Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 139934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 700(@200wpm)___ 560(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 700(@200wpm)___ 560(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
“Armande confessed everything. Beau threatened his sister. He said he was terrified they’d kill her if he didn’t cooperate.”
She frowned. “Do you believe him?”
“I’m not certain. I don’t know what to think about him. It’s Drake’s problem. He’ll interrogate him and decide what to do. We’re out of that.”
Timur wrote a short poem on her back. Nothing fancy or flowery, just the way he felt, like waking up to sunshine. She didn’t realize that every dirty Fed or cop that came at them was going to be put in the ground. They had no choice if they wanted to live. They couldn’t be blackmailed. They had to appear dirty even to the men working for them outside their close circles. It was the only way to stay alive.
“What about Christophe and Ambroise?”
“Fyodor is handling that, which is a very good thing. I’ve got other things on my mind.”
“What other things?” She eyed him suspiciously.
He stroked a caress over her bottom and then shifted his body, sliding between her widespread legs. “This kind of other things.” He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her to her knees, one hand at the nape of her neck so she stayed with her head on the mattress. “I know how you can’t go without me for more than”—he glanced at the clock—“an hour and fifteen minutes.”
Her laughter was muffled by the sheets. “You’re so right. Feel me.”
He did as she said, slipping his hand between her legs to find her slick and hot, just the way she was every time he did it. “Now you’ve got me in a dilemma. Do I feast on you? I’m pretty hungry. My woman refused to cook dinner tonight.”
“You know darn well I can’t cook, and you only asked to tease me. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry though.” She wiggled her bottom at him.
She was so beautiful she took his breath. He laid his forehead against all that soft skin, skin that was his because she gave it to him. Her gifts were priceless. When he married her, and that was going to be soon, she was going to get the book of poetry he had written for her. Every word was what he felt about Ashe Bronte Mostafa, soon to be Ashe Bronte Amurov. That was such a better fit with her exotic name.
“I want your mouth,” she demanded.
He found himself with a silly grin on his face. “Then you don’t get to move. The moment you move, I take it away.”
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Apparently you want to play one of your many silly sex games.”
She loved his games and he knew it. “Sexy games,” he corrected. “And just so you know, I’m so in love with you too. So much so, baby, that we’re getting married as soon as the doc gives Gorya the okay to attend our wedding.” Before she could answer, he began one of his favorite things—devouring her.