Page 39 of Ruthless Lullaby

It takes several minutes to come to my senses and become aware of my surroundings once again. My body continues to hum, while my mind is lost in a blissful haze. With a contented sigh, I reach over to caress Maron's smooth, naked skin. My hands journey downward, appreciating the hardness of his muscles, the scars, and the ink covering his skin, telling stories of a turbulent past. I revel in the softness of his trimmed pubic hair and the slick wetness around his hard, vascular cock. The passion I experienced with him was almost too intense for me to let it end. Time seems to stand still in this perfect bliss.

"I've got something for you," he growls as his hard gaze pierces into mine. He grabs my attention with a quick gesture and I can't help but admire his chiseled form.

He hands me a folder from his bag, his face morphing back into a no-nonsense expression. "Take a look," he commands in a low voice. And just like that, our intense connection is replaced with business once again.

I stare at him before sitting up and opening the folder. "What's this?"

"See for yourself."

I open it. There are three pages inside the folder. I quickly scan the first page and I feel the blood drain from my face. My eyes are darting back and forth across the page as if searching for some hidden punchline.

But there's no punchline.

I shake my head slightly, before I dive back in for a second, then a third read-through.

Finally, I look up at Maron, my face a mask of utter bewilderment. "This must be a joke. Are you trying to prank me?"

"What makes you think that?"

"It's just... from what I'm reading here, it sounds like..." I trail off, my brain struggling to process the offer. "A sugar daddy arrangement."

He flat-out laughs. "Interesting perspective," he says. "In my opinion, I'm giving you a great offer."

"Really?"

He nods. "I can see you don't get it, Mindy. You'll have money, security, the whole nine yards. The kind of life most people only dream of.”

"And in return?" I ask for clarification, increasingly confident that the information I just read did not fully register in my mind.

"In return, all you have to do is keep putting on those private little shows for me. Like the video you sent on Friday." His lips curve into a predatory smirk. "And of course, tend to my other... needs."

My stomach twists, suddenly making me feel anger. What the actual fuck is he talking about? "By 'other needs,' you mean... sex?"

He tilts his head, fixing me with a heavy stare that makes my skin prickle. "You want me to spell it out for you? Draw you a diagram, maybe?"

And there he is. That’s Maron Korolev for you. The charming, gorgeous, and irresistible asshole I’ve been dealing with every day of the week since I started working for Global Media. First, he gives me the most amazing sex of my life, five minutes later, he’s back to being the most insufferable bosshole on the planet.

"So, this is a legit contract?" I ask. "Is this even legal?"

Maron's brow furrows. "It is. And let's call it a 'temporary marriage' arrangement."

“Awhat?”

“You heard me.”

Yes, I did. Except I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

"I'm not your girlfriend,” I snap, in irritation. “Let alone your wife. And I don't plan to be, either."

His smirk widens, a flash of perfect white teeth. "You're right,lisichka. You are not my girlfriend." He relaxes into his chair, the leather making a small creaking noise. "But before you reject my proposition, think about it with an open mind. I knowyou could use some help with money - that's why you took the singing gig, right? So, here's the deal: you need money, and I need someone to pose as my wife. And eventually, I'll need an heir. Deal?"

My head is spinning. I still can’t believe what he's suggesting. And I can’t believe that he’s serious about it. It’s as ridiculous and surreal as it gets. Pretending to be his wife? Maybe, just maybe I could get used to that idea. But having a child? With Maron Korolev? There’s no way. Not to mention my fertility issues... He clearly has no idea that I lost the ability to reproduce. But I’m not going to go into that.

"Are you serious about all this? Including the ‘heir’ part?"

He pauses, a hint of frustration crossing his face. "Yes."

I continue to stare at him in disbelief. He’s clearly out of his goddamn mind. He must be. What kind of man suggests that I sell myself to him for some money and a false sense of security? Maron Korolev, apparently. This must be the most bizarre thing that's ever happened to me.

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