Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Standing, she walks across from me, sashaying her sexy hips from side to side. I can’t help it. I land my hand across her ass, the noise going off like a gunshot.
“Hey!” but the flush in her cheeks speaks more than her objection.
My phone rings with a call from Rafail. “Gonna fill him here on what we found, okay?”
Nodding, she bites her lip. “Please do.”
“And I’ll see what I can do about you meeting your mother.”
It’s funny how she can face the most dangerous mobsters in Europe, yet blanch at the thought of meeting her own mother. I lean in and give her hand a squeeze. “I promise,” I tell her, my voice low and warm. “You’ll like her.”
She blows out a shaky breath. “It’s not me liking her that I’m worried about.”
Chapter 19
ANISSA
I sleep in his bed that night.
And the next.
And the next.
Matvei’s hunger for me is endless, a craving that seems to border on madness. He doesn’t ask but takes, rolling over in the dead of night, his body heavy on mine, possessive, claiming. A hand on my hip, a rough, sleep-sexy murmur, and then he’s inside me, stretching me open, filling me like I was made for this.
I am.
I mold around him, slick and ready at a moment’s notice, like a fucking law of nature.
I love it. The way he touches me when the world is silent… when it’s just us. The way his cock slides in me, thick, deep, owning me. The way we move together.
He's insatiable, and I am not complaining.
He’s mentioned a baby, and if that is his plan, he wins a gold medal for effort.
We fuck in the shower, in bed, cowgirl style, missionary. I sit on his face. He goes down on me until I'm so wet, then glides into me with perfection. We fuck in every room in his house—the guest rooms, every shower, the dining room table, the kitchen.
He fucks me like I'm his full-time job, and the man is looking for overtime.
I've never been with anyone who could meet my needs the way he does. He takes immense pleasure in watching me come. I didn’t know giving a woman an orgasm could be a kink, but it is for him. The way his eyes light up when I moan, the way he groans every time I come, the way he won’t come when he’s inside me until I do.
We’re messy and loud and unabashed in our lovemaking, and every single time, I swear I let a little bit of my guard down.
But… my period is a few days late. And I know it's not for the reason he suspects or hopes for.
One night, we share a joint together. I sit in his lap, and he blows smoke in my mouth. I take the joint from his fingers and take a tentative hit. I love the way I get lightheaded, and the pressure on my chest loosens.
But that night, I fall asleep high. I dream. I dream so hard. I’m pinned down and screaming for mercy, but no one comes.
I wake up in a sweat.
I should know it was just a dream. I try to tell myself that it is, that I'm not awake, that I'm with Matvei now, not in my father's house, which isn’t even there anymore. But it's so vivid, so real. Especially the fear.
It claws at my chest like a parasite, as if trying to get out of my skin. It shakes me to my core. I can still see my abuser—his thick face and jowls, his oily hair and thick fingers. The way he glared at me when I wouldn't submit. I can still feel the pain.
The kicks to my rib cage. A kick to my stomach. The way he ordered his men to beat me and watched, the fucking bastard. The pain. The helplessness. The blood.
I roll over to find Matvei hard and ready for me. I don’t want to tell him no.
I want to forget. He slides into me mirthlessly, fucks me until I scream his name, and falls asleep, still inside me.
But I don’t forget.
I remember lying in my room, eating saltine crackers and hot tea, the only thing I could keep down in the aftermath of that brutal beating. My father, not to my surprise, took his friend's side.
"You should've gone with him," he said. "How could you do this to me?"
He looked at the broken, beaten body of his daughter and actually said to me, "You should've thanked me for this. He would've taken care of you.”
As if he knew anything about taking care of me.
"He won't take you now," he said, but he never mentioned what happened to me when he arranged my marriage to Rafail. I decided then that I would not be used as their property. I wouldn't be taken.