Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Beautiful.” He growled the word against her throat. “Moya. Mine.”
She arched into him, desperate for every delicious contact, craving the friction, desiring every torturous touch, trusting his teasing would only lead to pleasures beyond her imagination.
He obliged, pressing her damp body against the cool furs, the pelts silky against her fevered skin. His mouth traced a path of fire down her neck, across her collarbone, lower still.
“Say it again.” He commanded between kisses. “Say my name like you did in the water.”
“Hunter.” It came out as a moan.
“Again.”
“Hunter, please...”
He rewarded her with his teeth, just sharp enough to make her gasp. His hands mapped every curve, every hollow, as she writhed and begged. He took his time, thorough and devastating, until she was nothing but wild sensation and raw need.
“Look at me.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his molten gaze. “I want to see your eyes when I enter you. I want to watch you break just for me.”
She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t do anything but feel as he took ownership of her body. Every touch was a claim. Every kiss a brand. He was rewriting her at a molecular level, replacing every other memory with just this, just him.
“Please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for anymore. Release? Mercy? Life? “Hunter, I need you inside of me.”
“You beg so pretty.” He punctuated the words with a nudge of his thick cock, showing her just how tight his entry would be. “You’re mine now, Lisichka.”
Her breath pulled deep, filling her lungs as he filled her with his all-encompassing possession. It was vastly different from being with the others. With Hunter, she had to be present. He commanded it, not just with his eyes or the way he held her face insisting she look at him, but with his touch. Every thrust was pure intention. Every gasp driven from a place deep in her soul that never spoke before this moment. Before him.
When the world finally shattered around her, she screamed his name, babbling in tongues just like he’d promised. He held her through it, whispering Russian endearments against her skin, each word of praise sinking into her bones like truth. She never felt so protected in her life.
“Moya.” He breathed the word like a repeated vow. “Mine.”
She could only nod. Her mind was beyond words, beyond thought. He redefined her, as promised.
“No going back now, Lisichka.”
An agreeable hum was all she could manage.
“You’ll never be rid of me. Never stop feeling my hands, my mouth, my claim on every inch of you.” He kissed her again, softer now but no less possessive. “This is just the beginning, little fox. Now that I’ve tasted you, that hunger will never go away.”
His promise should have terrified her. Instead, it filled her with an unfamiliar sense of security she had no comparison for. He would devour her, again and again, but he’d also protect her from any enemy. She was his now, and that meant no one—save his brothers—could lay a hand on her.
Chapter 18
A Glass Cage
As the men worked on their plans and preparation, Marigold explored the many hidden rooms of the lodge. She toured a wing she’d never visited before and discovered a stunning solarium.
The glass-walled sanctuary overflowed with impossible greenery and radiant blooms that somehow thrived despite the Arctic climate outside. Orchids preened in beaming jewel tones, so vibrant she had to touch petals to assure herself they weren’t fake.
“They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”
Spinning sharply, Marigold gasped in the sweet, humid air and backed into a large palm. “Who are you?”
The girl—because that’s what she was, barely past her teens with features that belonged in a Renaissance painting—sat curled in a white wicker chair, a book forgotten in her lap. Dark hair fell like a curtain around her face, with eyes the same emerald green as Stone’s, flecked with molten gold that dimmed and brightened with every emotion.
“I’m Katya Volkova. And I assume you’re her.” There was a touch of wonder in her voice.
She moved closer, drawn in by her the fragile grace. “I’m Marigold. Though I suppose you already know that.”
“My brothers warned me that you were beautiful.” Her smile was tentative, like she’d forgotten how to use it properly. Brief and gone before truly there. “They also told me who your brother is.”
“Half-brother.”
“They said you’re estranged now, that he sent you away and you managed to escape.”
Marigold nodded. “That’s right. When I tried to stop him from hurting someone, he had me committed.”
“Because you knew what he was.”
Another nod paired with a small step forward. “He’s evil. What he did to you…”
She held up a delicate hand, so small and fragile. “I’m stronger than people realize.”
“Still. No one should have to suffer that way.”
“True.” Such a small word to carry so much weight. She waved a hand, inviting Marigold to settle into the chair across from her. “I come to this room to read, and to escape. Winter can be quite a prison around here. The solarium helps me remember that change will come.