Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Don’t finish that stupid sentence, Dad. Just get me the soldiers and guns.”
I storm out of the room, heart pounding in my chest.
That went better than I thought. I’m grinning, exultant as I head back downstairs. I’m not sure it’ll work, but I feel like I’ve grown ten inches in ten minutes.
Evan’s waiting for me in the foyer. He looks serious, his face hard, as he pulls me into a rough hug. “I heard some of that,” he says gruffly.
“Yeah? And what do you think?”
“If Dad doesn’t come through, I will.”
“Evan, come on—”
“I know men, little sister. Dad’s not the only one with a voice in the Bratva these days. You’ll get what you need.”
I smile, excitement running through my core. “Thank you.”
“Anything for family.” He gives me another hug. “Now, your husband’s waiting.”
I leave my old house. As I head down the stoop, I’m fairly sure it’s for the very last time.
I don’t plan on ever coming back here.
“How did it go?” Tigran asks. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
“I stood up to him,” I say as all my rage slowly melts away and I fade back into myself. Just regular old Dasha. Except a little flame’s still burning away, and the last of my old armor has turned to ashes.
Leaving only me and nothing else to hide behind.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, kissing my ear.
“How fast do you think Alexan can drive?”
“Not fast enough.”
I heft my bag on my shoulder. “Should we get a hotel?”
“I’m going to leave you a moaning, sweating, incoherent mess,” he whispers, squeezing my hand tightly.
“You’d better.”
Chapter 33
Dasha
Tigran snaps the handcuff closed as he brushes his lips against my throat. “Too tight?” he whispers softly, one hand patting my ass.
“Maybe a little,” I complain.
“Too fucking bad.” He spanks me roughly, ruthlessly. Which makes me moan and grin, since that’s what I was going for.
It’s been a week since my visit back home.
In that time, I left my suite every day, cooked dinner for my ravenous husband every evening, went to the grocery store once surrounded by half a dozen scary men who would gladly die for me, and had wild, carefree sex before bed each night, also with my ravenous husband.
Confronting my father has been extremely good for my self-esteem.
“Now, baby, lift your hips,” Tigran commands. He stands beside the bed looking at me with burning eyes. He’s naked, his body covered only in intricate ink.
“What if I refuse?” I ask petulantly.
“Then I will be forced to punish you. Is that what you want tonight?”
“First of all, it’s three in the afternoon—”
Thwack. His palm comes down hard on my butt. “Don’t correct me,” he rumbles.
I whine, flexing my legs. “And second of all, I’m the one handcuffed to the bed here. What I want doesn’t really come into it, right?”
Although I can safeword out of this scenario at any time, and there’s a key attached to the post within reach in case of emergencies.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He smirks as he bends over me. His fingers rub down my back, sending aching shivers along my spine. The man is so good with those dangerous, callused hands. I’m starting to feel pretty darn great when he spanks me again, totally out of nowhere.
“What was that for?” I whine, glaring at him.
“You were enjoying it too much. What’s the point of pleasure without a little pain to make it that much sweeter?”
“I don’t know, pleasure’s kind of its own reward,” I grumble as he rubs my lower back.
“Oh, pleasure’s good, but it can always be better.” He helps me raise my hips into the air. I’m wearing only a black lacy thong. It might as well be tissue paper when he tears it off my skin.
“How’s that?” I ask, panting with desire now.
He runs a hand slowly between my legs, caressing my slit. “I can do this.” He pauses to roll a thumb along my clit. It feels so freaking good, but he’s barely touching it. “And I can do this.”
He spanks me again, and again, and when my ass must be bright pink with his palm print, he buries his fingers inside my aching pussy.
“Oh my god,” I moan, easing myself back against him as far as the cuffs will allow. “I think I’m starting to see what you mean.”
He chuckles darkly as his fingers do their work. I want to pray to the feet of whatever God made my husband’s gorgeous freaking fingers and gave him the ability to use them because it must be divine intervention.
I sure as hell see angels every time he touches my pussy.
“You need contrasts in life. Too much routine, too much boredom—” Another spanking. This time it’s followed by his wet fingers sliding into my mouth. I grunt and mumble as I suck my juices off him. “Too much of anything and you lose the sweetness. But a little contrast…”