Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
The Molotovs might not be mafia in the formal sense of the word, but in some ways, they’re even more dangerous.
“Is that why you brought Slava here? Because Russia is such a lawless place?” I ask, unable to help myself. This is another mystery that’s been gnawing at me, and though I intended to keep this interrogation focused on his father, I can’t pass up a chance to get some answers on this front.
After what he’s just told me about his home, I can’t blame him for wanting to raise his son as far away from Russia as possible.
“No, zaychik.” His beautiful mouth takes on the cynical curve it wears so often. “I’m not that good of a father, I’m afraid.”
“So why are you here? You promised you’d tell me.” Actually, he promised no such thing. All he said on the videocall where I’d questioned him about this was that it was a long story.
He must remember that too because his eyes gleam with amusement. “Nice try.” He glances at the now mostly empty tray. “Are you full, or would you like anything else?”
I’m so full my stomach is on the verge of exploding, but I don’t want him to go yet. Not when we’re just getting to the things I’m dying to know about. “I’d love some fruit,” I say hopefully. “Maybe some berries if you have them? And coffee. I’d love some coffee.”
He looks even more amused but rises to his feet without arguing. “All right. I’ll be right back.”
Dropping a kiss on my forehead, he picks up the tray and walks out.
11
Nikolai
I’m still smiling when I step into the kitchen. My zaychik is so wonderfully transparent in her attempts at manipulation. You promised me. It was all I could do not to grab and kiss her on the spot—especially since as she said it, she pushed out her bottom lip in a small pout, like a wheedling child.
I love that she’s less afraid of me now, that instead of horror, there’s curiosity in her pretty brown eyes. I’ve been doing my best to keep the beast inside me leashed in her presence, to make her feel comfortable and secure, and it looks like I’m succeeding—which makes all the restraint worth it. So what if my hands all but shake with the need to touch her, to press her to me tightly as I drive myself deep into her slick, warm body?
I can be patient.
I can be gentle.
I can care for her like a fucking eunuch if that’s what it takes to wipe the memory of my sister’s tale from her mind.
Not that it’s likely to happen. I know where Chloe was leading with all her questions. She wants to know the full story, and I can’t blame her. The coffee, the berries—that’s just a pretext. What she wants is more time with me, more time to probe, and I have to decide how much of the truth I’m willing to give her, if any.
“How is she?” Lyudmila asks as I place the tray on the counter, and I fill her in on Chloe’s condition—namely, that she’s doing better. I changed her bandages this morning, and the wound looked like it was healing nicely. I also surreptitiously counted the pills on her nightstand, and it seems she’s only taken a couple so far—another good sign.
Rationally, I know Chloe isn’t likely to spiral into addiction from a few painkillers, but after witnessing Alina’s struggles, I can’t help but worry.
“It’s good that she has such an appetite,” Lyudmila says after I convey Chloe’s requests to her. “Better if she were to drink tea, though.”
“Agreed. But let’s give her the coffee she wants.”
Lyudmila grunts in agreement and prepares a tray of artfully arranged strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries, along with a cup of steaming-hot coffee. I thank her and hurry back upstairs, where my zaychik is waiting.
I’ve decided there is a question of hers I can answer today, a portion of the truth I can give her.
Her eyes are brightly inquisitive as I walk into her room and take my seat on the edge of the bed, placing the tray on its spot on the nightstand.
“So,” she begins, “about the—
“Open,” I order softly, picking up a strawberry by its stem, and when her plump lips part obediently, I push the juicy berry in and watch her white teeth sink into its flesh—the way I want to sink my teeth into hers.
The jolt of lust is so sudden, so strong, I have to tense every muscle in my body to prevent myself from acting on the urge. There’s something almost cannibalistic in the way I want her, the way my mouth waters at the thought of tasting her smooth, bronzed skin and licking the droplets of sweat off her naked body after I fuck her to exhaustion once again. I remember how her nipples felt on my tongue, the salt-and-berry essence of her, and the control I was just priding myself on suddenly feels as thin and frayed as an ancient rope.