The Professional Read Online Kresley Cole (The Game Maker #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Drama, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
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Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
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At Berezka’s front entrance, Sevastyan walked me to the doors. I was suddenly aware of all the activity around us. Was it just me, or had the groundskeepers paused their raking to watch Sevastyan and me interact?

A couple of brigadiers emerged from the house. They stopped short and stared at my bedraggled appearance—before the warning in Sevastyan’s eyes made them slink away.

Turning back to me, Sevastyan said, “I’m going to speak to Paxán after dinner.”

I was still half-dazed. “I haven’t accepted this. You.”

“Trust me, pet.” He curled his forefinger under my chin, then leaned down to give me a kiss that anyone could see.

Which was his admitted plan. I thought it’d be a brief goodbye kiss, a toll I would grudgingly accept to get into the house as quickly as possible.

Instead, Sevastyan seemed bent on starting that fire in me once more. He took my mouth fiercely, giving me hot, seeking flicks of his tongue. It was a down-and-dirty kiss, with one objective: slay my resistance.

Which it did.

His hands descended to my hips, squeezing me against his body as his mouth consumed mine. Our tongues sparred until I was gripping his shoulders, wanting to get even closer to his unyielding heat.

As ever, his kiss had a way of blanking my mind, of filling me with a sense that all was well—even when I knew all was futhermucked. . . .

When he finally broke away, leaving me panting and shaken, he smirked. “Lie to yourself all you like, but you’ve definitely accepted me.” Masculine satisfaction emanated from him. His bearing wouldn’t have been amiss on an Olympic podium.

Triumphant. Victorious male.

Was that why I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been defeated?

When I opened the door with a wobbling step, he swatted my ass. I tossed a bewildered look over my shoulder, surprised as much by the unexpected love tap as by this playful side.

“Go inside and get warm, Natalie. And relax, this is a good thing.”

Then he was gone, leaving my lips bruised and my mind in turmoil. Lost in my thoughts, I made my way up the stairs—

I started when Filip stepped in front of me on the landing.

There was fury in his eyes. “Have fun with the guard dog?”

CHAPTER 22

“I’ve been so worried about you!” Jess exclaimed when I called her that night.

“Really?” I’d kind of been worried about myself after Filip’s meltdown just hours ago. “What’s up?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe the fact that some mafiya thug wants to off my best friend.”

Oh, that. “Then why didn’t you call me on the new number I gave you?”

“How the hell do you call Russia from Greece? It’s like trying to figure out rela-fucking-tivity. And still, I gave it several shots. Of Ouzo. Seriously, you have no idea how much your situation is affecting me. I’ve been stress-eating my way across Greece.”

I frowned. “You don’t stress-eat—”

“Cock, Natalie. I was stress-eating cock. There, you made me say it, happy now?”

“Opa!”

“Twat.”

“Bitch.” Despite my foul mood, I had to check a grin. “I take it your trip was a success.”

“Of course it was. But I don’t want to talk about me, Richie Rich. I wanna know that you’re safe.”

Define “safe.” “I’ve been perfectly fine.”

She took me at my word. “So give me the details then! Tell me all about your gangster rumspringa.”

How to begin? I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection. I was back to my old Natalie self—no hint of Natalya—but if I were fanciful, I’d say my eyes were more . . . knowing. “It might not be just a rumspringa. Kovalev wants me to stay on.” Any other woman would kill for an opportunity to live in a place like this, to get to know her father and study at a new university.

To be with a man as glorious and sexy as Sevastyan.

Radio silence from Jess. Then finally: “And you’re giving the prospect actual thought?”

“I’m feeling, uh, a little pressure to stay.” I told her about the last two weeks, the insane amount of gifts, my growing phobia of mass quantities of money, and the looming danger.

When I’d finished, she said, “You haven’t mentioned the cage-fighter unicorn.”

“I guess you could say we’ve gotten . . . involved.” How to explain this confusing situation? Sevastyan’s complicated nature? “With him, everything is extreme.” Just as Paxán had said. “The man is extremely sexy, complex, infuriating. Sometimes I feel like I’m already in love with him; sometimes I feel like I should be running the other way. Bottom line, I am extremely confused.” I detailed for her the highlights of our relationship and the specter of plight-hood, then gave her a blow-by-blow (har) of what had happened in the banya.

“That is so hot! You just gave me a wetty. Fap, fap, fap.”

“Will you be serious? Talk of bondage and whipping doesn’t even make you raise a brow?”

“Please. Nothing between consenting adults fazes me.” True to form, she zeroed in on her favorite detail: “You’ve STILL got your skin tag? Come on, Nat, this is getting ridiculous. Are you thinking with your vaj?”

“No!”

“There’s your problem right there.”

“Jess, I was hoping to get some real, unvarnished advice. I worry that I’m different because of that encounter, that I’m changed. But here’s the thing: I think . . . I think he might be too.”

“You really held out?”

“Somehow. The guy told me that if he was my first lover, he’d be my last.”

She coughed. “That’s seriously heavy.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’d figured he was perfect for a vacay fling—but mafiya rules say that is not in the cards for Nat.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re talking about having sex with only one guy for your entire life.”

“It sounds so bad when you put it like that. How many guys have you slept with, Jess? Really.”

“Fourscore? Population of a small midwestern town? Horde?”

“But do you regret any of them?”

“Nope. Each one brought something different to the table.”

I could admit to myself that Sevastyan had brought a banquet. Still . . . “It doesn’t seem very progressive of me to get off on what we did. He ordered me around and basically trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”


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