Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 104682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
It wasn't until we were on the elevator that the silence between us was broken. I was the one to break it when I saw the knuckles on Nikolai's right hand. They were covered in blood and bruises. "Oh God, Nikolai, your hand," I said as I went to gently grab it. He yanked it away from me before I could make contact.
It hurt.
It hurt a lot.
I knew he was pissed at me, but I hadn't expected such disgust, hatred even. I supposed I couldn't really blame him. My behavior had forced him to intercede. I’d done exactly what he'd been accusing me of all along. I'd disregarded my safety as well as his because I hadn't been able to focus on the right things.
I wanted to explain to him why I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to, but I held my tongue. I dropped my own hand, which I realized was covered in blood from when he'd held my hand, and sidled away from him until my shoulder was pressed up against the elevator. We didn't speak again after that. When we reached my floor, I allowed Nikolai to dictate when it was safe for me to step off the elevator and I quietly followed him to the end of the hall where my apartment was. But instead of going for my door, he went for the door next to it. I began searching my pocket for my keys but by the time I found them, Nikolai was motioning to his apartment.
"Inside. Now," he demanded.
His anger put me on edge but in my gut I knew he wouldn't hurt me. I entered his apartment and waited until he was inside and had locked the door. He threw the keys into a bowl on a side table and then he was reaching for my arm. I expected his touch to be harsh, but it was surprisingly gentle as he led me forward.
The layout of the apartment was similar to mine, though it seemed smaller. There was nothing personal about it and the modern-looking furniture didn't fit the vision of Nikolai I had in my head. I imagined him sitting on a cushy, worn sofa in sweats and a T-shirt on a Sunday afternoon watching football on a big-screen TV in a too-small apartment.
The industrial decor of the apartment Cliff had all but bribed the couple to sell to him on a moment’s notice was too harsh, too cold for someone like Nikolai.
I assumed Nikolai would lead me to the living room so he could rail at me about my foolishness, but to my surprise, he took me down a short hallway and then into the master bedroom. I swallowed hard at the sight of the huge bed in the center of the room. Despite everything that had happened, my body responded with ridiculous excitement. The evening's events had dampened the noise in my head, but my body didn't seem to care about that. It still wanted Nikolai.
Badly.
But he didn't lead me to the bed. No, he led me to the bathroom. I wasn't really sure why until I got a look at myself in the mirror. I had splotches of blood on my face. I wasn't even sure how they’d gotten there. I most certainly hadn't felt them. They had to have come from Nikolai's victim.
"Don't move," Nikolai muttered as he looked in the cabinet for a couple of towels and a washcloth. When he found what he wanted, he stuck his hand under the spray of water from the sink long enough to wash the blood away then wrapped his knuckles in a small hand towel. Then he turned his attention to me. I fully expected him just to hand me a washcloth so I could clean my face, but to my surprise, he dampened the cloth and then reached for my face himself.
"Nikolai, I can do it—"
"Shut up," he said softly. Despite the harshness of the words, he said them gently. "Let me do this."
I didn't know what to make of the strangely intimate scene.
I didn't know what to make of anything that had happened tonight. He was clearly angry with me, but his touch was gentle. Almost too gentle. It was all I could do not to lean into his fingers as he wiped the cloth over my cheek and along my chin. The skin on his hands was just a little bit rough… the right amount, actually. It was proof that he worked for a living. Actual work.
He tipped my head back and to the side just a little bit. It wasn't until he growled, "That fucker," that I realized he was examining whatever marks my assailant had left behind.
"I'm fine," I whispered. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have—"
Nikolai turned my head so I was forced to look at him. His eyes blazed as he said, "No one has the right to put their hands on you like that. Ever.”