Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Afternoon sickness?” he repeats. Worry washes over his features, etched in the sudden tightness around his eyes and the clenching of his jaw. He shifts, rising up on his elbow to look down at me with a force that knocks the wind out of me. “Is that normal? Is something wrong?”
“Vik, it’s fine. Yes, it’s normal, if a little unconventional. Apparently, it can happen whenever the hormones decide to peak. It’s miserable, but the doctor said it should pass after the first trimester.” I sigh, reaching up to smooth the furrow in his brow, my fingers lingering on his skin. He doesn’t look convinced, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe a word I said.
He grunts as his response, a dissatisfied sound that vibrates deep in his chest right before he reaches out. His large, calloused hand settles on my lower abdomen. He doesn’t just place it there, he splays his fingers wide, palm pressing with a gentle weight as if he can physically soothe the discomfort I’m talking about. He stares at my stomach for a long, silent moment, his expression a complex mixture of fear, protectiveness, and something else I can’t quite name.
“So,” he starts, his voice hardening, snapping back into that tone, the one of absolute authority that makes me want to scream. He drags his eyes back up to mine. “Now that the moving situation is handled and you won’t move in with me, I’m moving in here with you.”
“No. No, you’re absolutely not.” I push against his chest, attempting to put space between us, be he doesn’t budge so much as an inch.
“Take it or leave it,” he replies, his tone infuriatingly flat, completely unbothered by my resistance. He leans closer, his shadow falling over me, his scent enveloping me—fresh citrus, cool air, and a warmth that has me addicted. Vik Orlov overwhelms every single one of my senses. “You know a lock won’t keep me away, Romy. You know I can have the lock changed or I’ll be through the window before you can blink. I’m not leaving you here alone, now not, not ever.”
“I’m still furious with you,” I snap, my voice rising in pitch. “We haven’t begun to address our problems. We have a mountain of subjects to talk through, and you can’t just move in. Like that will fix everything?”
“I can work with you being pissed at me. It’s good, really,” he counters, his voice dropping into that gravelly whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. Vik doesn’t blink or flinch at my anger. “It’s better than no emotion at all. I’d rather have you screaming at me or hating me than feeling nothing at all. I can handle your anger. What I can’t handle is you pushing me away.” He leans in, his face mere inches from mine, his dark eyes burning and only terrifying me because I know how impossible he is to bend once he’s made up his mind. Vik isn’t asking, he’s solely giving me the heads-up on our reality.
“Vik.” He places his finger on my lips.
“We’re happening.” He takes a breath. “You, me, and our baby. All of it. We’re in this together, and I’m not going to be some fly-by night visit on the weekends type of person. I’m going to be right here, every goddamn day, whether you like it or not.”
“Vik, please listen to me...” He doesn’t let me finish, doesn’t let me voice the rest of the arguments I have lining up in my head or the defense I had built up so carefully. Okay, that last part is a lie, or I wouldn’t be naked in bed with the pain-in-the-ass man.
He leans down, shutting me up with a kiss. It isn’t a question, it isn’t a plea, it’s a command. His lips are firm, hot, and taste of the lingering heat from our earlier encounter. Which means there’s still a light taste of myself on his lips. He possesses my mouth with a thoroughness that makes me go weak. If I were standing, I’d undoubtedly fall to the ground. While I’m still annoyed, the sharp, stinging knot in my chest blurs, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of him. Vik doesn’t pull away, he keeps his hand firmly on my stomach, his skin searing through the contact. His other hand tangles in my hair, holding me steady as he drinks from me, deeper and deeper.
The room feels smaller. The world outside these four walls ceases to exist. I’m clinging to his shoulder, my fingers curling into his skin, lost in the intoxicating, drugging reality of the fact that, despite everything, and as much as it pains me to exist, Vik is right. We’re happening. I can’t stay angry where this man is concerned. He’s a force of nature, and I’m tired of trying to outrun him.