Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Yeah, no, that doesn’t sound like Alexei Leonov.
If he’s taking care of me, it’s because he wants to.
Which means he still wants me… right?
Dammit. Why do I even care? If the cancer treatment has made me undesirable to him, he’ll just let me go, and all will be well.
Won’t it?
“Here we are,” Alexei says as the elevator doors open into the penthouse. “Are you hungry, or would you like to go straight to bed?”
“I’ll take a shower first,” I say.
And I’ll thoroughly brush my teeth while I’m at it.
Maybe I smell like medicine, or worse.
“Wait,” Alexei says, grabbing my hand as I start heading for the bathroom. “I’ll come with you.”
Oh.
My pulse speeds up.
His grip on my hand is firm and possessive. Very much my uncompromising captor.
Maybe I did misread his reaction to the kiss.
Maybe he just wanted to get me here, where we have more privacy.
I’m all but shaking with anticipation as he leads me to the bathroom, where he helps me undress, his eyes darkening to pitch black as the clothes come off my body. His touch isn’t overtly sexual—his hands don’t linger on my skin any longer than necessary as he helps me disrobe—but it’s still electrifying, each brush of his fingers sending arrows of heat straight to my core until my knees are literally weak with need.
I want this.
I want what only he can give me—that dark, violent pleasure that both destroys and renews me.
I need it to feel whole again.
It’s only when I’m completely naked that I realize he’s still clothed—and making no moves to undress himself. Instead, he steps away from me and goes to turn on the shower, testing the water with his fingers as he adjusts the faucets to his satisfaction.
The heat inside me cools drastically.
Is he not joining me? Then why is he here?
“Go ahead,” he says gruffly without looking at me. “Step in.”
“Are you…” I hesitate, hating how insecure I feel. “Are you coming in too?”
His entire body tenses. “No.” His voice is rough. “I’ll take one later. I’m here to help in case you don’t feel well.”
So I didn’t misread it earlier. He doesn’t want to have sex with me. Even here, where we’re not likely to get interrupted by any doctors or nurses.
I try to ignore the acidic tightness in my throat as I step under the warm spray and reach for the shampoo. One benefit of not wearing any makeup is that I don’t have to worry about raccoon eyes as the water hits my face.
Or as tears mingle with said water, leaking from my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them back.
I don’t even know why I’m crying again. This is fine. More than fine. So the man who forced me to marry him doesn’t want me. That’s a good thing. If this persists, he’ll soon realize that whatever irrational obsession he developed when I was a teen has faded. At that point, he’ll probably file for a divorce, and I’ll be back with my family.
I’ll finally be free.
I want to tell him to leave now, to let me be alone in the bathroom, but I’m afraid he’ll hear the tears in my voice. So I just silently shampoo what little hair I have and scrub my body, soaping up three times to get rid of all traces of the clinic.
By the time I’m done, my tears have dried up, though I’m no calmer.
When I started treatment, I dreamed of this day, of being told that I’m in remission. I thought it would be the best day of my life. Instead, I’m a hot, weepy mess. And I don’t think it’s entirely because of Alexei’s rejection, though that stings like a thousand riled-up wasps. It’s everything combined, these strange, illogical emotions that are choking me like some carnivorous vine.
Inappropriate, inexplicable emotions like anger.
And guilt.
And resentment.
The deeper I dig, the more I realize that I’m fucking furious that this happened to me. The cancer, the miscarriage, my parents’ deaths. And Alexei is smack in the middle of it all, his obsessive desire for me the only constant in the never-ending upheaval of my life, as much a relief valve for my turmoil as a contributor to it.
And now that constant is no longer there.
He doesn’t want me anymore.
A burning knot swells in my throat again as I turn off the water with jerky movements. Alexei is already by the door of the stall, holding out a fluffy white towel, ready to wrap me in it as soon as I step out.
It’s so nice of him. So fucking considerate.
It makes me want to rip his head off.
Who the fuck does he think he is, invading and manipulating my life all this time, marrying and impregnating me against my will, only to end up treating me this way? Like… like I’m his fucking sibling that he needs to parent.