Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Yeah, nice try, guys.
I am a little high, though—okay, more than a little—so I let myself get dragged into the throng of gyrating bodies. With my mind all hazy, the beat of the music feels seductive, the pulsing tempo reminding me of the sensations I feel when I wake up from one of those nightmares about Alexei and press my hand to the empty ache between my legs. If I press hard enough and rub for a while, the sensations grow and crest until they’re too sweet, too sharp. That’s when I back off.
I back off because as I approach that peak, I see his face and I forget why belonging to him would be a terrible idea.
The music changes, a new song coming on. It’s one of my favorites. I close my eyes, letting the autotuned words wash over me as the familiar beat guides the movements of my body. Somebody starts grinding up on me from behind, their hands skimming over my bare arms before clasping my hips to pull my ass against a growing male bulge. A guy then. I can feel his warmth. He’s breathing hard, sweating, but for once, I’m not repelled. I’m floating in the haze veiling my mind, letting the hypnotic beat sweep me away.
“Yeah, go, Alina!” Risha’s excited voice reaches me over the music, and I laugh, suddenly giddy. Why haven’t I done this before? Why have I shut myself away to live like a nun, all because of some ridiculous, unenforceable piece of paper?
I’m not betrothed.
I refuse to be.
“Shake it, girl,” Giles shouts, and I do. It’s like something has broken loose inside me. I have no idea who’s grinding up on me, but I don’t care. It’s not about some boy. It’s about me. Swaying my hips to the music, I open my eyes, and the multicolored strobe lights overhead mix with the fog from the machines, adding to the surreal feeling engulfing me. I’m no longer myself. I’m someone else, someone I don’t recognize. Someone wild and free.
The guy behind me grinds up on me harder. He grows bolder, moving his hands from my hips to my ribs and then higher, higher… “Fuck!” he exclaims, stiffening suddenly, and to my dismay, I recognize Josh’s voice. Before I can react, I’m spun around and dragged off the dance floor by a strong hand wrapped around my upper arm.
I’m so stunned and disoriented that I don’t struggle at first. And by the time I do, I’m already in a dark corner of the gym away from the crowds, shielded from view by a stack of bleachers covered by decorative banners. A tall, broad figure in a tuxedo looms over me.
“What—” I begin, blinking, only to freeze in shock as I recognize the dark eyes and the hard features of the man in front of me.
Alexei Leonov.
My intended.
And he is furious.
His voice is a low, dark snarl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” I struggle to wrangle my disjointed thoughts into some semblance of coherence. Is this for real, or have I smoked way too much? There’s no way Alexei is here, at my high school prom. In New Hampshire.
He lets go of my arm and grips my jaw in one big hand to turn my face one way, then the other, peering into my eyes intently the whole time. “You’re fucking high.” He sounds both disgusted and disbelieving.
“Um, yeah.” Wait, should I have denied it? Fuck. This is real. But how? Why? What is he doing here? It occurs to me that I should probably ask that last bit out loud. “What are you doing here?”
There. I sound almost normal. Except I’m not. I’m high as fuck, and nothing about this situation is normal. I was dancing with Josh—yuck—and then… Oh, shit. The adrenaline clears away some of the fog in my brain, and horror floods in as Alexei tightens his grip on my jaw, squeezing my cheeks into a pout, and bends his head over me, his eyes burning like live coals.
“You do not fucking dance with other men.” Each word falls on my ears like an executioner’s axe. “You do not look at them—and you do not, under any fucking circumstances, let them touch you. Contractually and in every other way, you are mine. Understand?”
I’m so stunned I can only blink in answer. It must not be enough because he brings his face closer, until our noses are barely three inches apart. His nostrils flare dangerously. “Say you fucking understand.”
With the way he’s holding my jaw, I can’t say anything, so I just make an “uh-huh” noise in the back of my throat. I can feel the repressed violence within him, the fury that’s on the verge of boiling over, and my heartbeat skyrockets, clearing more of the haze in my brain.