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)
Andrik’s wish for an heir.
As he’s hinted at numerous times, he doesn’t want his child to be produced the old-fashioned way. His marital contract states with the utmost certainty that the couple’s union is not about love. The child’s conception, fetal development, and delivery are clinically planned procedures.
Even the mother-to-be’s living arrangements form part of the agreement.
There isn’t an option for her to share a room with Andrik—nor a bed.
The knowledge makes me smile… until a date on the ledger registers as familiar.
Andrik’s reared-to-breed wife was scheduled for artificial insemination on the day I attended my interview.
He was fingering me in the driveway of his palatial home while his wife was being inseminated with his sperm, and it was inside her when he was in my bed, eating me for dessert.
The amount of disrespect is shocking, and it sends my emotions into a debilitating downward spiral.
Andrik isn’t demanding discreetness to respect my wish not to be portrayed as a homewrecking whore like my mother was for years. He’s rejecting me like every other man has when they realize the only thing I can offer them long-term is me.
That’s a slap to the face worse than any I’ve been given, and it dips my confidence to the lowest point it’s ever been.
“Fuck you, Andrik,” I lash out, shouting like he can hear me. “I am more than enough. If you’re too stupid to see that, that’s on you, not me. My fertility status doesn’t make me a woman. My body does. My strengths.” A fire roars inside me as my ego strives to break through the deluge swamping it. “My ability to do what I want, when I what, for exactly how long I want makes me more a woman than any name you could have placed at the top of your contract.”
With my confidence semi-restored, I toss down the document, snatch up Vlad’s jacket, and then hightail it out my front door.
An oomph leaves Vlad’s mouth when I thrust his jacket into his chest. It has nothing on the holler that leaves his mouth when I pluck the ticket for Vixens out of his hand and then gallop down the stairs two at a time.
We dated long enough for him to recognize when my wild side is coming out.
Regretfully.
34
ZOYA
My enthusiasm wilts like a picked flower on a hot summer’s day when we arrive at an industrial building approximately fifty miles from Myasnikov. The wealth of the cars in front of us showcases why Vixens is such a hard club to get an invite to, not to mention how elegantly dressed the people slowly filtering inside are.
I’m treading in water outside my means, but too stubborn to admit that out loud.
“Undo some of your buttons and give me your belt.”
As Vlad follows my lead, I remove my jeans and then tease out my hair. My makeup is already perfect from my day of glam, so all I need to do is get my outfit right.
“That’s good. You look hot.”
I backhand Vlad’s chest when his gaze lingers on my thighs longer than what could be classed as a friendly glance.
That is all we will ever be, and it won’t be a solid friendship like I have with Nikita. More one where I’ll wave hello when he passes by instead of acting like he doesn’t exist as I have for the past two years.
“Do I look okay?” Vlad scoffs. “I don’t know how a sex club has a dress code. It’s not like they stay on long after you enter.”
He screws up his nose when I say, “It’s a sex club, not an invitation to an all-out orgy.”
“A sex club with naked trapeze acts.” His wiggling brows are back. “Close enough.”
Needing space before my knee finds its way back to his crotch, I exit his car. Vlad bumps into the back of me just as I join the line. It moves fast, and within minutes we enter a space far more elaborate than my imagination could have ever conjured.
The aura of wealth is in abundance, and the scenes dotted through the oversized space are more erotic masterpieces than poorly scripted porn.
“Here.” Vlad hands me an all-black mask and a white tablet.
I place on the mask but “accidentally” drop the tablet before kicking it to the other side of the foyer. I don’t need a narcotic to keep my veins flooded with energy. They haven’t stopped strumming for weeks.
“You good?” Vlad checks.
I jerk up my chin before gesturing for him to lead the way. I’m not a forgive-and-forget person. It just seems the norm for the men to take the lead at this club. A woman on our right is walking a man through the crowd on a leash, and another directly in front is whipping a woman on a cross, but most of the scenes display that the ratio of doms to dommes is one to thirty, if not a little more.