Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“St-stop.”
Andrik impedes my wish to flee by pressing down on the middle of my back with his spare hand before he shifts the sole focus of his thumb to my clit. My thighs shake as rapidly as my pulse surges through my veins. I snap my eyes shut and bite my lower lip, hopeful a snippet of pain will slow the freight train of desire racing through my veins.
My hands ball so I don’t scratch the pricy paintwork of Mikhail’s car when Andrik grinds his thick cock against the seam of my ass. I can feel its throbs and the wetness pooled at the end. I can feel every perfect inch.
Pleasure courses through me as I thrust my head back and whimper. My climax is right there. Within grasp. Then Andrik freezes, and the only tumble I endure is the brutal fumble of my morals.
“No. Please.”
The surge of my pulse when he arches over me almost drowns out his repeated question. “Please, who?”
“Andrik! Please, Andrik.”
My womb spasms when he growls out in a gravelly tone, “There’s my good girl.”
With his chest swollen with smugness, he pushes two fingers back inside me. Wetness coats his palm when the greedy rock of my hips forces him to pick up speed. He fucks me with his fingers while moaning in approval of my impatience.
I’m on the edge of hysteria, racing for the finish line again in no time. Then, without warning, Andrik once again removes his fingers from my pussy. This time, he doesn’t keep them teasingly close. He pulls his hand out of my panties before taking a giant step back, unpinning me from the hood.
My first thought is hope. Andrik has the skills to bring me to climax with just his fingers, but his cock deserves its own unique category. It is the stuff of magic, and I’m dying to feel the stretch of its brilliance again. But my optimism soon slithers to despair when Andrik tugs down my skirt while grunting that my application to work at KADOK Industries has been declined.
“What…?” I spin to face him, horrified my legs aren’t in the process of buckling out from beneath me. “You can’t… I did as you asked… Why?”
My questions are barely decipherable, but they are answered in the most horrifying way—with the same mask Andrik wore in the elevator when I learned he was no longer filing for an annulment.
It proves our exchange isn’t about untapped desire hotter than the sun.
It is about punishment and authority.
Power and conviction.
He’s reminding me that although I will never own him, he will forever own me.
“Fuck you, Andrik…”
I hate myself even more than I already do when I can’t add his surname to my scold. I don’t Skype, Snapchat, or FaceTime. I don’t even have an Instagram account, for crying out loud. I keep my imprint on social media minimal so I don’t have to worry about the ghosts of my past finding their way back to me via their invisible footsteps.
“Fuck you and your brother and your stupid-ass power trip.”
I push him away from me before tossing open the driver’s side door of Mikhail’s suddenly less-appealing ride to retrieve my belongings. It is only a charging cable, an outdated phone, and a purse with minimal funds, but I own them, so I refuse to leave without them.
“The closest town is twelve miles away,” Andrik announces in a low, thigh-quaking tone when I hotfoot it toward his long, winding driveway.
I don’t spin around to see his response when I flip him the bird a second after I commence aerating his pristine lawn with the four-inch heels of my stilettos. I don’t need to. The heat of his snarl will keep me warm during the long trek home, not to mention the absolute fury that blackens my veins when disappointment is my first response for his lack of retribution.
25
ANDRIK
My eyes flick from Zoya’s rapidly dwindling frame to a fleet of SUVs rolling through the front gates of my palatial mansion when Mikhail finally answers my call. “You’ve reached Brody’s. How can I help you?”
“Are you a complete fucking idiot?”
I don’t give him a chance to answer because I don’t need to hear his words to know that is precisely what he is.
His breathy chuckle tells me everything I need to know.
“Or are you so determined to make my life a living hell that you’re willing to drag her to the fiery depths alongside me?”
My annoyance grows, and I hate that I don’t need to say Zoya’s name for him to know who I am referencing. “Anoushka said you are seeking a new PA for this region. Zoya studied—”
“We are seeking a new PA for this region because the last one asked the wrong houseguest why I was paying the rent of a one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Myasnikov when I own multiple estates not even a twenty-minute drive from there.” When he remains quiet, not quite putting the pieces together as fast as I’d like, I spell it out for him. “She asked Arabella, who doesn’t have a single fucking thought without running it by her mother first. The same fucking woman who has our father eating out of her palm.”