Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
You, sir, are ridiculous.
Bratvabloodline
Sir. That’s a start. Good girl.
That shouldn’t make me all kinds of hot and bothered. It shouldn’t.
You’re making a mockery of me.
Bratvabloodline
I’m not.
Really? What’s next, a moody black-and-white photo of you in a trench coat in a dark alley? Puh-lease.
Bratvabloodline
I don’t need props to prove a point.
Yet you’re parading props all over social media as if begging to get banned
Bratvabloodline
Not props. Tools.
You think you’re scary?
Bratvabloodline
Little queen, you wouldn’t last five seconds if I really wanted to make you beg.
The room feels hotter suddenly, the air too thick. I should laugh this off, but… my thighs clench involuntarily.
You’re all big talk for someone hiding behind a screen
His response is immediate.
Bratvabloodline
What if I weren’t? What if none of these were props and I wasn’t hiding?
This stops me cold.
The image of him stepping out of the shadows, commanding the space around him, is so vivid it makes me shiver.
God help me. I think I want him to prove it.
You’re overconfident. Arrogant. Guys like you are all the same
His reply comes so fast that I barely have time to breathe.
Bratvabloodline
And girls like you always pretend they don’t want to submit, that it’s all just a fantasy, until they’re on their knees, shaking, begging… it’s only arrogance if you can’t back it up, beautiful.
Oh god.
My breath catches. Damn him.
You’ve got quite the ego. Shame you don’t have the balls to prove it.
What am I doinggggggg? My mouth is dry, and my hands are shaking.
Bratvabloodline
Careful, little queen. That’s not a challenge you want to make. You’re making me very eager to prove how serious I am
There’s an ache between my legs I refuse to acknowledge as my fingers fly over the screen.
Oh, I’m shaking, I’m so scared. You, behind your phone, hiding in the shadows? Going to stop me? Please.
That’s it. I’m leaving him on read. I refuse to let him with this little… game, or whatever it is he’s playing. I grab my phone, pick up the book I’m reading without showing the cover, and do a quick little video asking my readers if they are as impatient as I am to get to the real meat of the story, or is it just my mood?
I don’t even edit it this time. I usually like to edit the hell out of them.
I post, comment on the responses I got from my last post, and, against my wildly better judgment, make a few comments on the thirst trap he’s trying to bait me with.
Little do you know what I really wish for. But nice start. Color me intrigued...
I grin to myself and throw caution to the wind like an idiot, baiting him publicly.
How much of this is posing and how much could you actually deliver? Are you into the “touch her and die” vibes or is that only for fiction. “My wife?” or meh? Would you actually put your woman on a pedestal and treat her like a queen, or are you just here for the attention?
I bite my lip, toss my phone down, and go to make another cup of hot cocoa. My phone buzzes and buzzes, notification after notification coming through.
I really need to change those settings.
I hesitate. I know I should stop. Block him. Shut this down. But instead, I press deeper, unable to resist the pull.
I can’t help it. I click his last message.
Bratvabloodline
Do you really want to find out how wrong you are?
Maybe I do.
The pause stretches long enough to make my chest tighten, anticipation building like a live wire. Then his response lands, lethal and dripping with dominance.
Bratvabloodline
Good. Because when I’m done with you, you won’t remember what it felt like to ever be in control.
My heart thunders in my chest. I know I’m walking a dangerous line, but the way his words sink into me makes me crave what’s on the other side.
No. I’m going to find out this is all fake, he’ll reveal his endgame, and I’ll feel all dejected and bereft.
Whatever. I am so over posers who think they can flirt with a needy woman online and stroke their own ego. He’s probably banging one off in his mother’s basement while he—
In our message line, another post pops up, directly embedded in our conversation.
I stare, my eyes narrowing. It’s… I know this place. Cold washes over me as I recognize a shadowy corner of my latest shoot and the caption beneath it. He hasn’t posted it though… this is only for my eyes.
Caught the little photographer queen dreaming of her own anti-hero.
I recognize myself immediately, camera in hand, pointed at fading poinsettias outside a local cathedral after they discarded them at the end of the Christmas season.
He’s… this is… that’s me.
I should block him.
I should call the cops and report stalking like a reasonable, rational person… like I should have long ago when my stepbrother hurt me. I know what happens when you ignore your instincts.