Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Only his.
I noticed him catch himself, his jaw tightening as he fought against his own softening.
He muttered something in Russian that sounded like a curse at himself.
My mind reeled.
Free of my father's debt. I'd wanted that so desperately, needed it more than air.
But how? Had Pavel paid them off?
Only his.
Was I only his because he’d now bought and paid for me?
Did I now owe him?
Then I looked down at Pavel's bloodied knuckles where his hands now rested on the arms of the chair, a reminder of all the nights he’d returned home with blood splattered on his clothes.
Was one of those nights…? No. Oh god.
A sinking suspicion settled in my stomach.
My voice came out as barely a whisper, thick with dread. "What did you do to him?"
CHAPTER 23
ALINA
His gaze narrowed. “What I had to."
"Why?"
"Because you are under my protection. Period." The way he said it, like it was just a fact of life, made my body hum with something I didn't dare give a name.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
"Yes." There was no hesitation, no pause.
He just told me the truth, and I didn't know how to feel about that.
I sat back for a moment, waiting for grief, shock, sadness—anything—to overwhelm me.
I felt nothing. Maybe I'd grieved the father I'd needed years ago, when he first chose gambling over his family. The man Pavel killed was a stranger who happened to share my blood.
Pavel watched my face carefully, and I caught something that might have been concern cross his features before his expression hardened again.
"Your father put you in danger. "His hand lifted and smoothed comforting circles on my lower back. "Your grandmother is safe because you're mine. That's how this works—I protect what belongs to me." His voice softened slightly. "I've had her moved to a better place. She deserves proper care."
"Medicaid pays—"
"Medicaid paid for a shithole. I’ve had her moved," he rasped, pulling the slip away from my breast, his knuckles grazing my skin. "She's an old woman who raised you. She shouldn't suffer because of your father's mistakes."
The unexpected, fierce certainty in his voice made something clench in my chest.
Pavel had found my weak spot.
He found the one thing that would ensure I submitted to his rules.
I ground my hips down on his still hard cock. I was already wetter than I'd care to admit.
I teased his cock with my cunt, rocking back and forth, sliding my folds along his shaft while he sucked and licked my breasts.
Pavel grabbed my hips and turned me around so my back was to him, my legs tucked on either side of his thighs. He flipped up my slip to bare my ass to him as he leaned me forward and notched his cock at my entrance.
I stared in the mirror, studying the woman I had become.
My lips were swollen, a little bruised. My slip was hanging off my shoulders, baring my breasts and my spit-slicked hard nipples to the cold air, and my eyes looked glassy.
I watched in horrified fascination as the flush on my cheeks traveled down my chest to the tops of my breasts as they bounced.
It was somehow both embarrassing and so incredibly hot, watching myself take all of him.
His hands sneaked around my body, his fingers going to my clit, drawing tight little circles, making my thighs tremble as I rode him harder.
Pavel growled something in Russian and my back arched.
This was who I was now.
And I hated it.
I hated him.
I especially hated myself for fitting so well into this new role.
The next day brought an unexpected change to our routine.
He came back early.
I was lying on the bed, staring at the wall while the TV showed reruns of Judge Judy.
I didn't move when he came in, not wanting to acknowledge my captor. At least, not until he threw a paper shopping bag on the bed next to me.
"Put these on. We leave in five minutes."
"What?"
"I'm not going to say it again." He left the room and, confused, I looked into the bag to find clothes—real clothes. A simple but well-made dress, underwear, a bra, and shoes.
The heels were high, and it would be impossible to run in them, but they were shoes.
I slipped off the teddy I was wearing and slid the new clothes on. The fabrics were buttery soft, silky and thick.
Everything fit perfectly.
Why was he giving me real clothes?
Should I be grateful or afraid? I didn't know. There was never any way to tell what kind of mood he would be in, what would happen when he came back each night.
Some nights were all about rough, kinky sex that left me satisfied but sore. More than once, I had a fresh set of lines whipped into my ass before he took me there.
Other nights he was kind; he would cuddle me, we would have a nice dinner, and he’d talk with me like I was his girlfriend, not a prisoner.