Page 29 of The Russian's Forced Bride
He gently put my hands down, his attention shifting to what I had cooking.
“I didn’t know you cooked. You sure you’re actually an heiress?”
I laughed softly, itching the back of my neck. “Dad never let me cook, but I gained some experience in college.”
He nodded, his hands still holding onto mine the entire time. This was the first time we had talked this long without losing our tempers at each other.
It felt nice—but that didn’t mean I suddenly liked him.
And then I remembered last night, and heat crept onto my face in embarrassment.
“Look, about yesterday,” I started, shaking my head. “I was being a baby. I just had a silly nightmare and—”
“It wasn’t a silly nightmare,” he assured me, now returning his gaze to me. Our eyes locked intensely. “I’ve never seen you cry,kroshka. So I know it wasn’t just some silly nightmare.”
The wordkroshkarolled off his tongue in his thick Russian accent. I had always hated it when he called me that. It felt like he was being condescending—like I was some pet.
But now I wanted to hear more. His voice carried emotion every time he said it. His true self shone through.
“It was about my mom,” I admitted to him, my eyes shifting from his to the floor. “She died when I was a kid, and…Dad said it was an accident. I wasn’t there, he claimed….”
I then looked back into his eyes. “But there was so much blood, Rafael. I’ve never seen that much blood in my life. And I can still hear her screaming for help. Then these masked men laugh over her… That can’t all be made up, right?” I asked him as my eyes searched his, worried he’d think I was crazy.
He gently cupped my cheeks, softly stroking them as if I were a fragile porcelain doll he feared breaking. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of vengeance burning within them.
“Those men who killed your mother won’t dare touch you, Arlette. They’d die before they could dream of it,” he promised sincerely.
I swallowed. “And Joaquin?”
“I’d bring his head to you now in a platter of gold if you ask, princess. His dismembered limbs and anything else you want. I swear,kroshka—it’s all just a matter of time. That fucker’s already a walking corpse.”
I shuddered inwardly at the mental image—but that didn’t mean I felt pity for whatever would happen to Joaquin.
He betrayed my father. He deserved to die.
And then, all the while stroking his thumbs over my bottom lip, Rafael’s voice came out raw.
“I want to fucking kiss you,kroshka,” he declared.
I nodded in agreement with him before his lips immediately claimed mine, and he pressed me firmly against the kitchen island, his hands reaching out to turn off the burner.
A sigh of satisfaction escaped my lips at the feeling of his body against mine, and I pulled off his fur coat, which fell onto the ground with a thud that was drowned out by the sound of our rapid, uneven breathing filling the room.
My back arched onto the kitchen counter when his hands slipped under the gaps in my robe and made contact with my bare skin.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his lips leaving mine and moving to the nape of my neck, while his hands, which had slipped underneath my gown, began to cradle my bare breasts softly—stroking and flickering as I began to moan out at the heat coursing through my core.
I wanted more—tofeelmore.
Even though I had promised myself not to let this man touch me ever again.
I couldn’t control myself.
I pressed against his hardened cock, which grazed against me, and he groaned in response.
“I want you to fuck me, Rafael,” I breathed out, and he momentarily pulled away from me, his eyes clouded with lust.
“Are you sure?”
