Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Am I wrong?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
Encouraged, I continue. “You are courageous and determined. Action-oriented with little fear of the aftermath. You are a natural-born leader. Assertive. Resilient. Protective and likely resourceful as well.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t respond. I take a bold step and brush the pad of my thumb across his full lower lip, my voice a whisper now. “You struggle with vulnerability. You can be aggressive and impatient, and I’d hazard a guess you’re total sh—absolutely terrible at obeying those in authority over you.”
He grunts. “Very good censoring your language.”
I shrug. My stomach gives an audible growl.
“You need food, Aria.”
I do need food, but I like sitting here with him. It’s quiet and intimate, a magical time when no one can interrupt us or remind us why we should hate each other.
“Mhm.”
Another growl. Do tigers growl?
“Is there something you’d like in particular?”
I laugh. “It’s like three o’clock in the morning, nothing’s open.”
With a shrug, he shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter.”
Wow. The power he yields. I’m sure he has his grip on much more powerful things like politics, economics, corporations, or the media, but the fact that he could wake up the local owner of a pizza parlor to make me a pepperoni pizza in the wee hours of the morning is a bit impressive.
“Something simple might be nice?”
“Simple we can do.”
He lifts me off his lap and stands me in front of him.
“The only problem is, I don’t know exactly where your kitchen is.”
Quirking a brow, he gives me a piercing look. “I don’t recall telling you you’d join me. While I’m gone, I’d like you sitting cross-legged on this bench with your hands resting on your thighs. Wait for me in that position.”
I frown. “What if I have to use the bathroom?”
“Do you have to use the bathroom?”
“Well, no, but I might have to.”
“I won’t be long.”
“What if there’s an emergency?”
“There won’t be an emergency but if there is one, you’ll call out to me.”
Huh.
I sit obediently with my legs crossed and my palms on my thighs as instructed. “And if I don’t?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Aria
“You know the answer to that question, little hacker. And if you don’t, why don’t you try me.”
I watch him walk toward a doorway in the corner of the room. So that’s how you get to the kitchen from this room, whatever it is. Interesting.
While he’s gone, I do what he says. Why do I push himmmmm?
I’ve been like this as long as I can remember, with the strange need to push my boundaries, challenge authority, question the status quo. Why do twelve-year-olds go to seventh grade? What if they’re ready for ninth? Who decided there was a hierarchy to things like governments and churches anyway, and why do dumbass people who don’t deserve power have it? Who decided traditional gender roles dictate how people dress, what jobs they perform, and what’s expected of them?
But while I sit on the piano bench, my legs crossed and my palms on my legs as he told me, I find it’s nice to quiet the incessant questioning for a little while. My body begins to still, and my breathing slows. I listen for sounds of him getting food or whatever he’s doing, but it’s silent in here.
Play the piano.
I want to lean over and play it. I want to feel my fingers stroke against the keys. I’m curious if I remember how.
I turn and stare at it and consider my options. If I disobey him, he’ll punish me. And while punishment might lead to something deep and dark and deliciously sexy…getting there won’t be.
I don’t ever sit still. This is a challenge for me.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, allowing the air to fill my diaphragm. I do a quick mental assessment of my body. As usual in Mikhail’s stubbornly sexy presence, I’m definitely aroused. Sitting here naked enhances that. There’s something wanton and risqué about it. I swallow and try to focus myself.
Breathe.
Breathe.
A wave of hunger hits me, followed by a wave of nausea. I’m starving and need food now.
I focus on using all of my senses. The feel of the leather seat, warmed from Mikhail, against my naked legs. The scent of Mikhail that lingers in the air, the faintest whiff of pine. The smell of toast and something savory, making my mouth water.
The sound of a door opening and closing. I open my eyes and Mikhail walks in with a wooden tray of food.
“Ah. Very good, little hacker. You’ve earned your dinner.”
In the dark, I can’t tell if he’s teasing or not. Would he really deny me food? A spanking would be mild in comparison.
He walks with such elegant grace and strength, I sit and watch him, half-struck with admiration. Wordlessly, he walks toward me with the food.
“You may get up and come sit on the sofa,” he says with a nod toward it. “Join me here, please.”