Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
They detonate without warning and send my moans skyrocketing to noisy, desperate grunts.
They could wake up the people sleeping on the same level as if Ghost didn’t clamp his hand over my mouth. The fact his hand extends from one ear to the other augments the shakes tearing through me. I shake for several long minutes, the aftermath of my explosion as pleasing as the buildup.
“Fuck!” Ghost groans, expressing what I can’t. “You… I…” He shunts my head to the other side when my dilated eyes lock with his. His eyes are just as glossy, but his scars are fully exposed, so I’m once again not allowed to look. “Sleep, маленький ягненок.”
With how fast my heart is racing, not to mention the pulse in my vagina, I think his command will be impossible to fulfill.
I’m wrong.
Within seconds, I’m dozing off, only waking again when I feel the faintest flutter of a soft material between my legs. Ghost is cleaning up the mess between my legs with a handkerchief, the shadows the moon casts on his face exposing I still have hours to rest.
“Thank you,” I murmur faintly when he stuffs the handkerchief into his pants pocket before lifting the blanket to cover my exposed legs.
I’m still groggy and half asleep, but I swear he murmurs, “Don’t thank me, маленький ягненок. I just signed multiple death certificates.”
18
KATIE
With my body still reeling in the aftermath of a climax, I don’t realize we’ve docked until I slip my legs off the side of my bed and stand with a pair of stable knees. There are no swaying movements I’ve become accustomed to over the past two weeks and no splashes of the ocean as the ship rolls along with its waves.
We’re docked, and I am now even more panicked about Ghost’s whispered comment last night.
Unsurprisingly, Alek is the first face my eyes land on when I crack open the door of my room. I’m still without panties and untrusting of my intuition when it stupidly tells me Ghost won’t hurt me.
He will, and the lowering of Alek’s eyes to the short hemline of my nightie exposes this.
“We have clothes coming, but you’ll want to dress warm today. Conditions are fucking icy this morning.” With it being summer, I take his comment as more the aura of the ship. It is choked with unease, and the mood is glum.
Alek doesn’t hide the fact he’s watching me today. After folding his arms over his chest, he leans back on the door across from my room and advises, “I’ll let you know when your things arrive.”
I thank him with a smile before closing the door and entering the bathroom. I don’t really want to shower, but I guess I should. My purity has kept me alive for the past eight years, so I don’t want my mishap last night having anyone believing I’m not pure.
By the time I’ve showered, washed my hair, and shaved, my room is a bustling hive of activity. Annika smiles sheepishly at me before placing a large breakfast tray between a woman sharpening eyeliner pencils and one searching for a plug for a curling iron.
“Who are these people?” I ask Annika when she butts shoulders with me.
“The brunette is Inessa.” She nudges her head at a woman I missed during my first scan of the room. “She’s worked with the Bobrovs for years. Has a brilliant eye but a heart of ice.” She switches her focus to the makeup artist. “Anya is new. This is her first time, so expect her to be a little jittery.” She gives me a look as if to say I should apply my mascara if I want to keep my eye. “And Polina is Alek’s sister.” I snap my eyes from the beautiful blonde to Annika when she murmurs, “Don’t ask her for help, though. She’s too loyal.”
“And you?”
She ponders my question with furrowed brows before shrugging. “I wouldn’t say I’m loyal. I am just…”
“Aware of your place?” I fill in when words elude her.
My words hurt her, but since they’re not a reflection of the person she is but more a portrayal of the circumstances she lives, she dips her chin, farewells me with a rub on the arm, then leaves me to a hierarchy of women who look displeased about helping me.
Over the next two hours, I’m manhandled, grunted at, and squeezed into a dress with barely any room to breathe. My hair is glossy and hanging in ringlets down my back. My makeup is subtly beautiful, and for the first time in years, I’m wearing shoes that fit.
I should feel regal, but I’ve read Cinderella. I know the glam never lasts long.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle when a familiar grumble rumbles into my room. “Is she ready?” Ghost speaks in Russian, but the simpleness of his question means I have no trouble understanding it.