Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Please,” is the only syllable that will come out of my mouth.
Baron roars and slams in deep. “Come, baby. Come for me now.” He licks the pad of his thumb and brings it between our bodies, rubbing my clit.
I go off like a geyser. My muscles spasm around the thick girth of his dick, milking it for every last drop of his cum. I cry out, still squeezing. My pelvis lifts. My feet stomp into the covers. My inner thighs tremor and quake.
“That’s it, baby.” Baron eases out when the last of my tremors goes quiet. “You’re so perfect.”
He flings the blankets back for us and settles behind me, wrapping one strong arm around my waist to pull me snugly against him. His big spoon into my little one. He kisses my head.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs again against my hair.
My eyes drift closed. I’ve never felt so satiated in my entire life. And it’s with the man I’ve sworn to hate.
Maybe my mom was right. Maybe good chemistry can really overcome a mountain of conflict.
The intimate connection forged through mind blowing sex becomes a bond. We haven’t worked out a single difference, and yet I feel safe. Held. Loved, even.
But that’s probably just the endorphins talking.
Chapter Thirteen
Lara
When I wake, Baron is gone. I remember him jerking awake in the night the way he does. I’d reached out and touched his chest, and he mumbled an apology. “The nightmares get to me sometimes.”
It dented the privileged bratva prince image I’d assigned him. Something has caused him trauma. The same thing that makes his eyes look haunted at times, I imagine.
I sit up to the sound of my alarm going off beside the bed. Baron must’ve gotten up and plugged my phone in sometime during the night.
He also left a cup of coffee beside the bed in one of those thermal cups that stay warm or cold for hours. I take a sip, and the creamy goodness hits me like a drug. It’s still hot. The milk tastes freshly steamed.
I groan in pleasure.
I remember moments in the night with Baron. His strong arms around me. Our legs tangling. My head on his shoulder.
It’s like my body needed the close physical contact–craved it–to make up for all fucked-upness of this situation. I drank in comfort through my skin and must have lowered my cortisol levels because I slept like the dead.
I swing my legs out of bed and head for the bathroom. I guess you could say our marriage was consummated. I’m definitely sore between my legs and even inside–like my cervix took a beating.
But it was incredible.
I turn around and look in the mirror to see if he left handprints on my ass. No, it all faded. I find myself strangely disappointed, like I wanted to see proof of what he did to me. My belly flutters when I remember the things he said.
I don’t want to have to take you to the dungeon.
This is how I’m going to need you every goddamn night–naked and beneath me.
I want to see the dungeon. Want to know what goes on down there. I want to experience everything that every other woman has felt at Baron’s hands.
A sense of possessiveness grips me like fingers closing around my heart. Benjamin Baranov is my husband. He won’t be giving his attention to any other woman.
I suppose this is exactly how he feels about me. Meeting Denis yesterday without telling him was asking for trouble. I told myself I was proving I wouldn’t be caged like a bird. That I may have married him, but I’m not his possession. But I definitely knew I was poking a bear. And when I got the results I expected, I felt guilty over involving Denis in my ill-thought-out games and lashed out again at Baron.
Now I know for certain that he follows a code. He won’t hurt me, not even when I act out. The spanking last night stung, but the flavor of the scene was sexual dominance, not torture. Not fear.
Phoenix’s story about Baron proves he operates by a code as well.
It comes as a huge relief and a bit of a turn-on to know that my husband is dangerous–lethal, even–but not to me.
My phone rings, and I check the screen and sigh. It’s Brash again. I guess I should take it or he’ll keep calling.
I accept the call. “Brash, you keep calling,” I say in Russian.
“Of course, I keep calling!” his voice explodes through the phone, filled with concern. “It sounds like you’re in trouble, Lara. Tell me what’s going on. I can help.”
My pulse picks up speed. It’s possible he could help. He is extravagantly rich. I know his father is part of the Russian oligarchy. That means he commands wealth and power. They might be able to keep me and my family safe from Ravil Baranov.