Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Just why the hell did I have to collapse around this…this…fucking savage?
I flash him a condescending glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
One moment, he’s standing there, and the next, his fingers sink into the sides of my throat, immobilizing me as he growls against my skin, “Don’t fuck with me, Brandon. You and I both know you fell apart in my arms last night.”
“Nothing happened last night,” I say casually, keeping my eyes on his manic ones, and I almost believe my own words.
Almost.
“Lose the bimbo,” he threatens in hot, enraged words. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
11
NIKOLAI
So lotus flower didn’t lose the bimbo.
Sur-fucking-prise. Not.
It’s been a week since I gave him that ultimatum, but he’s not making any effort.
But then again, he’s a snob who likes to be in control. Bet he takes it with his afternoon tea instead of sugar. He does that with his friends. Afternoon tea.
Christ, he’s so very British.
My only option is to dismantle that control and shred it to pieces right in front of his mysterious eyes.
He obviously doesn’t like me anyway, so what’s the harm in making him hate me a bit more?
Anyway, Operation Eliminate Bimbo will soon take effect.
What I know about Clara is that she’s an attention whore since she likes to post all her pictures with lotus flower.
A gold digger. Since she’s all about the designer bags, shoes, and things he buys her.
Shit in bed—for obvious reasons.
I clearly brought him more pleasure than she ever has. He kissed me with his eyes closed.
In your fucking bimbo face.
I know because I made sure to watch him as I backed him against the wall and ate the shit out of his mouth. My Prince Charming melted, fucking melted even as he met me stroke for stroke.
He definitely was not fighting his goddamn demons like when he put on that show in front of me.
More importantly, he didn’t seem burdened. If anything, at times, he was a bit eager…as wound up as I was.
The nonnegotiable truth is that I can give him more than Clara ever will.
Yes, he’ll never admit it since he has a case of pathological denial and all that jazz, but I’m not leaving him alone until he does.
Love the way he hides and pretends he didn’t moan, groan, and get hard for me. And how he likes to forget that he came all over my hand and cock.
If Brandon is not gay, I’ll chuck myself down a fucking cliff.
Well, let’s also include bi, because…eh… I’m not in the mood to die before I get another taste of him.
Or a few.
Several is my preferred count.
Depends on how open he is to the prospect.
I’ve got to say, his case of denial runs pretty deep, and I’m not sure how to get him out of his own ass—something a lot more pleasurable needs to go there.
But I digress.
Seriously, Kolya. Thinking of fucking him won’t get you there faster. Let my brain solve this issue for once.
Short of getting him drunk again, I’m lost. I fucking love drunk Bran, by the way, would vote for him to be the official version in the next election.
I’m kidding. I’m never lost.
Sooner or later, I’ll wear him down.
I always do.
No one can resist my undivided attention and constant pushing and shoving and annoying the fucking bejesus out of them.
It never happens with fuck buddies, but then again, I don’t usually chase fuck buddies. To an extent, lotus flower is an exception in many ways.
He can surround himself with walls and I’ll demolish them one at a time.
Every day, I join him for that morning run, without his approval, of course, and bite down a chunk of his steel-like control and uptight, standoffish personality.
Whenever he starts getting agitated, I get closer and call him lotus flower, Prince Charming, my dude, and his personal favorite, baby.
That one usually drives him crazy and forces him to lose his temper. Other times, he opts to ignore me, but I revel in the flush that creeps up his fair complexion and tints his ears.
I revel in how he steps out of the mansion, watching his surroundings with a careful expression, waiting for me to jump out from whatever nook I’ve chosen that day.
My all-time favorite, hands down, is when he does a quick look at me, noticing my shorts for the day, my half-naked chest, and how I choose to tie my hair.
He pretends to be angry about my constant state of half nudity, his face caught in that eternal snobbish expression, but he notices things. He looks at me with those needy eyes that beg me to do bad things to him.
Lotus flower is such a cock-fucking-tease, but I’ll make him come around.
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
Am I too obsessed? I don’t think I am. This is pretty much a good amount, in my humble opinion.