Page 226 of In Love with a Ruthless Man

It didn’t matter.

Someone just had to be naked and then—-

Shit.Fredericka ducked her head again, heat blooming in her cheeks at the appallingly lewd direction of her thoughts. “I g-gotta go.”

Watching Fredericka rush out of the bathroom like a criminal on the run, the billionaire thought,There’s nowhere for you to run, pchelka.She was the woman he wanted, and there was nothing – no one – he wanted that didn’t ever become his.

Fredericka was in the middle of pulling the covers up when she heard Sergei walk back into the bedroom. A moment later and he was standing in front of her, and her eyes widened when he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she demanded shrilly.

“I never sleep with my clothes on.” As he spoke, the billionaire had already dispensed with his shirt, leaving him bare-chested.

Her throat went dry, and her heart started hammering against her chest again.

Abs.

Too, too much abs.

“You’re staring at me again,” Sergei drawled.

Shit.

She whipped her gaze away, muttering, “It’s because you’re so ugly.”

But the billionaire only laughed, his ego immense enough to be insult-proof.

“You’re doing this to torment me, aren’t you?” she accused him.

“Not at all,” the billionaire dismissed as he placed his neatly folded shirt on the bedside table. “I’m just ticking another item off our bucket list.” Dark eyes gleaming, he looked at her, saying silkily, “See each other’s naked bodies and not be grossed out.”

Oh!

She remembered reading that line from the bucket list—-

And then she saw the billionaire reach for the buttons of his pants.

Shit.

Fredericka quickly turned around and switched the light off, the same time she heard the faint but distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fredericka scooted to the edge of the bed as she felt it dip, and her body tensed when she felt the billionaire get into bed with her.

You asked for this, Fredericka Spears.

Darkness prevented her from seeing anything, but the thought that Sergei Grachyov was lying next to her, without a stitch of clothes on, was tortuous and made her barely able to breathe. Swallowing, she asked in a small voice, “ Are you really naked?”

Instead of answering, Sergei started moving closer.

She stiffened. “Stop.” She was already lying at the very edge of the bed, and there was nowhere for her to go.

But the billionaire continued to move closer, and the bed continued to dip towards her side, forcing Fredericka to clutch the edge to prevent herself from falling. “Sergei,” she protested. “Stop—-”

But it was too late.

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