Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams once I’m back in control at work,” he rumbles, releasing my hand to palm my breast through my blouse and bra. His hand is wicked hot.
I attempt to focus but my bitch of a body is moving against his fingers, not comprehending the seriousness of this moment. “It’s not the wedding, Alexei,” I gasp, vulnerability weakening my voice. Not entirely the wedding, anyway. “Marriage is for real.”
“We’re for real.” He rips open my blouse and flicks the center clasp of my bra, which flings open. “Ride my fingers, Rosalie.”
I swallow, already doing just that. “No.”
His smile is quick. “All right.” He releases the button on his pants and unzips. “Take me out. Now.”
I obey before the neurons in my brain can fire reason through me, reaching for him with both hands and freeing him from the boxers. He’s thick and hard, pulsing against my hands. His fingers slide out of me, and he grips both of my hips, lowering me onto him. The fullness shocks me for a moment, and I grab his shoulders, feeling the bandage beneath one. “Sorry.”
“Never be sorry.” His gaze dropping, he releases my hips and scratches his nails down both of my breasts on either side of my nipples.
I gasp and rock against him. “I want love,” I whisper.
He jolts and then returns to torturing me, tweaking both nipples. “You can have all of me. I fully intend to have all of you.” Then he kisses me, somehow taking complete control even though I’m on top of him.
An objection starts somewhere in the back of my mind but then I’m kissing him back, pressing into his hands, lifting my hips and pushing back down on him. I widen my thighs to better balance myself on my knees. Sparks fly through me, and then I’m just feeling. Everything. His body, my need, a sense of safety I’ll never understand.
He might be a danger to me, but he won’t let anybody else get close. He growls into my mouth and sends vibrations down through my body to my clit. Then he manacles my hips, lifting me and slamming me back down, somehow hitting a spot inside me that has me seeing stars. After one brief pause, he does so again, controlling me with his strong hands.
Hard and fast, wild and intense, he hammers into me while lifting and yanking me onto him. I throw back my head and climb to that precarious ridge, holding my breath when I fall over. The orgasm blows through me, undulating my abdomen, sparking from my pussy to my breasts and back down. He groans and jerks several times inside me.
Finally, he lets me down, still inside me, his hands gentling.
I can’t breathe.
He gently leans me back and secures my bra over my tender breasts before smoothly buttoning up my blouse. Setting me aside, he secures his pants as I yank my skirt down almost to my knees. “Let’s get married, Peaflower. Time is short.” He opens the door and steps out, holding a hand out for me.
Mine trembles as I take his, moving into the warm June day.
Within ten minutes, I’m standing in a cheesy wedding chapel with no panties, feeling my thighs still damp from him. As if he knows it, Alexei gives me a wicked smile. My abdomen turns over. My lips are swollen from his kisses, and my head is spinning.
I can’t do this. Everything inside me hurts. Why? He’s using me. For sex, for my legal skills, to fit a mob-boss role. This is wrong.
The entire room smells like gardenias. Not the natural kind, but more like a chemical scent. The chapel is cozy with only two rows of vacant white benches and plain white walls with fake flowers decorating twin windowsills on either side of us.
Panic grabs me.
Garik stands behind Alexei, while some woman named Betty dressed in a flowered gown, her bright-red hair up in wild curls, stands behind me. She has to be about sixty and the red hair is a little much for her pale skin but does match her cracked lips.
A mirror is behind her. Round, smooth, and perfectly angled to catch our images. Alexei is so much bigger than I am.
The preacher opens a large burgundy colored book. He looks to be around fifty and weighs at least 400 pounds. The button collar of his shirt is choking him, and sweat rolls down the sides of his face. “I love a good romance,” he says.
Alexei takes my free hand since I hold a bouquet of fake red roses in my other hand. My knees wobble. This is not happening.
Tears gather in my eyes. Ice freezes in my throat. I yank my hand free. “No.” Turning, I run down the aisle toward the door.
I don’t make it.