Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
My wife releases another snicker. “Exactly.”
“Are the so-called fair maiden and her husband in the audience to watch the show?”
“No,” Remy answers on another mischievous smile, “I sent fair maiden and her husband away to a ‘work event’ as to not draw unnecessary accusations regarding the pending situation their direction, as well as to retrieve a priceless piece of treasure that never belonged to her to begin with. One she won’t even admit to having because then she’d have to admit who it came from, which would naturally lead to her having to confess a lot more than she’ll ever want to.”
I’m glad that the poem will be back where it rightfully belongs.
She’d never disclose the information to anyone else, but part of me believes that that was what hurt her most of all.
The subtle piece of her mother being stolen.
“Beast want prize when win,” I smoothly interject, pulling Remy’s attention up to me. “Is…tradition.”
Hunger I haven’t had the chance to see all day is summoned to her glowing, hazel gaze. “Of course.”
“YA khochu, chtoby eto bylo snaruzhi, protiv doma.” Lowering my face until the heat of my words burns her red lips is slipped in between statements. “YA khochu etogo, poka moi ruki yeshche v krovi.”
My wife harshly chomps down on my bottom lip, forcing me to whimper rather than release her own. The literal bite of pain leaks the tiniest tang into my mouth, prompting me to growl.
Groan.
Casually adjust my white suit covered crotch as though my cock isn’t already swelling.
“Sex outside? Mundane. However, bloodplay?” Shay waggles her eyebrows. “Kinky.”
Once more, surprise settles into my expression. “You speak Russian?”
“Da.” Her grin grows devilish. “It’s vital to know safe words in every language I encounter.”
“How…” more bewilderment spreads around my glare, “Yavok…not know this?”
“Because the most important language to remember I speak is body language.” She shoots me a sassy wink and lifts her beverage to have another sip. “So, even if I didn’t speak your native tongue, beast, the off kilter breathing, hooded eyes, and bulge in your pants would indicate your conversation involved fucking.”
After the three of us share a warm laugh, my eyes fall back down to lock onto my wife’s. “I need to change.” A light stroke to her cheek is presented at the same time I lovingly smile. “Can’t fight for vaimoni in suit.”
She beams brighter in acknowledgment of what’s coming next. “Do you remember where we put them?”
“Never could forget.”
Remy tips her lips up to mine for what I’m sure she intends to be a brief kiss but is given more. Locking my gasp onto the nape of her neck, I forcefully capture her tongue. Deliver lash after lash after lash until she finds herself needing to grab a hold of my jacket for leverage. Her head attempts to pull back and retreat for air, yet I refuse. I want her panting and trembling and second guessing the idea of letting me go rather than dragging me into the nearest closet to finish what we’ve started. The tips of her fingers smoothly slip into the inside of my suit and glide over towards my nipple. Before I have the chance to move her hand, she pinches. Pulls. Syncs the tugs to the same thrashes she’s been forced to endure. Pressure from my tongue increases instantly pushing her to mimic the strength and reiterate that she won’t be outdone in front of those watching by rolling her thumb around the hard point in agonizing circles.
Dropping my mouth from hers is done on an abrupt curse in Russian, the only language I’ve been granted permission to use in mixed company.
She offers me one final carnal smirk while wiping away her lipstick. “Be quick.”
With her waiting to fuck me, I could never be anything else.
Transitioning from my formal Syn night wear to the little white shorts I used to shed so much blood in doesn’t take long. Lavoie does his job primarily in silence only requesting more information about where he should place himself during the execution.
And this is an execution.
A very public, haranguing in the town square to remind the world watching why you don’t steal from my wife.
The organization.
Upon entering the edge of The Diamond, I do something else I haven’t done in a very long time. I glance up at those above that are shouting in favor of Piraíba, the Brazilian fighter I most recently purchased. Their vulgarness and carelessness are exponentially amplified by the drinks they negligently pour on the two men currently engaged in a life-or-death leg lock. For the two warriors in front of me who have smeared one another’s blood across the ring in hopes of living long enough to experience true freedom again, this is not entertainment. This is the only opportunity they have to continue on. To survive. And the reason they are working as hard as they are, is that hope that they too can one day escape the latest prison they’ve been put in. And while they have better food here, better quality care, better lodging, as well as access to certain privileges – particularly sexual – they’re still trapped. Granted only the freedom someone else deems them worthy of and when.