Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
He carried me effortlessly into the dining area, settling me onto his lap at the large, elegant table.
A lavish feast stretched across the polished surface—decadent dishes, some familiar and others… less so. There were a few bottles of wine with pretty labels that looked expensive. It was an overwhelming display of indulgence.
Despite not having eaten properly in days, nausea threatened.
The sight of so much food should have made my mouth water, should have had me starving.
Instead, my stomach churned.
There were so many chairs around this table. It could easily fit ten to twelve people. Why did he have me on his lap? Why wasn't I allowed to put on clothes? What was he going to do with me?
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I ate before you kidnapped me from the club."
My stomach betrayed my words with a low, angry growl.
Pavel smirked. "When was the last time you actually ate?"
I eyed the food warily, knowing full well I had no intention of eating.
"I had an apple," I muttered absentmindedly.
His smirk vanished, replaced with a cold, hard line.
"An apple?" He grasped my jaw, his grip firm but not cruel, forcing me to meet his gaze. "That's it?"
I blinked. "More like half an apple, kind of."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "That's not good. You need to eat."
My lips parted, a sharp retort slipping out before I could stop it. "Sorry, I guess being kidnapped and assaulted messed with my eating plans today."
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
The words hung between us like a loaded weapon.
Pavel's fingers tightened just a fraction before he slowly reached for a piece of buttered black bread.
"Careful, babygirl," he murmured. "I may not let the next outburst slide. Do not let those pretty lips get away from you, unless you want another punishment. Is your ass already missing the sting of my belt?"
I stiffened, clamping my lips shut and staring at the wood grain on the tabletop. I meant to stay quiet, I really did. Apparently, the brutality I had suffered, the endless orgasms and being tied to a bed for who knew how long, made me a little more hangry than usual.
I scowled, my lower lip pushing out in a slight pout.
Pavel chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. It should've been reassuring, but it wasn't.
His laugh was laced with something dark.
Amusement.
He was laughing at me. His amusement was at my expense.
My shoulders tensed, my body reacting with pure survival instinct. I wanted to get off his lap, to walk away from him, or turn and tell him how I didn't enjoy being the butt of his jokes.
There were enough vile men in my life who laughed at me, belittled me. I didn't want another. Not that he was giving me a choice in the matter.
He must have noticed, because the laughter stopped just as suddenly as it started.
His expression turned unreadable.
The mood in the room shifted once more.
Back to a thick tension, while I waited for the next shoe to drop.
Without warning, he sighed, standing abruptly.
He set me aside on my own wooden chair. I was grateful until I shifted, and the hard, cold wood pushed the plug even deeper into my abused behind.
He brushed off imaginary dust from his expensive slacks before turning his back on me.
"Stay here. Be a good girl and don't move." His voice lowered. "Or you'll regret it."
My heart pounded, but I didn't dare challenge him.
Not yet.
There was no actual way for me to escape. I wasn't just going to run out of the room naked with this thing sticking out of me. I needed to bide my time. Make a plan, then escape when the time was right.
The easiest way to make him loosen the reins was to make him think he had already won.
So for now, I would take this disrespect and swallow the humiliation that left me cold.
Pavel disappeared into the bedroom, only to return moments later with a charcoal-gray, cable-knit sweater draped over his arm. He held it out expectantly. "Arms up."
I hesitated, staring at him. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. Right?
When I didn't comply fast enough, he rolled his eyes and simply pulled it over my head himself, the thick fabric settling warmly over my shoulders. For the first time in hours, I exhaled a shaky breath of relief.
It smelled like him—clean, woodsy, expensive. It shouldn't have comforted me. I should have felt stifled, trapped. Instead, I felt warm, protected, and almost cozy.
The contradiction disturbed me more than I wanted to admit.
He wasted no time pulling me back onto his lap.
Again.
This time, he held up a delicate blini topped with caviar.
"Eat."
I wrinkled my nose at the pungent, fishy smell. "No, thank you."
Pavel's grip tightened on my waist. "Eat."
"But I don't like caviar."
His brows lifted. "Have you ever had it?"
It's fish eggs. Who could possibly like it?