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)
Matvei comes back to me. He has that look that I've come to crave.
Possessive. Haunted.
"Come here," he says, crooking a finger at me.
He sits in the overstuffed chair and spreads his knees wide. Jesus, he's so fucking sexy. There's a glint in his eyes. It smells like trouble, and it makes my heart sing.
This room is all dark wood, gleaming hardwood, laced with the smell of old books. They're stacked on tables and shelves. The furniture is minimalist, leather. It's like an old-fashioned study, and it surprises me that this is Matvei’s.
Matvei sprawls on the leather chair, his knees apart, resting on his forearms. He has on a T-shirt that he wears to bed, the fabric stretched thin across the large expanse of his chest.
He snaps his fingers and points to the floor. His eyes go dark when I don’t come to him right away. “So that’s how we’re playing this?”
My heart thumps in my chest when his voice drops to a low register.
"Crawl to me."
I’m instantly wet.
"Take off your shirt," I counter. I want to see his tattoos, his scars. Everything.
"This isn't a negotiation," he says, but his eyes twinkle with something like mischief.
His voice drops to a lower register, and I want this. I want this so fucking bad.
When he hurts me, when he stares at me, when he touches me, when he makes me come—he makes me feel wanted in the best possible ways, and everything else fades to vapor.
"Are you testing me? You do not want to test me.”
Oh, but I do. I so fucking do.
"I'm not gonna warn you again."
Excitement bubbles in my chest. I throw him a look of challenge.
"Yeah? Fucking make me."
With slow deliberation, his hands go to his waist, his eyes meeting mine.
At the sound of his belt unbuckling, my stomach clenches. My mouth is dry, and a quick panic sets in.
Did I push too far?
He's a dangerous man.
He's my dangerous man.
"I warned you," he says.
At the same time, he stands and pulls the leather belt out in one swift move, folding it so the buckle rests in his palm, forming a loop.
I look around the room because now seems like a really good time to run.
But it’s small in here. Kind of cramped. And even if I did…
I turn.
Too late.
I scream out loud when his hand grabs the back of my head, yanking my hair so hard it hurts. My pulse spikes. My clit throbs.
He pulls me forward and bends me over his desk.
Books fall. Pencils clatter. Trinkets click to the floor.
My hands scramble to find purchase on the gleaming top of the desk, and it reminds me of that first night at the bar.
Only this time, he has a belt.
No pool stick.
Lucky me.
He shoves my face down on the desk, and with the same hand holding the belt, he strips me, the leather teasing my naked skin.
He has an easy job of it with my loose leggings.
"Don’t—"
The leather cracks across my ass—hard—taking my breath away, but not so hard that I don’t know he’s modulating himself.
A man like him could do serious damage taking his belt to me, and the fact that he knows this and is so damn careful with me makes my pulse race with excitement.
I try to push against him. I writhe. But he holds me down so easily.
I love the feeling of being overpowered.
The way he presses his hand to the back of my neck. The way his other hand lifts the belt back.
"What do you need, little witch?" he says in a low drawl before snapping the belt across my ass again.
And again.
The next time, the leather hits the crease of my thighs, and it feels like fucking fire.
I howl. Squirm. Writhe. But it doesn’t matter.
He just holds me down and strikes me again.
"I asked you a question," he growls.
My eyes fly open and land on a quote pinned to his wall.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there—”
He chuckles, shaking his head, and finishes the line for me in his deep voice, “Wondering, fearing…”
The next lash strikes harder. I clench my teeth.
I'm leaning into this now, relishing the stripe of leather against my skin.
The pain that blooms into heat.
The arousal between my legs.
My racing heartbeat.
The feeling of being overpowered. Dominated.
Free.
My mind is a blank slate as it continues, his mouth in my ear.
"Cast your spell, little witch. Cast your fucking spell. You know I love it. You know I'm here for it. Spread those fucking legs and cast your spell on me."
The belt drops to the floor, and his hand comes to my ass, scouring, massaging the skin, and I love this. I love it so much, his rough palm and the erotic pain.
His fingers are at my pussy, sliding through my wet heat, in and out, just like that time at the bar, and I want more.