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)
"Champagne, ma’am?" a waiter offers.
Her back is tight and rigid as I hit the lowest setting on the vibrator in my pocket. Her lips part, and her cheeks flush as she looks at me, a wicked glint in her gorgeous eyes.
"Two, please," she says, plucking two flutes of champagne off the tray and handing one to me.
"I told you I wasn’t drinking tonight," I remind her.
"I know," she says with a little grin. "You’re holding the second one for when I’m done with the first." She sips. I hit the higher button on the vibrator to punish her for her sass. She groans softly and hides it behind her flute of champagne.
I shut it off when the champagne is done.
“Semyon,” she pleads in my ear.
“Yeah, baby?”
She shakes her head as Polina approaches, elegant and graceful with her long blonde hair and silver gown.
We make easy chatter with Polina as she introduces us to a few more people her family knows. Anya nurses her second glass of champagne. I lean in and whisper in her ear.
“What would I feel if I put my hands between your legs right now?” I flick the button.
“Wet,” she gasps. “Hot. Need.” She’s lost the ability to speak beyond one syllable. I stifle a chuckle and embrace her.
"Baby," I murmur. "Put your head on my shoulder." She obeys without hesitation.
“Are you ready to come, Anya?”
“Mmmm.”
“Good girl. Let yourself go. Come, baby. No one’s here.” She maintains the control of a queen as I press the vibrator button again. She shudders, her release hitting in waves. I laugh softly, pulling her into my arms as if her trembling shoulders are from laughter and not a climax in the middle of the room.
I grin to myself. One point for me.
"Good girl," I whisper approvingly into her ear. "I'm so proud of you."
"Oh, really?" she teases, tossing her head back and taking another sip of champagne. I note she’s a little wobbly on her feet though.
“Really.”
I pluck the flute out of her hand and set it on a nearby table.
"Dance with me," I say gently but firmly.
"You dance?" she asks, blinking.
“I do tonight."
Quietly, she places her hand in mine. I lead her to the dance floor, where only one other couple is present. The music shifts to something slower, more intimate. I wrap my arm around her waist as I pull her close, my other hand clasping hers, steady and warm. I love the way it feels with her here against me.
"You’re full of surprises, sir," she murmurs, her voice soft.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a small box.
"You haven’t seen anything yet. This is for you."
She looks down at my palm. "But we’re already married, Mr. Kopolov. That can’t be a ring?”
"I know. Open it and see what it is."
She opens the box with a sly smile and looks curiously at the key inside.
"What's this?"
"The key to your new bakery."
"New bakery?"
"I told you to trust me. Believe me, you’ll love it when it’s finished. We’ll keep all of your mother’s appliances, every beautiful thing she installed in there. The only new additions will be industrial locks on the doors, a much larger fridge, and a different freezer you’ll have access to. I intentionally kept the original one though.” I shrug. “It might come in handy."
We move through the crowd. Anya's posture is stiff, her fingers brushing the hem of her shawl like a shield. I’m getting better at reading her and knowing what she needs. I don’t blame her for being nervous in a crowded place, especially when she’s a fish out of water. She shouldn’t be nervous though. She’s with me.
“You’re frowning.” Her eyes meet mine, curious.
“I can tell you think you have something to fear here. But you don’t. Not with me.” I thread my fingers across the back of her neck and give her a gentle squeeze.
She wordlessly pulls closer to me, draws in a breath and nods, giving me the smallest of smiles. It’s all I need.
We need a breath of fresh air. I navigate toward the outdoor bar.
“I don’t really feel like I belong here,” she whispers in my ear.
“I can relate to that. I never feel like I belong anywhere.” I thought I was getting better at reading her, but I don’t fully understand the softness in her eyes when she looks at me and squeezes my hand.
I lean in closer. “I’m going to protect you, Anya. I always will. But you’re stronger than you think.” I tuck a finger under her chin and bring her gaze to mine. “Don’t forget who you are. If I had my way, they’d be bowing to you when you enter.”
One day, they will. They fucking will.
“Kopolov.”
My focus sharpens when I see him—Oleg Makarov. Unpredictable. One of the Romanov family's lesser allies here in Moscow, but still dangerous. He exudes an air of authority, his gaze honing in on Anya.