Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I’ve never wanted to hurt a living person as much as I want to hurt Peter at this moment.
My tormentor’s gaze is dark, his expression hard as he stands up. “Sit down, Sara,” he says harshly, reaching for me as the plane hits another bump and I grab at the window wall to steady myself. “It’s not safe.” He takes my arm to force me back into the seat, and my other hand acts of its own accord.
With the phone still clutched in my fist, I take a swing at him—and don’t miss, because at that moment, the plane dips again, throwing us both off-balance. With an audible thud, the phone crashes into Peter’s face, the impact of the hit jarring my bones and snapping his head to the side.
I don’t know who’s more shocked that I managed to land a blow, me or Peter’s men.
I can see their incredulous stares as Peter slowly, and very deliberately, releases my arm and wipes at the blood trickling down his cheekbone. The metal shell of the phone must’ve cut his skin; that, or the unexpected turbulence lent momentum to my blow, intensifying the force behind it.
His eyes meet mine, and my heart jumps into my throat at the icy rage shimmering in the silvery depths. Warily, I back away, the phone slipping out of my numb fingers to hit the floor with a metallic thunk.
I haven’t forgotten what Peter is capable of, what he did to me when we first met.
I can only take two steps before my back presses against the wall of the pilot’s cabin, ending my retreat. I have nowhere to run on this plane, no place to hide, and fear tightens my stomach as he steps closer, his furious gaze holding mine captive as he braces his palms on the wall on both sides of me, caging me between his muscular arms.
“I…” I should say that I’m sorry, that I didn’t mean it, but I can’t bring myself to voice the lie, so I clamp my lips shut before I can make it worse by telling him how much I hate him.
“You what?” His voice is low and hard. Leaning in, he bends his head until his lips graze the top of my ear. “You what, Sara?”
I shiver at the damp heat of his breath, my knees going weak and my pulse accelerating further. Only this time, it’s not entirely from fear. Despite everything, his nearness wreaks havoc on my senses, my body quivering in anticipation of his touch. Only hours ago, he was inside me, and I still feel the aftermath of his possession, the inner soreness from the hard rhythm of his thrusts. At the same time, I’m painfully aware of my hardened nipples poking through the borrowed T-shirt and the warm slickness gathering between my legs.
Even clothed, I feel naked in his arms.
He lifts his head, staring down at me, and I know he feels it too, the magnetic heat, the dark connection that vibrates the air around us, intensifying each moment until milliseconds feel like hours. Peter’s men are less than a dozen feet away, watching us, but it feels like we’re all alone, wrapped in a bubble of sensual need and volatile tension. My mouth is dry, my body pulsing with awareness, and it’s all I can do not to sway toward him, to remain still instead of pressing against him and giving in to the desire burning me up inside.
“Ptichka…” Peter’s voice softens, taking on an intimate edge as the ice in his gaze melts. His hand leaves the wall to cup my cheek, the rough pad of his thumb stroking over my lips and making my breath catch in my throat. At the same time, his other hand clasps my elbow, his grip gentle but inescapable. “Come, let’s sit down,” he urges, pulling me away from the wall. “It’s not safe to be up and about like this.”
Dazed, I let him shepherd me back to the seat. I know I should continue fighting, or at least put up some resistance, but the anger that filled me is gone, leaving numbness and despair in its wake.
Even after what he did, I crave him. I want him just as much as I hate him.
My sock-clad feet are chilled from walking on the cold floor, and I’m grateful when Peter grabs the blanket from the table and tucks it around my legs before sitting down next to me. He pulls the seatbelt over me, buckling me in, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see the warmth that now fills his gaze. As frightening as the darker side of Peter is, the man who’s doing this—the tender, caring lover—is the one who terrifies me most.
I can resist the monster, but the man is a different story.