Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She leans back, cradling her drink in one hand, her elbow in the other. It presses her breasts together slightly and my eyes are drawn to her lips and her chest.
I can’t help myself with her.
Normally, I have better control.
“Because my life is complicated enough already.”
“That’s not it. You know I can solve your problems if you let me.”
She licks her lips. Yes, she knows exactly what I can do for her. It’s something more, something she’s not saying.
“You treat me like I can be bought,” she says, speaking very slowly. The smile in her eyes fades. “My parents treated me like all I was good for was marriage. You look at me like that.”
I consider her words. They make a kind of twisted sense. From her perspective, I must seem like just another traditional, overbearing man ready to lock her in the kitchen and slap an apron over her head.
But she’s so wrong about that.
I don’t want a wife. I need a queen.
“When you’re my wife, you’ll be free,” I tell her simply.
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“There will be rules. There will be limits. But you will have even more autonomy than you do now. You won’t have to think about money. You won’t have to think about work.”
“But I’ll be yours,” she says flatly.
“Yes, you will be mine,” I agree.
She looks away toward the bar and doesn’t reply. The conversation fades and I don’t bring it back up again. She finishes her wine and we leave together. As we go, I put my hand on the small of her back, only inches above her firm ass. I notice men and women staring, and I want them to look, even if it drives me fucking crazy with possessive rage.
How dare they look at my queen?
But Karine doesn’t pull away, and I keep my hand on her until she reaches the car. Anton’s already waiting with the divider up and in place, as instructed.
I sit directly next to her on the bench seat in the back. She looks at me, our legs touching. I lay my hand on her thigh, and I’m not trying to be subtle about what I want.
“I had a nice night,” she says quietly. “But I think this night should end here. There have to be a dozen girls dying to marry you. I think I saw more than a few of them watching you in there.”
“I didn’t see a single one.”
“That can’t be true. The pretty blonde at the bar?”
I shake my head, staring into her dark eyes. “I didn’t know there was a blonde.”
“Come on. You’re a liar.”
“Did you notice me look away from you once? Do you think I can, with you in a dress like that?”
“You’re so full of shit.” She licks her lips, mouth parted slightly. “I don’t get it. You saw me naked already. We had sex. Why are you still doing this?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” I tell her, and it’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever allowed myself to be around a woman before. It also happens to be the truth: I’ve obsessed about her since that moment in the sitting room.
Every detail of our first meeting has played through my mind a dozen times.
The lean, gorgeous lines of her body. Her firm ass, her gorgeous thighs. The shock in her expression when she turned and saw me there. The way she tried to cover herself, but that somehow only made her look that much more incredible.
Then later, at Merrick’s. Taking her, making her suck my fingers, filling her to the brim.
The way she whimpered no.
I have plans for her. I can’t deny that. I want a wife because it helps me politically.
But I’d be lying if I pretended like those were my only reasons.
“I’m nobody,” she whispers as I touch her cheek and turn her face toward me. “I don’t want to be with you. Why not find someone who does?”
“Because she won’t be you.” I lean down and brush my lips across hers. She doesn’t pull away. “Because any other woman would be a pale imitation.”
“Valentin—”
“Go ahead. Tell me no again. You remember what that does to me.”
A whimper escapes her lips. “We can’t.”
“The dinner isn’t over yet. I’m not finished with you.”
“Valentin—”
I crush her mouth with mine and push her legs open. She gasps against my tongue as I kneel down on the floor in front of her, pulling her close. The heat of her body washes over me in waves and I’m drowning in her, drowning with how much I want this.
I shove her dress up roughly. I bite her lower lip and grab her hair, pulling as I wrench her legs open. She gasps in shock and moans when I pin her down against the seat with my hands and bury her pussy with my tongue.