Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
It’s all… bizarre.
That’s the man who locked me in my room last night. The man who spanked me and threatened me. The man I’ve argued with at every turn because I fucking hate him.
Now he’s sitting here, teaching my brother checkers, and acting like he actually cares?
Did I wake up in an alternate reality, or what?
I don’t trust it. I don’t trust him. But my stomach growls, and I’m in desperate need of a good cup of coffee, so I push through and decide I’m going to take things as they come.
I have to walk closer to Semyon to get to the coffee. I square my shoulders and try not to think about the fact that I’m naked under this robe.
As I draw closer to him, I remember the way he touched me. His low, masculine hum of need. The way it felt having him close and knowing, deep down in my bones, how badly he wanted me.
My body heats. I glance at him, hoping he’ll stay focused on the game, but no such luck. His eyes are raking over me in my bathrobe as if mentally undressing me.
Heat skates across my skin.
When I was younger, I’d have given anything in the world for him to look at me like this. But now?
Now, I don’t know how I feel about it.
I stand at the kitchen counter and look at the coffee machine in front of me. I've never seen anything like it. It looks like some kind of spaceship—one pull of the bells and whistles, and I might launch myself straight into the atmosphere.
I turn to see Semyon watching me.
“You drink coffee?” he asks.
“Yes, I love coffee.”
“But you don’t know how to use that.”
I blow out a breath. “I’m kind of old-fashioned. I use, like, a French press. That’s my favorite way.”
Of course, it makes sense that he would have this type of contraption—immaculate, precise, and unnecessarily excellent.
“I’ll be right back,” he says to Stefan. “You stay right there. This game isn’t over.” There’s a small, playful edge to his voice, but it’s still laced with command.
Stefan sits still, taking a huge bite of his pastry. Crumbs spray onto the table and he gives me a grin around a mouthful.
I don’t remember the last time my brother grinned.
I face the coffee machine, telling myself I can do hard things. I can figure this out.
Before I get the chance, Semyon reaches over. “You use these pods here,” he says.
He’s standing behind me. I can feel the heat of his chest pressed up against my back, and god, he smells so good. I close my eyes as heat floods my chest. We’re so close. Just the feel of his warmth next to me and his scent is driving me mad…
“See?” he says, his voice low and almost seductive. Or am I imagining that? “The brown ones are espresso, and the black are coffee. You put them in here and press this button.”
“Do I have to, like, tell it what size cup I want or…?”
“No. Each one is calibrated for the exact amount with the right pressure. Espresso shots will be smaller, coffee larger. How do you take your coffee?”
“Cream, milk, whatever.”
“Not ‘whatever,’” he says, reaching for a crystal-clear mug and sliding it under the coffee machine. “I asked you what you like, not what you’ll tolerate.”
My heart thumps.
“Cream. I like cream and three sugars. How do you like yours?” I ask because it feels like the polite thing to do.
His lips almost twitch. Almost. “Cream, three sugars.”
Is he mocking me? I narrow my eyes at him, but he only shrugs.
“I don’t lie, Anya.”
I don’t think he could if he tried.
I watch as the machine bubbles and clanks, the fragrant smell of coffee filling the air. He takes the finished cup, pours in cream and three sugars, gives it a stir, and holds it between his hands, staring into it before handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, half wondering if I’m thanking him only for the coffee.
With a nod, he makes another cup for himself, and Stefan asks for tea. He likes to pretend he’s grown-up, but he’s not quite ready for coffee yet.
“Of course. I’ll be right there.”
I flick the button on the electric kettle and watch as Semyon cleans everything with precision. The pods go into a labeled recycling bucket. He takes a cloth from the sink, wipes a few droplets of coffee off the counter, folds the cloth neatly, and puts it back. He returns the cream to the fridge—immaculate, perfectly arranged, of course—and slides the sugar container back into its exact spot next to the milk.
I watch, half mesmerized, trying not to think about what has to happen between us.
How could someone so beautiful be so cold?
Will it be like having sex with one of those vampires?
Oh my god. Sex. I can’t think of that. I need to talk to Ophelia.