Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 45957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
My eyes rolled back in my head, and my back bowed off the wall as I shot my cum down his throat. Ivan groaned, his hands coming up to grip my hips, keeping me in his mouth as he swallowed every drop I had to give him. When I became too sensitive, I tugged on his hair, pulling his mouth off my cock. He released it with a vulgar popping sound that had me shivering.
I dropped my hands from his hair, and he stood, leaning in to kiss me. When he thrust his tongue between my parted lips, I groaned at the taste of myself lingering on his tongue.
“Get dressed,” he said when he pulled back from me. “And meet me in my office. Igor is here.”
I blinked at him, slowly coming out of my cum-drunk haze. “You thought sucking my dick was more important than whatever information Igor might have for us?” The man had been on the hunt for something for days, from my understanding. While Ivan had been catering to me, his consigliere had been working all hours of the day and night to find out who’d tried to kill us and who was betraying the Jackson family.
Ivan smirked and winked at me. “Sucking your dick will always be a priority, kotik.”
With that, he slipped from the room, quietly shutting the door back behind him. I glowered at the wooden door as I tucked my softening dick back into my briefs and did up my jeans.
As soon as I got my hands on my phone, I was googling what the fuck that word meant in English. And then I was going to research fucking psychiatric hospitals because clearly, I was losing my fucking mind.
10
Ivan
I pushed open the door to my office, feeling awfully fucking cheery for so early in the morning. But shit, why wouldn’t I be? I had Adrian’s thick cock down my throat, and he had been so fucking gone over me, he could barely drag air into his lungs as I swallowed around him.
I’d seen the changes happening in him over the last few days. Saw him softening toward me. Being a little more open. Every time he woke up, he would seek me out immediately just to make sure I was still right there with him. And of course, I was. Where the fuck else was I going to be? The mere thought of leaving his side while he was so out of it and so ill honestly made me feel a bit sick to my stomach, which was a change for me because I didn’t get anxious over anything. But if I wasn’t there to protect him, who would?
“You sure took a long time just to tell Adrian to meet us here,” Igor commented from where he was slouched on the couch along the far wall. He was using his pocketknife to clean beneath his fingernails.
“You know you can get a manicure, right?” I asked him as I settled in my expensive, leather desk chair. “Nothing wrong with a man getting his nails done so he doesn’t have to use a knife like a caveman.”
Igor beat his chest like a gorilla before going back to cleaning dirt from beneath his thumbnail. Leaning back in my chair, I propped my ankle on my knee and laced my fingers together over my stomach. He cast one look at my expensive slacks and grimaced.
“What?” I asked, frowning at him.
“Do you even own a pair of jeans?” he asked, sounding appalled. “Or a good pair of ass kicking boots? Your shoes are so fucking shiny, my little sister could use them as a mirror to do her makeup routine.”
I snorted. “Some of us have class,” I retorted.
He rolled his eyes. “I have class. I’ve got lots of class. We went to the same boarding school, you dimwit. And we both went to Harvard. You don’t fit in either of those places without some fucking class.”
Boarding school in America and then Harvard afterward were the reasons Igor and I mostly spoke in English. It was what we were used to. Sure, when we got phone calls from our parents or we came home for breaks, we spoke in Russian, but our English was much better due to all the time spent in America. Because of that, sometimes I was pretty sure our parents—rest their souls—regretted sending us away, even if we did have Russian bodyguards around the clock.
Especially me. I’d had special bodyguards to make sure I didn’t go off the rails. My father and the Pakhan always thought my psychopathy was a gift, of sorts, until my father sent me away for school. Then, it became a problem because I had no filter, I was quick to throw my fists, and I had a very big lack of respect for authority figures.