Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“No.” And even as my cheeks started to redden again, I knew I owed it to him to be just as truthful, and so I said awkwardly, “Even though you’re right, and I...” I stopped, embarrassment getting the better of me. Clearing my throat, I finished gruffly, “Well, you know, even if I feel the, err, same way, I just can’t let it happen—-” I snapped my fingers. “Just like that.”
The billionaire only had two words to say. “Why not?”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You know why!”
“No. I don’t.” His gaze narrowed at me. “Unless you’re the type to care too much about what people say.”
“Of course not!” I think.
“Then I don’t see why I can’t fuck you when it’s what we both want—-”
“Because it’s not done that way,” I burst out. Jumping to my feet, I switch the lights in the room on, thinking I needed a little brightness to help clear my mind. But when the room was ablaze with light, I realized I was wrong.
It just made the billionaire easier to see, just made the billionaire look even more heartbreakingly handsome than he had been in the darkness.
Shit.
His gaze captured mine, and my heart turned into a chest-smashing monster again. Bam, bam, bam it went against the wall of my body, excitement making it want to leap out in the air.
“You’re staring at me,” the billionaire murmured.
I stammered, “N-no, I’m not.” But I was, I totally was, and I couldn’t stop myself. Sergei Grachyov was just looking hotter by the second, and—-
He! Wanted! Me!
Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?
“You can do more than stare, you know,” he purred.
My toes curled hard.
“And I want you to do more than stare.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“The same way I want to do more than stare at your body. I want to touch you, pchelka. I want to fuck you—-”
Oh God. I wrapped my arms over my body tightly. “You can’t.”
“Why?”
“I already told you.” Frustration lined my voice, but even I knew I was no longer frustrated with him. I was frustrated with myself.
Sexually frustrated.
Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?
“And I also told you, I don’t know how this works.” Unlike me, the billionaire’s tone was calm, his words succinct. “So why don’t you just spell it out? Tell me exactly what I need to do so I can fuck you.”
He was so blunt, I thought helplessly. He wasn’t even bothering to lie, wasn’t bothering to pretend that emotions had anything to do with this.
And yet—-
Instead of turning me off, it made me want him more.
“I need to know you first,” I heard myself say.
“But you already Googled me. Does it really make a difference, hearing me say the same damn things you’ve read on the Internet?”
“Yes.” No. Yes. I was aching so badly I no longer knew what was right.
“Fine then. My name is Sergei Grachyov and I’m half Russian.” His gaze narrowed once more on me. “And you’re Fredericka Spears, an attorney—-”
“How do you know that?” I gasped.
“LinkedIn,” he answered in a tone that suggested I shouldn’t even have to ask such a question. “I looked you up while you were making coffee.”
Oh.
“Do we know enough of each other now to get naked?”
In spite of everything, I couldn’t help laughing.
“That’s a no then?”
“I’m a-afraid so.” But my voice was weak, and the way his lips curved in a smirk told me that he knew he was close to making me forget my morals.
Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?
“What else do you want to know?” he asked.
“I guess...how old are you?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if he was the kind of person who liked to think he’d be young forever.
“Sergei?”
“What does age have to do with me fucking you?” the billionaire asked.
Blinking at his evasive answer, I countered, “Why don’t you just tell me how old you are?”
“Because it’s immaterial.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me.”
Slowly and reluctantly, the billionaire said, “I’m twenty-three.”
And that was when the penny dropped.
Chapter Three
Sergei and Fredericka
Sergei waited in the bedroom for several minutes, allowing Fredericka some time and space. She obviously needed it, with the way she had whitened upon learning his age and the way she had walked out of the room like a zombie.
When he finally joined her outside, it was to see her making herself a second cup of coffee, her movements lethargic.
He took the seat next to Fredericka again, waiting for her to speak, but she only continued sipping her coffee, her gaze blank.
Sergei bit back a hiss of impatience. Why the hell was she making such a big deal over their age gap? It was a measly six years, and it wasn’t like he was underage.
When Fredericka finally looked at him, Sergei thought, Finally. She had finally gotten her senses back—-