Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Where the fuck did you get that?” he says with a growl as he prowls my way.
“Oh, this little thing?” I ask, tossing my hair. It sticks to my lip gloss, and I nearly stumble on my heel. This is why I’ll never be a model.
“Vera,” he says warningly. “Where the fuck did you get that thing?”
“From Sophia!” I protest.“It’s her dress, not mine.”
“But you’re wearing it,” he says. When he reaches for me, he wraps his hand over my throat and gently pushes me against the wall. His body presses up against mine, caging me in.
“You may wear that dress, baby girl,” he whispers in my ear, his fingers tightening. My pulse spikes at the feel of his heavy hand on my naked skin, right at my pulse. “Under one condition.”
“Mmm? What’s that?” I ask in a throaty whisper, a bit afraid of what that condition might be.
With firm movements, he yanks the dress up to my belly and tears my thong right off me. It’s a thin, lacy little thing that fairly crumples in his grip. “There,” he whispers, lifting my panties to his nose. He inhales.
“Markov!” I say in a strangled gasp.
His eyes closed as he inhales the scent of my arousal.
“These are mine now.”
My cheeks burn as he pockets my panties. It feels all kinds of wrong to be going to this benefit with no bra or panties, in a dress that hugs my curves, but the possessive look in his eyes makes it worth it.
“Turn around and place your hands on that wall.”
Obediently, I do what he says. I won’t disobey him, not now. I can’t. At this point, every fiber of my being purrs at his command.
I brace myself at the clink of a belt buckle behind me. “Let’s remind who you belong to out there dressed like this.”
I close my eyes and hear him tuck the buckle in his palm right before he swings the looped leather across my ass. I hiss in a breath as the searing pain blossoms into arousal. A second lash, followed by another, has me up on my toes as he whispers, “You’ll wear these stripes when you go there. You’ll feel the marks of my belt.”
Bending down, he bites my ass cheek. I squeal, but the firm clap of his hand across my ass makes me squeeze my lips together.
“And if at any point we get separated, remember who you belong to, wife.”
“Mmm,” I agree. “And if at any point we get separated, you take those panties out and remember who you belong to.”
I grin at the deep sound of his pleased chuckle when his phone beeps.
“Our ride is here.”
We’re quiet on the ride over. I’m sitting right up close to him, still hot as hell after his display.
I hope we can handle this like we handled dinner. Arrive, do our duty, take off. No harm done.
“Ugh,” I say, shaking my head when the car comes to a stop. “We’re jumping straight into the fire.”
My father stands at the entrance while other couples enter, dressed impeccably and surrounded by his guards.
Markov’s heavy hand rests at the small of my back. “You’ll do fine, baby.” He kisses my cheek. I squeeze his hand and take a deep breath.
I am not letting this man go.
No matter what.
My father stares when Markov and I exit the vehicle, looking me over with scrutiny. “Vera,” he says, kissing my cheek. “Did your mother pick that dress? Markov, I’d like you to join us. There’s no need for you to keep your distance.”
I stiffen, but Markov moves right in with stride, reaching for my father’s hand and shaking it firmly. “I told her she looks beautiful,” he says with a smile. “Did you hear about what she did this week? Their amazing discovery will be posted in every medical journal from here to America. Let’s go in, and Vera can tell you all about it.”
I give him a small smile in return.
Though my father’s far from interested in me discussing what I did this week, he’s impressed that the work will garner attention from powerful people.
“Excellent,” he says as he turns his back to me. “Let’s get a drink. Oh, and I have a surprise for you, Markov.”
Markov and I share a look. There can’t be any good that comes from starting a conversation like that. When we reach the bar, he lifts a large bottle of Beluga Gold Line, a premium vodka. Even implacable Markov looks impressed. “Excellent,” he says approvingly. “Thank you.”
We make small talk, and Markov helps me navigate it all with perfect ease. He remains somewhat aloof, maintaining his position as a bodyguard while interjecting praise when my father makes rude or dismissive comments. My father probably never imagined that the guard he hired would protect me from him.
“Excuse me,” I say at one point, ready for a break from him. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”