Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
They both will.
Something unfamiliar yet not unpleasant stirs in me at that thought.
The desire to make it happen—to create the environment where both of them might be content, even happy, sneaks into my agenda.
Alessia
I wake up before dawn. I wasn’t really sleeping—just snoozing. The restless, dream-filled sleep where you drift in and out of sleep and have trouble distinguishing when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake.
Like I’m lying in the bed, with Vlad massaging my head, and then we’re in the kitchen making breakfast again. Only this time, he lifts me to the counter and holds my pelvis down while he licks me until I scream. And then we’re in the bedroom with my brothers on the video screen, but he won’t let me see. And I kick him, but it doesn’t do any good because I’m barefooted. And he thinks it’s amusing and then he pulls me over his lap like a child and spanks me for it.
And I get excited by the spanking and hump his lap, but he won’t get me off because I refuse to beg.
I wake up horny and hangry. The omelette feels like days ago. I climb out of bed, legs shaky. Apparently orgasming and dreaming about Vlad burned a lot of calories. I would shower first, but I don’t think I’ll make it without eating something. I really need to keep some food by the bedside table for emergencies.
I pull on a pair of jeans I find in the dresser and stumble out in the direction of the kitchen. At least I think it’s the right direction. It’s hard to say—it was night and everything was dark.
I round a bend and run into Vlad and Mika coming down the hall toward me.
“Alessia?” Vlad walks swiftly to my side. “You’re hungry, huh? Did you check your blood sugar?”
I shake my head, and the hallway swoops around me. “Hungry,” I croak.
In a flash, Vlad swoops me up into his arms and carries me to the kitchen. “Get some juice from the refrigerator,” he commands Mika, who stayed close.
A few moments later, a glass of juice is pressed to my lips and I drink, gratefully.
“Go get med kit from the bedroom,” Vlad says, then switches to Russian, speaking quickly—like it was too much to explain the location of the kit in English.
Mika takes off at a run and returns just as fast. Vlad props me on a barstool and tests my blood and gives me a dose of insulin. He peers into my eyes, his brows pinched tight.
“Too much sleeping and not enough eating,” I say weakly. My schedule’s off with the jetlag. It screwed up my blood sugar. Or maybe I forget to take a shot. I’m not sure. Avoiding situations like this is why my family wants me on a full-time insulin pump, an idea I detest. I’ve worked hard to never have an incident, so I’m pissed at myself. But then, I’ve never been kidnapped and brought to a foreign country against my will.
“I fucked up,” Vlad says angrily, rubbing his forehead. “Should’ve been checking more often.”
Of course it’s not his responsibility, it’s mine, but I go with it, anyway. “You can make it up to me by setting me free.”
Vlad tests leaving me unsupported on the barstool, and when I don’t fall off, he shouts something in Russian and walks to the refrigerator. Zoya bustles in, looking at no one as she whips out a frying pan and fires up the stove. Vlad hands her a metal bowl he’s taken out of the fridge.
Butter sizzles and then the sweet smell of pancakes fills the kitchen.
My favorite breakfast, but one I almost never indulge in. I muster a smile. “I really shouldn’t have pancakes.”
“These are special, high-protein pancakes. Good for diabetics.”
“Really? Wow. Thank you. I’m so happy.”
He nods but still wears the frown between his brows.
“Relax. I’m feeling better. I’m not going to die yet.”
Not this year, anyway.
I hope.
A few minutes later, a plate of pancakes and bacon slides in front of me and I nearly weep with pleasure. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. How do you say thank you in Russian?”
“Spasibo.”
I shouldn’t love the deep rumble of Vlad’s voice so much.
“Spasibo,” I repeat, looking at Zoya.
She turns her head in my direction and inclines it, but doesn’t quite meet my eye. She’s not the most personable of servants, but clearly beggars can’t be choosers. I’m going to have to make friends with her as quickly as possible if I want to get off this continent.
Mika and Vlad their own plates of pancakes and bacon and the three of us shovel food in our mouths in silence for a moment.
“When do I get my Rosetta Stone?”
Vlad’s lips tip up slightly. As always, he appears slightly amused by my demands, rather than pissed. I guess I’m lucky I have a captor who seems taken with me. This situation could be a hundred times worse. A thousand, probably.