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)
“Ugh,” she says in a heated whisper. “Mayyyybe…”
I stand up. “Mhm.” I give her ass a sharp slap. “Back to business.”
An hour later, we’re both exhausted, and Ember has shown that she’s a very good student. I feel a little better about the entire situation.
“You hungry?” I ask her, sitting gingerly on the edge of her couch so that I don’t break the damn thing. I’m really not made for an apartment like this. I feel as if I’m walking in a fucking dollhouse. I can barely get through the doorways.
“I don’t usually eat breakfast,” she says, nodding toward her coffee cup. “Coffee is enough.”
“Don’t eat breakfast? Jesus. You have to eat breakfast.”
“But what if I don’t want to?” she snaps, crossing her arms.
“Cut it out, little brat. What if I tell you to?”
“Don’t remember telling you that was your call?”
I roll my eyes. “Keep it up. You’re giving me a good reason to tease our online followers.”
Ember shakes her head. “No way. I think we need to keep up the façade. Keep them guessing. I think we’re both in danger if we start hinting that we’re actually in a relationship with each other because obviously—” She holds up a finger. “We’re still not. Right? Do you get that?”
Oh, I got that. I also saw the way her cheeks flushed when she backtracked, making damn sure I know we’re not a thing.
Ha.
“Whatever.”
We sit back on her couch. More accurately, she sits on her couch, and I teeter on the edge, trying not to break it. I feel like a dad at a parent-teacher conference trying to squeeze his legs under an elementary school desk. It’s ridiculous.
Ember leans back on the couch. “Do you cook, Bratva boy?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Call me Bratva boy one more time and see where that lands you.”
The way her eyes light up and her cheeks flush—my dick is totally in favor of this next move.
“I just asked a simple question,” she says in a low, seductive voice. “Bratva boy.”
I grab her wrists easily with my left hand, engulfing them, and bend her over my lap with no effort. She squeals, but I’m here for it, and she’s so easy to overpower. I grab my phone with no problem whatsoever, flip the video camera on, hit record, and prop it up on one of her little bookshelves. I’m careful to make sure you can’t tell we’re in her place.
“Oh my god!” she says, trying to squirm out of my grip. “Are you recording? What the hell?”
She protests right before I crack my palm across her ass. My palm covers her entire ass. It’s satisfying as fuck.
When she squirms and scissors her legs, my dick approves.
“This is what happens to bad girls who don’t do what they’re told,” I whisper before I lift my palm and crack it across her ass again. “You say you want to be overpowered, and then at the first opportunity, you talk back to me. This is where it’s going to get you. But I think you knew that.”
I spank her again and again until the wriggling slows and her breathing grows heavy. She’s draped over my knee, utterly pliant.
“Didn’t you, little queen?”
“Didn’t I—didn’t I what?” she says in a breathy whisper.
“Know this is where you’d end up?”
“I—” A knock sounds at the door, so loud and sharp the door rattles.
“Ember. I know you’re in there. Open up!”
I wanted to kill Shawn before. Now, I want to make the death slow and painful for his shitty timing, since I still don’t even know what the fucker did to her.
“What perfect timing,” I mutter, sliding her off my lap. I tilt her chin with my finger. “We’re not done here. I’m gonna go get that door.”
“With your mask on?”
I blow out a breath.
The knock sounds again. I reach for the edge of my mask and tug it off in one swoop. I watch as her eyes go wide. She likes when I take it off.
Reaching her hand out to me, she traces my cheek with her index finger. I close my eyes and brace against a well of emotions I wasn’t ready for. “Don’t ever get rid of that mask.”
Fuccck.
I reach for her hand and kiss her palm. “I’m going to get that door.”
I do a mental check of the weapons I have on me but know if this guy is the douchebag I suspect he is, I won’t need anything more than my hands. I’m already a dead man walking with my brother, and I don’t need to push this envelope.
I stride to the door with deliberate slowness, cracking my neck as I reach for the handle. When I swing it open, there’s no mistaking the guy standing there. Shawn looks just as smug and self-satisfied as his texts suggested, tall but shorter than me, blond, clean-shaven, arrogant as fuck.