Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
No, she needs a man who would respect her and worship her. Who will claim her as his own and show her with every movement how precious she is to him. She deserves to be mine. Not his. I couldn’t have stopped my request if I’d wanted to. I genuinely want this woman to run away with me.
I’m enraptured by her blonde hair with just the slightest tint of red to it. Her green eyes pull me in, threatening to drown me. Underneath this ridiculous dress is a body that’s just begging to be loved up. I want to leave my fingerprints on every inch of it.
These thoughts are irrational, this behavior is reckless. I’ve seen plenty of Bratva brides break down before their weddings, but I’ve never before been compelled to run after them and proposition them. What is it about this one that pulls me in? Who is this Katrina, and why do I feel like I might die if I don’t touch her?
“Excuse me?” she asks incredulously. “Who do you think you are?”
She laughs, throwing her head back and letting the sound encompass her. It echoes around us in the small space, enveloping me in its warmth. I want to drown in it, to hear nothing but her laugh until the day I die. I want to hear the sounds that come out of her mouth when she unravels at my touch. I want to hear her scream my name.
“Ah, of course, I’m being rude,” I tell her, feigning shame. “Ivan Sidorov. My friends call me Johnny.”
I hold out my hand to her, but she just stares at it as if it’s a bomb that will go off at any time. She may not be wrong. I will explode if I don’t know her touch.
“I know who you are,” she says coldly, though there’s a hint of intrigue in her voice. “That isn’t what I asked. Because unless you’re God himself, you can’t get me out of this church without incurring my father’s wrath.”
She has a point there. Reasons number one through one million why running away with her is a bad idea. But I can’t stop myself from needing to whisk her away. Consequences be damned.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I say. “You don’t love this man you’re about to walk down the aisle with. Am I correct?”
Her eyes are wide and her chest moves rapidly. Heat rises to her cheeks, coloring her face in a soft pink. It is now my life’s mission to cause this reaction every time we meet. She’s so quietly sexy. She needs a man who knows what to do with her.
“He’s an old family friend,” she says. “It doesn’t matter if I love him, marrying him is expected of me. I have to marry him.”
“But you’re so young,” I say sadly. “Don’t you want to do something more interesting than marry some idiot?”
Her nostrils flare, and I know I have her pegged. She doesn’t want this. She’s doing it out of some warped sense of duty or family obligation, but she wants so much more out of her life than to marry the Zaitsev boy.
“That isn’t your business,” she hisses. “And what makes you think I’d be more likely to marry you than my fiancé?”
She pins me with a glare, and if I were a weaker man, I’d back down. But I know what I want, and it’s her.
“I can think of one reason,” I say, stepping into her space.
She swallows hard as I wrap my arm around her supple waist and pull her curvaceous frame to me. She lets out a quiet gasp, which only makes me grow harder. I want her. Here. Now. And then later and everywhere. I want her naked in my bed, waiting for me when I come home every day. I want her in my limousine, on her knees. I want to see those gigantic breasts spilling out in front of my eyes.
Right now, I’ll settle for her soft body pushed up against the bathroom wall. My lips capture hers confidently, and I can tell she’s never been kissed. At the very least, not properly. Her lips are innocent, stiff against mine. Her whole body is like a ragdoll against me. If she pushes me away, I’ll stop. I’ll leave her alone and return to my seat. I’ll watch her marry the wrong man and throw rice at the unhappy couple as they walk up the aisle hand in hand.
She doesn’t push me away, though. Her body relaxes at my touch, and her lips begin to move in rhythm to mine. Now that I have her consent, I let my tongue trail her bottom lip. She is weak against me, probably battling the indecision in her head. But her lips part for me, allowing my tongue to slide inside.