Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
He leans forward, his presence suffocating, and brushes a strand of hair from my face, almost—almost—tenderly. "This is me being patient, little Anissa.” He shakes his head. “My little swan. I'm not threatening you. I'm giving you grace."
He leans forward, his breath warm against my skin. "Going forward, there will be no second chances. If you’d remembered your place, you’d already be over my knee.”
My pulse races.
"You’ll allow me to undress you, and that isn’t a question. You’re exhausted. Now come here."
My heart beats madly in my chest. I can’t blame the medication, not this time. Being in the presence of a man like him is terrifying. Exhilarating. It’s the top of a roller coaster before plummeting to near death. It’s staring at a deathly predator eyeball to eyeball. It’s the flicker of flame that could warm or cause utter destruction.
Of course I want someone to take care of me—I’m only human—but I want it to be someone I actually trust. This man is still a stranger.
"When you disagree with me, maybe you should pick your battles," he says, his voice low and firm. He told me he wouldn’t warn me again, and even though he’s a stranger, I’ve started to compile a small list of things I know about him.
Top of that list? He is a man of his word.
"I’m going to run you a bath. You have a waterproof cast. You can take a bath with the cast on, and I’ll even allow you to wash yourself."
I swallow hard. "Very generous of you."
“I take very good care of what’s mine.”
Definitely true. I look at the ancient, polished wood. The immaculate state of his bedroom. His clothes folded in the drawers, and the laundry basket flush against the wall. I note his siblings, who have been under his care since he was barely past childhood himself. He does take very good care of what belongs to him, and that includes me. I may not like it, I may fight it, but there’s no denying what’s happening here.
Without a word, he leans toward me. His fingers brush bare skin. My nipples pebble as more questions bloom.
He says we’ve been together before. Was he telling the truth?
In the fog of not having any memory, this feels like the first time he's ever touched me.
I close my eyes against the rush of feelings. My heart pounds in my chest as I feel his hands on my skin. He takes his time, lifting the tee off, his palms on my bare skin leaving heat in their wake. He gathers my silky hair, pale as corn silk, against his rough, dark skin. And when my top is completely off, he grazes my bare shoulder with the hint of a kiss. I shiver, and pressure builds between my legs. Every biological need in my body screams for more.
Just surrender.
Just accommodate his dominance and command and let him bathe me as I know he wants to.
It's tricky, taking off the shorts with the cast, but he does so slowly, deliberately, and when the palm of his hand brushes the curve of my ass, heat and pressure build between my legs. I want him to touch me. I want him to take control.
When I sit in front of him wearing nothing but a sports bra and clean black cotton panties, he whistles.
"Christ, you’re gorgeous."
Wait. Hasn’t he seen me naked before?
I look down at my body and swallow hard. “Um. Thanks?”
I can't help the way I shrink when he sits beside me and drags me onto his lap. "You fought me, but your body knows what it really wants, doesn’t it, little swan?"
My body thrums with a rush of heat fused with desire.
My god. My breath catches, and my heart stutters when he dips his head, warm breath pebbling my skin. He nuzzles the damp square of fabric between my legs, breathing in the scent at the top of my thighs. My body throbs with need, my senses electrified.
I tremble against the raw heat of his body, flush against mine. The way he inhales me, the way he stares at me as if I am the most beautiful woman in the world. He says we hated each other, but the way he touches me tells me otherwise.
His hands, still grazing my skin, brand me with the heat of his touch. My breath catches on instinct, betraying me. I can't resist him—I know I can't—this dominant stranger who calls himself my husband is the one in charge here, the one with power. I'm not even sure why I should resist him, as primal need surpasses logic.
And as my body hums with need, craving what I fear and what I want, any protestation I may have begins to dwindle. His eyes darken as he watches me, slowly anchoring his hands on my hips, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones, firm enough to brand them. His fingers feel like hot pokers as they trace across my skin. He holds me in place, his gaze on me ravenous. When he brushes the bare skin of my thighs, I flinch, my mind screaming at me to run, to pull away, even as my body arches into him.