Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Have you eaten?” Ahmad scrutinizes my entire body before his eyes land on mine.
“Not yet.” But only because of my growing seed. I’m not quite stumbling into the darkness—almost—but not at the brink of hopelessness.
“Smile, Ms. Luxury.”
Silence.
Ahmad takes my arm and moves me around a few of the gilded statues. As if the palace isn’t filled with enough hidden alcoves, his steel-plated muscles shield me from view. His hand leans against one of the palm trees, the other against the wall creating a haven. “You’ve captivated Al Rafi.”
“Fuck your sheikh!” I pull down my face veil to show my lip. There’s momentary shock in Ahmad’s eyes. There’s no doubt this two-hundred-pound mass of steel has seen bruises and given his share of them. But he hadn’t expected this. I shove my hair to the side so he can see Al Rafi’s fat handprint against my neck too.
Ahmad takes a deep breath. “You are alive. Believe that the sheikh is controlling himself. He hasn’t had you—”
“In four days, he will.”
A warm hand brandishes over my cheek softly. “Give him a little feisty, not too much. You’ll have his favor.”
“How do you know?”
“When I was much younger, I sent women to places worse than death. To hell. To . . . Resnov Castles, Luxury.” Deep-seated guilt dips his tone. A beat passes, and Ahmad’s conquered the sins from which he cannot recover. “I’ve said it once. I’ll say it again. Look around you.”
“Because I’m in heaven.”
“You jest, but this is truly a woman’s paradise.”
My hand drops onto the back of his, removing it from my face. “I think you believe that. That this new gig of yours has tipped the scales, polished your karma.”
My words strum a dark chord. Ahmad has done terrible things. I assume these Resnov Castles are on some unholy grounds.
“You seek retribution. Help me,” I plea, trying hard to look around his large body as a servant passes by. “You care, Ahmad.”
I reminisce on all the times Victor claimed he cared for me while I was madly in love. I channel the past hurt into a desperate plea. “Please, please . . .”
“No.” Not a single shred of hesitation enters Ahmad’s swift tone.
And then he’s gone.
Just like Victor.
7
Luxury
Each night, I’ve cried myself to sleep and awakened the next morning with a splitting headache. Tonight, however, my subconscious has other ideas—treacherous intentions. My body slips into the state between lucidity and slumber where I recall our trip to the Mediterranean, which was just a few weeks ago. We’d just returned to Victor’s yacht from enjoying the evening in a quaint coastal town. And I was in trouble. How could I not be? Victor, the friggen tyrant.
Soothing, balmy hands worked over my freshly showered flesh. I groaned into soft linen as silky lavender lotion kneaded into my spine. Maybe Vic’s forgotten to punish me?
Shit, I’m a realist. But I’ll admit, his version of pain was my favorite. A slack grin played on my lips at the thought of how Victor carried me over the deck, into our room, and bathed me. The second we’d stepped foot on the vessel, his complaints ceased. He had been complaining because my mouth got the best of me at dinner, so I understood. But now, I was no longer in trouble.
In this restful state of awareness, I realize that I’m crying softly, imagining Victor here.
“Are you slumbering, Little One?” Victor’s deep, enticing tone spoke straight to my sex.
I bite my eyes shut, knowing that Victor’s not here.
I replied dreamily, “No, baby. This must be heaven. All I desire is . . . you.”
In a haze of pheromones, I slid my naked body around to lay on my side. One hip perfectly curved, my elbow propped against my face, and the grin cemented there diminished.
Victor hadn’t showered with me. I thought it was sexy.
Me naked, catered to.
Him in a tailored blazer, slacks caressing his muscular thighs and ass.
Victor had removed the jacket, though, and peeled up the sleeves of his linen shirt to reveal corded arms. Those muscular, cut forearms, which had squeezed the lives out of his enemies, viciously taunted me while Victor retrieved a paddle from the back of his pants.
When had he slipped that there?
All too quickly, I stood. My coiled hair fell over the freckles across my face. I pushed the unruly tresses away. “Maybe I didn’t follow the rules during dinner, Vic. But you’re not gonna spank me. I’m not a friggen baby.”
Victor stalked forward a few paces. God carved muscles and a snarl accentuated his smooth, stony facade.
He held out a closed fist. The other hand clutched tightly to the paddle.
“Ahh,” Victor began. “I distinctively recall how fearful you were the first time I reprimanded you. But I believe you’d prefer corporal punishment.” He fisted the handle. “Then this,” he added while gesturing to his fist.