Page 57 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
“You don’t understand.”
“Too fucking right, I don’t understand. Take me home.” I stomp my foot like a petulant child.
“I will take you home, but not like this. Not until I can guarantee your safety.”
“How are you going to do that then?” I glare at him, and he watches me, unfazed.
“I asked you to trust me, Cartier.”
“Yeah, I remember. But that was before you drugged me without my permission and brought me toRussia.”
“I would never hurt you.” I open my mouth to protest, and he shuts me down. “Do you believe me?”
I raise a hand to my head that’s still reeling from the skittles it bowled over while I was unconscious. “My head hurts.”
He smiles, and my traitorous heart skips like a lamb frolicking in a daisy-covered meadow. “Come and sit down, and I’ll pour your coffee.”
I allow him to lead me back to the bed and perch on the edge, watching him fill the porcelain cup with steaming black liquid and add a dash of cream. He offers it to me with a couple of Tylenol.
“This will help with the headache. I made breakfast too.” He raises the silver dome to reveal pancakes drizzled with streaky bacon and maple syrup.
“They have maple syrup in Russia?” I want to stay angry with him, but I’m suddenly ravenous.
“Cartier, when will you learn that I’ll get you anything you want, anywhere in the world?”
“But you won’t take me back to Chicago.” I swallow the pills with coffee and wait for the caffeine to hit.
“Gianna and Mika know that you’re here.” He sits beside me, his thigh touching mine and sending sparks straight through to my sex.
“They do?” I think about Gianna and her beautiful baby girls, and Mika coping at the shelter without me, taking all the night shifts. Then I remember Yuri Asimov. “Are they safe?”
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “They’re safe. Leonid will take care of things in Chicago.”
“Things?” The anxious squeak is back.
“Nothing for you to worry about, baby. Eat, and I’ll show you around.”
I don’t know how,but Andrej has filled a free-standing gilt-trimmed wardrobe with warm clothes that fit me. Thick woolen sweaters and fleece-lined sweatpants. My brain is still taking its goddamned sweet time getting back to full working capacity, so I follow him around the house like a child on my first trip to Disneyworld, soaking up the sights, open-mouthed with wonder.
Every cavernous room on the ground level has a fire crackling in the hearth. The rooms are sumptuous; the interior designer was clearly instructed to check out minimalistic trends and do the exact opposite. They’re stuffed full of plump squashy sofas, antique dressers and bureaus, and low glass coffee tables. The rugs are vibrant. The artwork is classy. The cushions and chandeliers are decadent.
I wander from room to room, stroking statues and paintings and tasseled throws. It’s so far away from Andrej’s classy apartment that I stop in one of the living rooms and turn my back to the hearth, warming my legs and ass on the hissing flames.
“Did you live here when you were a child?”
Andrej shakes his head. “I spent vacations here with my grandparents when they were still alive. It’s my favorite place in the world.”
I believe him. His eyes gleam whenever he points out something that he thinks I’ll appreciate. I’m still angry with him for bringing me here against my will, but now that I know Mika and Gianna are aware of what’s going on, I’m determined to explore and enjoy the extravagant comfort of Andrej’s family home.
“I wish I could’ve met them.” I want to climb inside the minds of the people who built this place and find out what fairy tales they read when they were kids.
He smiles. “They’d have loved you. You’d have been their printzessa.”
The butterflies inside my chest have a party when they hear this. It’s impossible to stay mad with him for long. We’re in a winter wonderland, trapped in a blizzard, with roaring fires and cozyblankets, and my pussy is already aching with anticipation for tonight.
What better way to keep warm?
At least that’s the excuse I put forward when I catch myself staring at his scar and licking my lips.Way to go, Cartier. You were unconscious when he carried you upstairs to that gigantic four-poster bed, and you’re still drooling about riding his cock.
