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)
I'm tired during dinner, barely holding on through some of the conversation. Semyon sits next to me. Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, "You look exhausted, Mrs. Kopolov. I wonder why?"
My cheeks flush, and I bury my face in a large glass of wine, which definitely doesn’t help my exhaustion.
Stefan digs into the food with gusto despite his earlier refusal to admit that he was actually hungry. When his plate is empty, Semyon wordlessly gives him another.
I open my mouth to protest. He never eats this much, and I feel as if I'm a burden to them. Semyon places a hand on my arm.
"There's plenty of food to go around, Anya," he says quietly in my ear. "That's not something you need to worry about here." He nods at Stefan. "Stefan, take your elbows off the table, please."
Stefan sits up taller, his eyes wide. I take another sip of wine. Flustered. Grateful.
Confused.
Semyon snakes an arm across the back of my chair. His nearness makes me tingly, especially when he leans over to whisper, "I will never forget today. And I look forward to putting you to bed tonight. You're so tired."
And then he kisses my temple. "I'll help you sleep."
"I bet you will," I murmur, my cheeks flushing. The way his voice brushes against my skin is like a ghost of a promise. The warmth of his words sparks an unfamiliar flutter deep inside me.
Slowly, the ice begins to melt.
"Stefan," Semyon says with quiet correction when my brother leans across the table on his elbows again. He demonstrates sitting up straight. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. But Semyon, calm with his ever-cool composure, steps in like he's already claimed authority over my brother.
It both grates on my nerves and fills me with warmth. I can't explain it.
"I could've handled that," I whisper under my breath. "You don't have to take over every time with him."
Semyon's lips twitch, and his eyes burn into mine. "I know. Of course you can," he whispers back, his breath warm on my ear. "But I enjoy watching you get all worked up. Keeps things… interesting, doesn't it?"
I find I can't quite suppress a small smile. He knows how to push my buttons. All of them.
"We’ll skip dessert. I’ve had enough of the family dinner thing. I want to take you home,” Semyon whispers. "I bought your brother a tablet loaded with every streaming service I could find. He can watch anything he wants. He's had a full day, hasn't he? Food. Exercise. Hard work. I think he needs a little downtime." His long, thick fingers brush over my hand. I'm fixated on the tattoos on them. Why is that so hot? "Don't you think?" he asks quietly.
I want to push him, test him, play along. "I think I’d like dessert."
His gaze darkens on me. "I'll get you anything you want."
"But I want the double chocolate pie Yana made."
"Right," Semyon says, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, that barely-leashed energy that makes my thighs clench, that makes me want to push him until he snaps. Yum. “Here’s the deal, baby,” he says, his voice low and rough. “You can sit your ass here and eat that dessert. And when I get you home, I’ll strip you, lay you over my knee, and paint your pretty ass red so you’ll feel me every time you sit for the next fucking week. How does that sound, little Anya?"
My pulse pounds so loudly I barely hear my own voice when I whisper, “You said I had options. What’s behind door number two?”
His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. Filthy promises shimmer in them, the kind of things polite girls pretend they don’t want. I like when his eyes heat like this instead of that piercing coldness I can't control. Who am I kidding? I like all of them.
"Door number two," he says in a low whisper, his voice husky, "we skip dessert. Bring it with us. You say goodnight. I take you home, feed you dessert and then spread your thighs and let me eat mine.”
My pulse kicks into overdrive, heat pooling in my belly. It's so wrong that he's talking about this stuff right here in front of his family, in front of my brother. Not that any of them can hear him, but it's still not right that he’s painted a vivid picture of him between my thighs.
His hand moves from the back of my chair, sliding just under the table, his fingertips grazing across my thigh. Oh my god. I breathe heavier, and when Rafail goes to refill wine glasses, I lift mine to him naturally, hoping he doesn't notice how flustered I am. I shift in my seat as Semyon's hand moves up to an obscene place on my thigh. Heat pools, and my pussy throbs. I'm torn between embarrassment and need.