Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Five years.
My mind flips like pages in a calendar, thinking back to the day Sasha arrived. Fall. It was fall. I remember because the first time I saw him, I was sitting on the front steps of my house, head resting in my lap, wishing I could go ride my bike at the pier with my friends. Never again, though. My father, lost in his grief, had barred me from leaving. Sasha’s black boots appeared first, crunching on the autumn leaves that had fallen from the tree. He crouched down and forced me to meet his eyes. Eyes that reminded me of thawing ice. Angel, he’d rasped.
“And…” My mouth is dry, so I make myself swallow. “And when does the contract expire?”
His big chest lifts and shudders back down. “Tonight.”
Chapter Three
Sasha
It’s time for Anya’s lunch.
When she doesn’t eat, everything I say is the wrong thing. So we don’t miss meals.
She has been quiet since I informed her my shackles come off tonight. Quiet and…restless. I take a book from the glove compartment and drop it in her lap, but she starts to read it upside down, so I stow it away again. Her fingers pluck at the hem of her skirt, her feet perform an awkward dance routine, and she keeps changing the radio stations, never settling.
I have an urge to park the car and pull her across the seat, into my lap. It’s what she needs. A good, hard ride on her man’s cock. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
Soon.
There are some things we must speak about, before I take her body. But even I am not stupid enough to inform Anya of her future when she has an empty stomach. She might have been born in Chicago, but she has a fiery Russian temper. In the future, I have no doubt I’ll fuck her mid - tantrum — frequently — but I want her first time to be…
Romantic.
My lip curls at such a feminine notion. Only Anya could make a cold - blooded killer consider things like candles and high thread count sheets. I never imagined myself as a husband. And I never would have, if I hadn’t met the angel. Now I can think of nothing but making every second of her life happy. Providing and protecting what God has given me. Perhaps Anya and I have different notions about what she requires to be content, but she will come around to my way of thinking. There is no other choice.
A hint of unease creeps into my chest, but I banish it.
I’ve already mapped the restaurant where I plan to feed Anya, and we approach the freeway exit right on time. The gourmet sandwich shop is not the main attraction in the tiny town, though. And when we park along the main street, she sees it and gasps.
“A library? Oh my God, it’s huge.” She fumbles with the door handle, unable to take her eyes off the gothic building. “Sasha, did you know?”
I don’t bother answering, because she should know by now, I do nothing by accident. Instead, I climb out of the driver’s side and round the bumper, scanning the street for threats as I take Anya’s hand, pulling her onto the sidewalk. She sways into me, but this time I don’t step back right away. I let her front mold to mine, her lips popping open at the feel of my jutting cock. I want to back her against the car, thrust my erection up between her thighs and introduce her to the only cock she’ll ever know, damn the potential witnesses. But as always, when I take her out in public, heads begin turning almost immediately. In Anya’s direction. There is a breeze blowing against the hem of her skirt, the white material teasing the underside of her tempting ass. That same breeze stiffens her nipples and makes her shiver, skyrocketing my protective instincts. Grinding my teeth together, I reach into the backseat and wrap her in the denim jacket she brought along.
She presses her lips together, those green eyes knowing. Does she enjoy my jealousy? I wonder if she still would if she knew how deep it runs. “Thank you for the library,” she whispers. “Can we go?”
“Da, angel.” I take her hand and lead her to the restaurant. “After you eat.”
“I’m not even hungry.”
She consumes every bite. I eat much faster, so I lean back in my chair and enjoy the sight of her mouth moving, the little pleased noises she makes. Just like on the street, every male in the place cranes their neck to get an eyeful of what’s mine. Until I let them know with my eyes that I will strangle them with piano wire in their sleep if they don’t fuck off. By the time Anya finishes, we’re the only ones left in the restaurant, which pleases me very much.