and nipples tingle. Did he say…he’ll wash me?
That’s so…hot. And sweet. And definitely hot.
I let him lead me to the bathroom where he cuts the zip tie on my wrists and pulls his shirt off me.
“Go on.” He lifts his chin toward the shower.
I turn on the water and wait until it heats as he takes off his clothes. He steps into the water, and I reach for him, eager to touch. Happy to have my wrists free. I stroke my palms over his muscled chest, making an approving hum as I touch.
He catches my wrists and examines them, stroking his thumbs over my pulse, bringing one to his lips to kiss away the bruises. “Mne zhal'.”
It’s close enough to the Ukranian meni shkoda that I recognize his apology.
“Let me go,” I murmur to him, my fingers tracing the tattoo on his biceps.
His expression shutters, not that it was open to begin with. “Mne zhal’,” he repeats.
“My father will kill you,” I whisper. “How do you think your sister will feel then?”
His expression goes downright stony–and if I had to name the stone, it would be obsidian. Black obsidian. “He may kill me,” he admits. “But I will take him with me.”
Hot tears burn in my eyes. “Adrian, wouldn’t it be better if you both just lived?” I raise my voice in frustration.
“Nyet. Not for all the girls–” He breaks off.
“What?” I whisper, knowing I won’t want to hear what he’s hiding from me. Is he protecting me? Or himself? “What girls?”
He shakes his head and takes my shoulders, pushing me back into the spray of water. “Tip your head back.”
I obey. I know I’m not going to get any further with him. He’s got some stubborn idea about revenge that he thinks he can’t be talked out of.
But I will keep trying. I’ll stay on the sister angle. What woman would want her brother to die to avenge her? I can’t believe she would want that.
But then I forget all the silent arguments I’m composing in my head because Adrian moves to stand behind me, nudging me forward, out of the water’s spray. After he pours shampoo on my hair, he starts a slow, sensual massage of my scalp.
I close my eyes and moan softly.
It feels so good. It’s not quite as hot as I expected. More tender. Nurturing. It’s an apology, I think. Adrian’s sorry he has to involve me. Or believes he has to involve me.
I haven’t had anyone take care of me like this in years. Maybe not since my mom left. My dad uses his money to maintain me, but it’s not the same. It’s not love. It’s not kindness. It’s not this.