Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
As I always did when making my mother’s recipes, I let the aroma carry me back. To her arms around me. To the way she laughed in her red and yellow dresses. To the way my father would dance with her in the kitchen.
The memories were my vice.
Not the rum I sipped while the sauce simmered.
Them. My parents.
They were the indulgence I refused to give up.
If the first ten years of my life were about love, the next ten were about pain. Loneliness.
I worked hard to prove myself, knowing full well I’d never get my grandmother’s approval.
But it made me stronger.
That cruel old woman turned me into the weapon the Ivanovs needed.
And when she died, I pissed on her grave—just like she always said she wanted to do to my mother’s.
Shaking off the memories, I focused on the food. Stirred the sauce. Let it cook evenly.
What the hell was it about that girl?
I should’ve starved her. Let hunger soften her resolve.
Instead, I was making her my mother’s comfort food.
When the meat was tender, I plated a bowl. Black beans. Seasoned rice.
Mama would’ve been proud.
But would she have approved of the girl I had tied up in the other room?
Would she have understood?
My father might’ve.
I took a deep breath. It didn’t matter.
They weren’t here.
The only person I needed to live up to was me.
And I was going to do whatever it took to protect my cousins. My name.
No matter how pretty our enemy was, she was still the enemy.
Even if I was feeding her like a lover.
I walked into the room with the tray balanced in one hand.
Zoya was still shackled to the chair, breathing sharp, chest rising and falling with rage.
The flush on her skin told me she hadn’t cooled off in the hours since I left.
She looked up at me through her thick lashes, those damn green eyes cutting through me.
I held the bowl under her nose.
“If you promise to be a good girl, I’ll release you so you can eat,” I said, keeping my tone even. Reasonable.
She stared. Then spat at my feet.
My patience vanished.
I set the tray on the table behind me. Grabbed her hair. Yanked her head back.
Her breathing stayed sharp, her eyes wild with defiance.
And fuck me, I wanted to break her all over again.
“The next time, printsessa,” I murmured, voice like silk stretched over steel, “that spit will be on my cock as you choke on it. Do you understand me?”
Her pupils flared. But she said nothing.
I tightened my grip on her hair. My other hand circled her throat.
“Answer me when I speak to you.”
She looked away. Not in surrender. No—she was calculating.
Every possible response playing out in her mind.
“I understand,” she said finally, eyes still down.
It wasn’t submission. Not yet.
But it was a start.
I sat down in the leather chair in front of her, dragging her wooden chair closer with a screech.
“You’re either going to eat,” I said, voice low and thick with warning, “or I’ll finish what I started earlier. Understood?”
No answer.
I picked up the fork, scooped some rice and beef, and held it in front of her.
She opened her lips.
I pulled it back.
“I said, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she bit out, quiet rage beneath every syllable.
My cock twitched. I liked the respectful way she called me sir. Even though we both knew she didn’t mean it.
I fed her the bite. Watched her tongue rise to meet the tines before her lips closed over them.
She didn’t break eye contact. Not once.
Would she watch me like that when she was on her knees?
Would she glare up at me while choking on my cock…then start begging for breath?
With each bite, she chewed slower. Savoring them but giving me nothing. No gratitude. No softness.
This woman was a brat. A fighter.
And she needed to be tamed.
The next bite I held just out of reach.
She leaned forward, hair falling across her face, tongue darting out to reach it.
My cock throbbed. Pre-cum soaking into my boxers.
Feeding her shouldn’t turn me on this much.
I gave her the bite. And another.
Every time she swallowed, my control slipped a little more.
I had come in here to break her.
Instead, I was the one unraveling.
And it wasn’t her resolve turning to dust.
It was mine.
CHAPTER 12
ROMAN
“Roman?” she asked, her voice low and sultry, laced with just a hint of need as she blinked up at me.
My brain short-circuited.
“Yeah?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
She bit her bottom lip and cast her eyes downward before flashing them back up at me. “Come here?”
“I’m right here,” I said, mesmerized as her little pink tongue traced her top lip.
“Closer?” she whispered.
I leaned in. Her scent wrapped around me—dark, seductive, purely feminine. I didn’t even think it was perfume. It was her.
“Closer,” she purred, lips curling into a soft pout.
“Yes?” I was barely inches from her. Her breath whispering over my lips. I ached to claim her mouth again.