Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Wow, he looks fucking amazing.
I swallow hard, observing his cufflinks and the attention to detail. He taps cologne onto the palm of his hand from a bedside table, and the masculine scent pervades my senses.
“Where are you going?” I whisper. “You’re so dressed up.”
“Just a meeting with my men,” he says, reaching for a leather belt and threading it around his waist.
“Oh,” I whisper. And then a strange question comes to me. “Are there going to be any women there?”
He smiles. “No. We have no women in the Bratva. There are a few married to my men, but no women will attend one of my meetings.”
As he buckles his belt, my breasts swell, a satisfying tingle rising between my legs. Wow. Again? What bewitchment is this, that I’m getting aroused just by looking at him? What has he done to me?
“Why do you ask, Caroline?”
“Because you look nice,” I tell him pointedly. “And you’re my husband. And I’m not super cool with some other chick ogling you.”
His eyes widen as he finishes buckling the belt, placing the tail end of it in the loops around his waist. “Are you jealous, wife?”
“Maybe,” I say thoughtfully. Am I?
But just last night he told me he would kill the men who hurt me. The prospect scares me, so I haven’t thought much more about it since then. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I shouldn’t want him to hurt my brother.
But I do.
Jesus, I do.
I shouldn’t want him to hurt Andros. Good people don’t hurt each other.
But if he does, I know that I’ll worship the ground he walks on.
Worship it.
And I’m not sure what that says about me. It scares me a little to think about how much the promise of revenge excites me. I swallow hard.
This isn’t right. But what part about this is? We live by a code of conduct outside the norm.
He’s running his fingers through his hair, his back to me, his scent hanging in the air like forbidden fruit. Ripe and tempting. The man may be my husband, but he’s dangerous on so many levels.
“I like that you’re jealous,” he says. But I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
I’m falling for him, for the man who doesn’t love me for anything other than his property. And I should be stronger than this.
I am stronger than this.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply.
“Well good for you,” I mutter. “Oh!”
He’s kneeling on the bed, both knees on either side of me, his tie in his hand.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
“Like what?” He leans down and wraps the tie around my wrists. I’m not sure how to respond. “Like what? Like I want to eat you? That’s because I do, little dratka.”
He did not just say that.
“I want the taste of your pussy on my lips when I talk to my men. I want your lingering scent on my nose when I walk among men. I want the memory of my tongue between your legs following you when we separate.”
I don’t know exactly how to respond, but I think I say something like unnnggghhh, because then he’s parting my legs and positioning them just right, while his fully clothed, hot as hell body draws closer to me.
“And you always get what you want, right?” I say with a nervous laugh. I’m giggling like a little girl, until I’m moaning. Oh God, oh God, his breath is hot and sexy and right. there. where I’m throbbing already with need. Lifting my legs up, he places my legs right over his shoulders, the back of my knees resting on the silky fabric.
“Always,” he breathes, right into my sex. I feel like I’m at the mercy of a fire-breathing dragon, his mouth at my pussy so hot and seductive I can’t breathe. Then he lowers the tip of his tongue to the place I need him most and works his magic.
Slow, steady, seductive swipes of his tongue have me keening with pleasure before I’ve taken another breath. My wrists are tied fast, somehow heightening the experience. When he suckles my clit, I throw my head back, my breath caught in my throat, then he releases the pressure and teases with the tip of his tongue again.
Over and over he laps and sucks, pausing just long enough to breathe me in so deeply I shiver with delight. It’s like I’m meeting a need of his somehow, fueling him like an oxygen mask.
He breathes against my thighs, whispering, “Come for me, sweetheart.” But I can’t. I’m too pent up, too in my head, that even with his seductive ministrations, I can’t go to the place of chasing my release.
“Come, Caroline,” he repeats.
“I can’t,” I moan, squirming under the onslaught of his tongue. “Oh God, I can’t.”