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Grigory rolls me onto my back and leans in over me. With his elbow propped on the mattress, he skims a finger across my hairline as he studies my face. His expression is impassive, yet somehow, his stern features seem to say much more than they ever have before.
He leans closer, just a little, so his lips hover dangerously close to mine.Is he going to kiss me?I hope so. I’ve never given much thought to how it would feel to have his lips pressed against mine. It somehow seemed too intimate for the nature of our relationship—even more so than sex. Sex with Grigory isn’t about profound feelings or intimacy; sex with Grigory is raw, primal possession. Would a kiss be like that too? Or would it be as gentle as his touch when he comforts me?
Suddenly, I’m obsessed with the idea of kissing him, and when his eyes drop to my lips, I’m breathing hard.This is it,I think. Any moment now.
But then everything shifts. In the blink of an eye, Grigory has me on my stomach, pinned beneath his weight as he attacks my neck with bites and nibbles. Disappointment shoots through me. But it doesn’t last long. The storm of Grigory’s desire washes everything away and kindles a furious need deep in my belly.
I arch beneath him and angle my neck to allow him better access, and when he shoves my panties aside and thrusts his hard length inside me, I forget about the near kiss. Every thought I’ve ever had dissolves, leaving me blissfully empty for Grigory to fill me with whatever he wants.
— CHAPTER 7 —
CLARA
Grigory wakes me at six in the morning on Wednesday—6:00 a.m., for God’s sake.
Outrage courses through my veins as I blink my sleepy eyes against the clock onmybedside table. “I don’t need to get up for another half hour. At least.” My classes start at eight today, so I do need to get up early, but notthisearly.
“Get up,” he says.
With a grunt, I tug the covers up to my chin. “Just leave me alone.”
“Now, Clara.” The threat in his voice does nothing to deter my sleep-blurred mind. All I see at this time in the morning is the need to stay in bed, all self-preservation and submission drowning in the haze.
“I told you. A quarter to seven is plenty of time,” I croak. Well, maybe not plenty, but enough to rush through my morning routine and catch the bus.
Grigory yanks the comforter off, but even as cold air creeps along my naked skin, I stay in place, curling up on myself to alleviate the chill.
A hard smack on my butt makes me yelp, one more has me squirming farther in on the bed, and a third has me pushing up to sit, glaring at the sadistic man while blinking rapidly.
The blurry veil slowly dissipates, leaving me a clear view of Grigory. White shirt, black slacks, clean-shaven jaw, and coffee mug in hand. This is the vision I’ve awoken to every morning for the past ten days. It has become no less astonishing over time, seeing this powerful man towering in my tiny apartment—today with a stern scowl edged into the space between his brows.
“If I have to say it a third time, I’ll drag you under the cold shower.”
Grigory’s growly threat does nothing to lessen the simmering heat suddenly stirring in my belly. On the contrary. The idea of his large hand wrapping around my arm as he drags me out of bed has my nerves sparking alive, but the prospect of the icy water makes me scramble over the mattress to the edge of the bed.
I’m rewarded with the same hand I just fantasized about. Though the grip on my arm is meant to steady rather than punish as he helps me get up and find my footing. “Get ready to leave,” he says.
I lick my lips as I stare up into his dark eyes. “Good morning,” I manage in a husky voice, having already forgotten about the pleasant sleep he took me from.
“Good morning,” he says, lips tipping up in a warm smile. “Sleepy little girl.” He brushes my messy hair from my cheek and behind my ear, fingertips tickling my skin along the way. “Or should I say, belligerent little girl?”
My cheeks heat even as a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “Sorry about that.”
He strokes his knuckles along the side of my face. “You’re rather cute when you’re grumpy. Like a kitten.”
“I love kittens,” I say, my smile blossoming, wide and bright.
“I’m sure you do.” He leans in close, his breath fanning the sensitive skin on my ear. “Do you know what I like?”
I suck in a loud breath, a shudder rolling through my body at the sound of his rumbling tone. “What?” I whisper.
“An obedient submissive.” He smacks my ass and straightens to give me an intrusive look. Humor glimmers in his eyes, though concealed behind stern features.
I spring into action with a giddy feeling dancing in my belly as I scurry to the bathroom.
To make up for the sadistic man temporarily residing in my apartment hauling me out of bed, I allow myself to take my time getting ready. But I end up rushing anyway when I suddenly realize I’ve taken too much time.
I hurry through the apartment, gathering my things—including lunch money, which has become obligatory—finding clothes to wear, and finally putting on my jacket and shoes in the hall.
