Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I follow. This is what marriage is about, right? Resolving differences?
I mean, fuck if I know. I’ve never even had a serious girlfriend.
When we reach the bedroom, her phone rings again.
Fucking Brash. She looks at the screen and sends it to voicemail.
“Is that your boyfriend?” My voice sounds dangerous. I don’t mean to show this side of myself to her.
I get my violence under control. It’s time I broached this subject with her. “Did I see the name Brash?” I pretend I don’t know who she was dating. “Not Brash Rostov, the oligarch’s son?”
Lara turns, surprised I know him.
“I went to boarding school with him.” I shake my head, remembering the torture I’d found him inflicting. It had triggered my PTSD, and I’d gone nuclear. If a monitor hadn’t caught us, I would’ve killed him with my bare hands. Instead, I got expelled.
How do I tell her that she’s in more danger from him than me?
“The Rostovs aren’t who you think they are. They’re…worse than bratva.”
She snorts, her eyes narrowed. “That’s ripe coming from you. Brash has been nothing but kind and generous with me.” There’s a defensive note in her voice. “I’m in more danger with you than the Rostovs.”
Blyad’. She has it backward, but I don’t know how to make her see that. I have to wait until she trusts me more than she trusts him.
“Did you end things with him now that you’re married?”
She stiffens and whirls to face me. “Fuck off.”
I dial down my control issues and switch gears. She’s never going to trust me if I can’t make her fall in love.
“Uh-uh.” I close the distance between us. She flinches when I reach for her, but all I do is pull her into my arms. “We don’t talk to each other that way.”
“We just did.”
I back her up until her ass hits the dresser and then cradle her nape to lift her face to mine. “We don’t.” I murmur the words against her cheek as my thumb caresses her cheek. “Is that how you want me to speak to you?”
She doesn’t answer. Her body trembles against mine–whether it’s from fear or desire, I can’t be sure.
I know from the dungeon that both can work in my favor.
I slide the hand behind her back down to explore the curves of her ass and squeeze. “Hm?”
“Get off me,” she whispers.
I hesitate. My experience as a dom tells me this is a moment to push, not to give her sovereignty. But she’s not a consenting sub.
She’s also not a consenting wife, but we’re married just the same. Breaking down her barriers and forging something tender between us is the best–possibly the only–way I can keep her safe from Brash.
“Should I show you what Melinda wanted from me?”
I catch that confusion swirling in her eyes again. “What is it?”
“Turn around,” I murmur, at the same time I gently rotate her.
Miraculously, she lets me.
“Hands on the dresser.” I pick up one hand and flatten it on the surface of the dresser then the other.
I unzip the back of her skirt and let it tumble to the floor.
Lara
I look over my shoulder, starting to straighten, but Baron pushes my torso back down. “You said you didn’t have sex with her,” I accuse.
I don’t know why seeing Baron with that woman set me off, but it did. I know she’s an ex-girlfriend or at least someone he’s slept with, I can tell. Call it women’s intuition.
“I didn’t,” he maintains.
I’m shivering, my knees quaking, my breath quick. I wish Baron wasn’t so damn seductive. I don’t know how I ended up standing in my panties, bent over a dresser when I was resolved to not even let him kiss me.
He slaps my ass, hard.
I shriek and try to turn, but he holds my hip in place.
“This is what Melinda wanted from me.”
I stop struggling, listening.
He slaps the other cheek equally hard.
I squeal again. Heat rushes between my legs. My pussy tingles, moisture gathering.
Baron stops and rubs my stinging flesh. “She’s a masochist who uses pain to cope with the stress of overachievement.”
I remember the girl at the cafe asking about a dungeon. Is this what she meant? There’s a BDSM dungeon at Baranov House?
That’s…wild.
He delivers a flurry of light, quick slaps. They don’t hurt, but they warm my ass.
It feels wonderful. Not the first two spanks–they were stingy. But this…I can see the appeal. Every slap sends a jolt of sensation straight to my core. The mixture of danger and pleasure, of pain and seduction, intoxicates me more than the champagne I drank.
Baron knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before. With that woman.
“Did you fuck her?”
I guess I’m jealous. Even more so after hearing he’s done this with her.
“Never, malyshka. I haven’t even kissed her.”
“Kiss me.” Funny how I was determined to refuse his touch, and now I’m suddenly demanding it.