Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“You would.”
“Because you like my face.”
“I like not to have to set eyes on your face, but lately, that seems impossible.”
“You don’t mean that, milaya.”
“Don’t I?”
“I think I’ve made myself clear,” he murmurs, his tone turning serious. “I want to be with you.”
“So you’re hanging around so much to remind me of that?”
He pulls on my wrist, and I swing around to face him. “I will do what it takes. Or you can just tell me what I have to do to make you believe me.”
“I don’t…”
“Just think of the possibilities.” He lifts my hand to cradle my cheek, and I can’t help it. I’m thinking of it—immediately and exquisitely so. How the bristles would tickle my cheek. The brush of it would tantalize the skin of my inner thighs. Maybe this is my way of ignoring the intent he’d sought to soften. Or maybe Niko Vanyin just makes me hot. Either way, I take care to make sure my response doesn’t reflect those thoughts.
“If that’s why you’re here, you’ve wasted your journey.” But if he’s going back to London, then maybe—
“It’s never a wasted journey if there’s the smallest chance you might ride the face that you like so much.”
“Van!” My response is part chastisement, part gasp, and all internal pulsing. “You can’t say things like that. Not here.”
“Fine. I’d journey to the ends of the earth just to set my eyes on you.”
I swallow, unable to answer. He has as much talent for sweetness as for filth.
“I’m only sorry we interrupted you ladies out on the terrace. I would’ve liked to have heard the rest of the alphabet.”
A weight sinks between my legs. By contrast, my voice sounds like I’ve been huffing helium. “What?”
“I would’ve liked to have heard your alphabet.”
“I don’t have one,” I return with asperity. Turning away, I set off at a brisk pace. In only a step or two, he’s next to me. The tiger keeping pace with the hare.
“Don’t you?” he purrs, amused.
“No.” I make the mistake of glancing his way, and the look he sends me is part taunt, part incitement. “I’m not made that way.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“I don’t need to tell myself anything because I know.”
“We all have our preferences, kinky or not. My darling Peanut, your alphabet most certainly begins with aural. With an A or an O because you’re a big fan of both.”
“Really, Van,” I huff.
His feet scuff against the flagstones as he pivots and steps in front of me. His large hands fold over my shoulders, forcing me to stop. “Then B for bondage, the light form, of course. And also for breath play.” He inhales deeply, almost as though he can sense how instantly wet I am. At his low-spoken words, the suggestion in them, memories are brought to life like a flickering flame. One hand drifts, the backs of his fingers stroking down my neck. “When you swallow beneath my hand, a ripple of excitement works its way through your body from the neck down.” His touch causes those exact sensations in me.
“You make me sound like a deviant.” I swallow, my denial not nearly as strong as it should be.
“Impact play,” he murmurs next, ignoring me. “We both know how you like to be manhandled.” One hand on my shoulder, the other folds around my hip as he backs me into the stone wall.
“Niko, please. Not here.”
“Then where, milaya? I’m tired of these snatched moments when no one is looking. I want to be with you, want you on my arm for the whole world to see.”
“I can’t. I have the—”
“The boys,” he finishes for me. “I understand. You know I’m a patient man. I can wait. We can do this properly. Get them used to the idea of us together, along with everyone else.”
“Van, there is no us. There can’t ever be an us.”
“Why?” he demands, stepping so close that his face is made of nothing but shadow and the angry icebergs of his eyes. “Give me one good reason.”
“Because I can’t go through it again. I just can’t.” I turn my head, my gaze following the direction of my family, unease swirling in my stomach. I want to be there, up ahead, in the bosom of my family, not here having this conversation. I can’t be with Niko, not right now, here in the hallway, not when I long for him to push me up against the wall, to make me think of nothing but what he’ll take and what I’ll give. Make me ignore the precariously spinning plates above my head. But I also can’t be with him in any real sense. We aren’t made for real relationships. For the humdrum and lack of drama, school drop-off, dog walks, man flu, period pain, and complaining about hair in the shower drain.