Beautiful Chains (Molotov Betrothal #2) Read Online Anna Zaires

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires
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Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
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I can taste her tears as I deepen the kiss. The salt mixes with the minty flavor of her toothpaste and the tender sweetness of her lips, reminding me of other times I’ve made her cry. But it’s different this time. It’s not a game between us any longer. The stakes are far too high—and the knowledge spurs me on, filling me with a desperation that adds to my savage need.

Tearing my lips from hers, I flip her around in my arms and sink my teeth into the tightly corded tendon at the base of her neck. She gasps and arches against me, her hands flying up to grip my hair as I bunch the hem of her T-shirt in my fist and pull it up to her waist. I should be gentle, careful with her fragile state, but a feral animal seems to have taken control of me and I can’t stop the growl that escapes my throat as I lick the spot I just bit, then push her over to the bed and bend her over the edge, exposing the pale, deliciously round globes of her ass and the pink, glistening slit of her pussy.

I’m shaking with lust, shuddering with my hunger for her as I yank open my zipper and free my cock, then sink two fingers into her opening, stretching her tender flesh, preparing her for what’s to come. She’s already wet, thank fuck, her pussy slick and hot, her inner walls squeezing my fingers. If she weren’t, I don’t know what I’d do because I can’t hold back any longer. I want her with an intensity that destroys any illusion of self-control and nullifies any attempt to be gentle.

Pulling out my fingers, I line my aching cock against her folds and push in, sinking deep in one hard thrust. She cries out, the sound muffled against the blanket as I grip her elbows, one in each hand, forcing her lower back to arch and her ass to stick out more, allowing for deeper penetration. She cries out again as I pull out and slam back in.

Her flesh is silky soft, wet and tight, so fucking hot I’m already on the verge of coming. My vision narrows to a tunnel as I hammer into her, each thrust taking me deeper, dragging me closer to the edge. Her cries grow in volume, mixing with feminine grunts and moans, and her pussy squeezes my cock, milking it in an unmistakable rhythm. Fuck, fuck, fuck… I throw my head back with a roar as her orgasm triggers mine, and I explode inside her, grinding my groin against her ass as violent ecstasy explodes through my body and floods my brain with white-hot pleasure.

For a few warm, blissfully hazy moments, I forget all about what got us here. I simply revel in the feel of my lungs sucking in deep breaths, in the smell of sex and her, in the feel of her slick, hot flesh clasping my softening dick. Then reality intrudes, and I realize that my fingers are digging into the sides of her hips with what has to be a painful grip… that I fucked her without a condom—not that the latter matters any longer.

She’s already pregnant.

She has cancer, and she’s pregnant.

And I just took her like a ravening beast.

I grit my teeth and force my fingers to unclench, releasing her firm flesh. The blissful haze of the aftermath has vanished, leaving a hard, icy knot inside my chest.

“Alinyonok…” My voice is hoarse and unsteady as I reach for her again and carefully turn her over so she’s face up on the mattress. I want to look into her eyes, but she’s scrunched them shut. I see the wet trails on her cheeks, though, and for the first time, I truly feel like the monster she’s accused me of being.

Did I hurt her? If so, how badly?

Before I can beg for forgiveness, she opens her eyes, meeting my gaze. Tears glaze the dark jade of her irises, but it’s the pain her eyes reveal that makes the icy knot expand into my throat. Her lips, a soft, naked pink reddened by my kisses, tremble as she whispers, “What about the baby? Alexei…” Her voice catches. “What about our baby girl? She’ll die if we do this. She’ll never be born.”

Fuck. It’s my turn to squeeze my eyes shut.

Our baby girl. Alina thinks we’re having a girl—and there’s a fifty-percent chance she’s right.

I’ve tried my hardest not to think about the pregnancy in terms of an actual baby. I haven’t even talked about it with the neurosurgeons I’ve consulted because what would be the point? All of them have said that the sooner the treatment starts, the greater the odds that Alina survives. The tiny embryo forming inside her is not even a consideration. It can’t be, not with Alina’s life on the line. There’s only one way forward: terminate the pregnancy as soon as possible and move on. Only… she thinks it’s a baby girl.


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