Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” I don’t give a shit how he feels, but I’m curious as to why he is so badly marked only hours after hurting me.
Did Ghost do this in retaliation for him hurting me?
My stomach gurgles with worry instead of happiness when Kirill replies, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
The familiarity of his words startle me so much I end our conversation instead of pushing it. “Goodnight.”
“Before you go, I brought you something.” I hate that my first thought is to gleam with excitement. It is hard to learn that affection doesn’t come in the form of objects when you’re being starved of attention. “It is on the bed.”
I lick my suddenly parched lips before sidestepping Kirill and moving deeper into my room. A shiny box with a large pink bow sits near the folded blanket at the foot of the mattress. It looks expensive.
“Open it,” Kirill encourages when I hesitate.
Everything comes at a price.
Even my freedom.
“What is it for? It isn’t my birthday.” Is it?
I truly don’t know.
“No reason. I just saw it and thought you’d like it. Open it.” Don’t misconstrue his words. They were spoken with a vile, incensed tone. He’s angry about my line of questioning.
Not wanting to give him a reason to punish me, I undo the bow, then flip open the lid. My already queasy stomach doubles its churns when I spot the lace detailing on the nightie beneath the tissue paper. It is identical to the one Ghost gifted me on the ship.
I swallow down the lump in my throat before murmuring, “It is beautiful. Thank you.”
“Put it on.” His tone doesn’t leave room for leeway, much less how quickly he snatches up the delicate material and hands it to me.
It is virtually impossible to get dressed without exposing myself, but I do my best. I keep my back faced to him and slip the material over my head instead of stepping into it. This way, I only need to tug off my sleeping pants once the material is ready to float to my thighs.
“A perfect fit. You just need one last thing.” The acid of my empty stomach scorches the back of my throat when he pulls out a pair of modest panties from the bottom of the box. They’re stained with a similar white murky liquid that was in the vials he used to inseminate me and so damp, I’m confident the mess was only recently made, and more than one vial was used.
“I’m already wearing panties.” I loathe the weakness of my reply. I absolutely hate it.
Kirill angles his head and cocks a brow. “What was that?”
He silently dares me to repeat myself, to give him the opportunity to strike while the iron is hot.
Although I’ve felt sparks of myself regenerating over the past couple of months, I’m not brave enough to defy him when it is only me standing at the plate, swinging by myself.
“That’s what I thought you said,” Kirill mutters when I slip my hands under my nightie to remove my panties.
My chin quivers when I slide the soiled pair he hands me up my thighs. They’re saturated with cum, so soaked, goopy blobs drizzle down the smooth plains of my vagina.
I’ve continued my shaving routine for the past month. I have no idea why. I like how it makes me feel, but it was also my last-ditch effort of defiance. Ghost told me Kirill hates women with shaved vaginas, so I’ve shaved every day since.
“Perfect,” Kirill murmurs a painfully long thirty seconds later. “Now into bed.”
I want to run to the bathroom for a shower. However, I only promised Ghost tonight that I’d obey as I’ve been taught, so I dip my chin, then scuttle into bed.
My heart beats in my ears when Kirill tucks me in. It isn’t just his unusual show of chivalry that has my tongue thickening. It is the words he whispers, “Goodnight, Little Lamb.”
He doesn’t free me to stew over his use of Ghost’s nickname until I alleviate my breathing and gape my mouth. And even then, his exit appears to be done under protest.
43
KATIE
Pretty sure it’s not the ragu that made me sick. I’ve been throwing up every morning for the past month, and my clothes are becoming more fitted. My breasts feel heavy, and I’ve been sleeping like I didn’t get an ounce of sleep the past nine years.
In a way, I should consider myself lucky that I don’t have to pretend I’m pregnant anymore, but I’m also scared shitless. The gender of my child doesn’t matter when it comes to my fate.
I’m dead either way.
Most of my concerns center around what Ghost’s reaction will be. He left me in the care of my husband for the past two months, unaware that I’ve yet to have a period since the last real insemination. I’m petrified he will think I’ve done more than obey to get back into Kirill’s good books.