Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
And I wrap my lips around it, sucking him clean.
“Fuuuck,” Yulian grunts as I pull his now half-erect cock out of my mouth. “Why did you stop?”
“I just wanted to clean you.”
“Rude.” He pouts, palming his cock. “I thought it was round two. Love that thing you do with your tongue when you go down on me.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. So come and finish it.”
“No, this was enough exertion for one night.” I stroke his face, my cum-soaked finger pushing against his lip and he swallows it, sucking it dry.
I growl, then remove my hand, because at this rate, he’ll just make us fuck again.
“Tomorrow.” I step back. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”
“I don’t want tomorrow,” he whispers.
Yulian watches me with darkened eyes as I walk to the bathroom, probably seeing his cum sliding down my legs. If he were okay, he’d be licking that and shoving it right back into my ass.
I quickly clean myself, then get a wet towel and clean him up and change his bandages. The whole time, he keeps running his hands everywhere—my back, my chest, but mostly my inner thigh, where the tattoo is.
And I’m trying not to freak out that I told him I love him in the throes of an orgasm. I want to think it’s a fluke or that it was said in the heat of passion, but really, I’ve been in love with Yulian for longer than I care to admit.
Now, I’m feeling hurt that he didn’t say it back. Honestly, Yulian says I’m coldhearted, but I’m not the one who responded to a love confession with silence.
When I’m done with the bandages, I lie beside him.
“Nope.” He taps his chest on his good side. “Right here.”
“That might hurt.”
“Just come here.”
I slowly place my head there, kind of missing when he crushes me into the bed.
Yulian hooks his leg with mine and smiles lazily, closing his eyes.
It’s probably not the right time to broach the subject, but the sooner he knows about my plan, the better.
“Baby?” I ask.
“Mmm?”
“What do you think about living here—not here at my uncles’ estate, but in a similar private one?”
He slowly opens his eyes. “Don’t you have your family and responsibilities in New York?”
“We can do New York as well. As long as we’re together, the place doesn’t matter.”
He says nothing, just closes his eyes again, then he whispers, “Whatever you wish, baby.”
He says something else, but I don’t hear him as I doze off with my head buried in the crook of his neck.
I feel like all my life, I’ve been waiting and biding my time. For years, I thought it was for leadership, but I realize it’s my heart that’s been waiting.
For him—the boy who awakened me, punctured my shield, and lay inside my chest.
I convinced myself that I hated him, even more after the cave than before. I hated him because he kissed me, and I couldn’t get over it.
I hated him because I stole a kiss back, but he wasn’t awake to reciprocate.
But mostly, I hated him because I wanted him so much, but I couldn’t be with him.
For four years, he’s been the forbidden fruit I only allow myself to think about late at night or follow from afar like a coward.
But the truth is, that hate was a way for me to conceal the depth of my feelings for this infuriating guy.
Now that I finally have him, I’ll keep him right here.
Forever.
When I wake up the following morning, I stretch, then quickly stop so I don’t accidentally hit Yulian.
My eyes fly open, and I realize the bed is empty and cold.
I jump up to a sitting position, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. I swear, if Uncle Maks took him on one of his “character-building” adventures, I’ll start a fight. I would rather he go bug Mike and his kid than use Yulian for his wild outdoorsy days.
After I pull on my boxer briefs, I pause with my jeans halfway up my legs when I notice a note on the nightstand. I’d recognize this mixture of cursive and print handwriting anywhere.
My mouth dries as I hold the letter in a shaky hand.
I’m going back to Chicago.
By the time you read this, I’ll almost be there. Thirteen hours in the air will be brutal—even with the private jet your uncle graciously lent me. And you won’t be there to fuss over me. The horror.
Jokes aside, I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye face-to-face. I couldn’t. Not after hearing you speak about our future.
My father has Alya. He plans to marry her off to some Boston brute who’s ten years older, a man who will destroy her. The only bargaining chip he offered was me. If I marry the leader’s daughter and seal their alliance, Alya will be freed. And I’ll be safe, at least, as his heir.