Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Traveling the length of the hall, I throw in a petit jeté along the way. My ankle is weak, and even though the brace is gone, it still hurts to land on it. But I am feeling much more like myself again, if only for having the impediment gone.
Nikolai is absent from his office, so I use the opportunity to float around the hallway, tossing in small movements as I go. The shoes need work, but so do I. When I reach the end of the carpeted rug, it occurs to me that I’ve landed on the threshold of his bedroom. It should come as no surprise when I find him there watching me, but it does.
“You were supposed to go slow.” There is a hint of a smile on his face.
“I was just testing them. The shoes will need to be molded to my feet. I have no intention of going too fast.”
“I should hope not,” he says. “Another injury—”
“Thank you for the clothing,” I blurt.
His eyes move over the pink fabric before pausing to linger on my breasts. They have swollen over the past month, and I’m suddenly aware of the way they tug at my leotard. The house is always cold, and it’s always obvious. I should have worn a wrap, but I was so eager to test out my shoes that it didn’t occur to me until now.
“You forgot to remove the tag,” Nikolai informs me with a gruff voice. “Turn around, and I will do it.”
I obey, even though it would be easy enough to do it myself. A small part of me wants to feel his fingers against the fabric. To experience a man’s touch. It’s not something I thought I could ever want for, but sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to be touched by a man. As men go, Nikolai falls in the top percent of his red-blooded class. From his Herculean build to his wild hair and sharp cheekbones, he is a deity among the male species. A mortal casted in the image of a Greek god.
And that would make me his concubine.
The idea makes me shudder as his strong, calloused fingers skim the hem of the fabric against my shoulder blade before dipping to remove the tag. I don’t feel a tug, but there’s an audible snap. Aware that he is using a knife against the sensitive flesh of my back, I should be wary, but I find that I’m not.
The deed is done, but he’s in no hurry to tell me so. Goose bumps skitter over my arms when he sweeps my long hair over my shoulder and traces along one of the shoulder straps.
“You should not have come here like this.” His breath tickles the base of my neck, bathing me in warmth and cinnamon.
I can’t find my words. Not when he’s behind me, close enough to touch. Close enough that his body brushes against mine and his scent stirs between us. Traces of warm leather and cloves soak the air … and something else I can’t quite identify. Acrylic paint maybe?
His fingers graze the length of my arm, and it’s not an accident. It’s no accident when he draws me closer, molding me to his body. He buries his nose against my throat, inhaling me, and it opens a flood of warmth between my thighs. I sag into him, a drunken awareness hijacking my senses. I’m comatose, strung out in his arms, and for the first time in my life, I don’t care. I want more.
I want to live before I die.
He will be the one to lure me to my quietus. Lulling me to an eternal sleep with his languid kisses against the space where my blood runs warm. For now, I am a slave to his touch. A servant to his commands. Another doll for his collection. Pretty and untainted by anyone but him.
Rough fingers bunch the fabric against my stomach, and blinding electricity hammers my synapses. His gypsy hands roam free, squeezing the flesh of my hips and strumming the tender flesh of my ribcage. But the beast in me isn’t satisfied. She keeps screaming for more, and my captor is so willing to oblige. He takes possession of my swollen, heavy breasts by dipping his hand inside the fabric to scrape over my nipples. My chest arches, and I cry out as I’ve just been shocked back to life.
“Zvezda.” He kisses behind my ear. “You are so lovely. So soft and sweet and pure. I want to ruin you.”
His feverish cock looms ominously against my spine, a cautionary threat to his quietly spoken words. I want him to ruin me too. I want him to crucify me. And it makes me a liar because I’m the one who’s dirty and filthy and wrong. When his hand comes to rest between my thighs, the word is already on my lips. Poisonous and intoxicating, I want to tell him yes.