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)
I want to hold her close, whisper in her ear that she’s everything, that I’ll love her until my last breath. But I can’t, not yet, not until I have answers. I’ll protect her, even if I can’t give her the words she needs.
So, I go back to what I know.
I pull out of her and hastily wipe her clean with her shredded clothes. Bend my head to hers and hold her gaze with mine.
“Stay right fucking there until I take this call. We are not done yet.”
I stab at my phone and return the missed call from Popov.
Chapter 24
“ANISSA”
I stare at the back of my… husband?
Is he? Or has this all been a lie?
My pussy still throbs in the aftermath of climax. I can still feel the ache on my scalp where he pulled my hair, the fullness of my lips where he bit me, the branding smack of his palm on my bare ass.
I still feel the remnants of our lovemaking slick between my thighs, a reminder that I’m no longer the girl I used to be. I’m someone else now—someone who craves him, who feels alive when held in his arms, even when everything around me feels like it’s crumbling.
What is going on here?
I remember vestiges of my past that don’t resonate with my present, but it’s like looking at a puzzle that’s only partially assembled—a few more pieces need to fall in place before I get the whole picture.
I’m scared I’m trapped in a relationship built on a house of cards. Deception. But even in the darkness, shrouded in fear and uncertainty, there’s one thing I can’t doubt: he loves me.
It’s written in his kiss, in the way his control slips when we’re together… like I’m the only one who has the key to his vulnerability. I’m the only one who can undo him. It’s not something he says, but something I feel in the way he touches me, the way he looks at me.
I see it in the way his brow furrows when he’s watching me as if I’m an enigma he needs to solve. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and, in his own way, has done his level best to carry mine. I feel it in the steady beat of his heart against mine, the grounding pressure of his palm on my back when I’m in trouble, a silent reminder that I’m not alone.
I feel it when he tucks my hair behind my ear and places a tender kiss on my forehead. The way he tucks the blanket around me in the middle of the night and wordlessly holds me when I wake, shaking and panting, from another dream.
He loves with the fierce protection of a warrior, and I’m his victory prize.
But is it… is it enough?
Can it be?
Can I love a man who thrives on control, who makes me feel like both a prisoner and a queen? Can I love a man whose every touch makes me feel owned, even if I don’t truly belong to him?
Can I love a man who’s lied to me?
Has he?
Rafail ends the call and shoves his phone in his pocket. I’ve been so wrapped up in my thoughts and fears that I didn’t hear a word of the call. I’m not sure it would’ve made much of a difference if I had.
I still have no idea what’s going on.
“And?” I ask, hoping for a shred of light on what’s happening, even though I know he probably won’t tell me anything.
He only shakes his head, his shoulders drooping. “We need to meet with my family. With everyone.”
“Um, about that…” I gesture to the bed. He looks over his shoulder at me and realizes with a grimace he’s destroyed my clothing.
“Fuck.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Popov had a fucking liquor cabinet, you think he has clothes here?”
I shrug, still wrapped in the sheets. “I have no idea.” I go to push myself out of bed to explore the room but Rafail shakes his head, his voice firm. “Stay there. I’ll look.”
I don’t protest. This is very much a pick-your-battles situation.
He rummages through the closet and dresser, muttering to himself and making a few low hums of approval.
“Good. Here we go,” he says, tossing a generic pair of gray sweats and a white tee at me. They’ll be too big, but they’ll do. When I pull them on, the clothes hang awkwardly on my frame, the waistband sliding down my hips, and the shirt wears like a sack. They’re not just too big, either, but scratchy and uncomfortable.
Rafail notices me tugging and fidgeting, his eyes narrowed on me as he watches me try to make it work. Stepping toward me, his gaze softens for a fraction of a second before he curses under his breath again.