Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen Nelson, S. (best finance books of all time TXT) 📖

under her breath as her body involuntarily pushed against the bed under his long muscular frame. He groaned and licked her bloody face.

The polarized sexual experiences stung through her as much as the pain. Dmitry loved her. Ivan loathed her. She had given her all to Dmitry. She had given nothing to Ivan, yet he took everything. Dmitry had been gentle and loving always every time that he touched her. Ivan's angry thrusts seemed to be for the purpose of impalement with deep and painful stabbings.

Pulling her face toward him, he forced her to open her mouth. His tongue slid into hers, fleshy and wet. She tried to bit his tongue but felt the knife against her throat as he threatened.

"Kiss me back like good girl," he ordered.

Cringing, she screamed out as his monstrous grip loosened around her bruised neck just enough for her to breathe. She was forced to kiss him, forced to taste him. Tears flowed freely down her face onto their skin. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into his greedy erection.

"Damn, Royal," he said, hissing hot breath on her skin. "I wish Dmitry could see what I am doing to you. Not just because it would kill him." He grunted and shifted deeper. "But also because maybe he could finally see how it is done."

Screaming frantically, Royal sat up in her king-sized bed and realized that she was having yet another nightmare about Dmitry's dead brother, Ivan Medlov. Damn him. Damn him to a fiery hell, he had been dead three years now, and yet he frequently visited her in the same taunting ways.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and ran her fingers over her neck. Her heartbeat raced against her hand. Panting, she closed her eyes and cringed as she felt the old knife mark from his blade. It had left a horrible scar that would always cause questions if she didn't cover it. However, vanity was the last issue she had. She was grateful for the scar, only because her healed wound meant that she had survived.

Pulling the many of layers of thick, plush crimson cover from her legs, she crawled out of bed and went to her bathroom. Hitting the lights, she tiptoed across the cold ceramic tile over to the sink and turned on the faucet. The sound of water filled the room, interrupting thoughts of her ghost. She ran her hands through the cold stream and washed her burning cheeks. The water soothed her soiled thoughts, cleaned her sweaty skin.

"Are you alright?" a deep voice asked behind her.

She looked up startled and saw her husband, Dmitry, standing in the oversized arched doorway. His blue eyes pierced through her, a frown darkened his fair, beautiful features.

Royal sighed. "I had another bad dream," she rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine. Where were you, anyway?" Stilling her shaking hands, she turned towards him and leaned against the vanity.

"Anya woke up and came to sleep with us. I know that you've been trying to get her to stay in her room all night, so I took her back to bed."

Turning away from him, she reached into the medicine cabinet.

"Was it Ivan again? The nightmare?" Dmitry asked softly, his baritone voice pained.

"Who else would it be?" she asked irritated.

Towering over her in on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, he walked up behind her. His bare, clean shaven chest hovered above her. Tanned to a golden bronze and covered in old world tattoos, it pulsated with concrete muscles that came from too much time in the gym and not enough time in his own bed.

Dmitry watched her fumble with the medicine bottle and finally drop two pills into her hand. Royal had been on valium for over two years. At first, it had helped her to deal with the postpartum depression after Anya was born. Then, it helped with the depression that had come after her therapy started to get over the rape. Now, it was just because. Plus, it didn't help that he owned the pharmaceutical company that produced her legal heroine; she had it sent to their home by the bulk.

Running his large hands down her sweaty back, he tried to soothe her.

"Come now, I put you back to bed," his Russian accent cut through the silence.

"I don't want to go back to bed," she snapped. Tears ran down her face. She wiped them quickly. "I want it to stop. Can you pay someone to make that happen?" She watched his face. "No? I didn't think so. Just leave me alone, alright. Like I said, I'll be fine."

Dmitry's guilt consumed him again for the millionth time as he watched her swallow the hand full of pills and dip her head to the faucet to drink the running water. Her long black hair fell over the sink and into the water. She ignored it, letting it whip against her gown leaving water marks as she stood back up.

"I wish there was something I could do," his voice sounded desperate.

"Just leave me alone." She held on to the sides of the water basin and looked down.

Besides the fact that she had a screeching headache and if she had to look up nearly two feet to eye him she would probably pass out, she also did not want him to see her cry anymore. She was tired of the constant pity and the constant reminder of what had happened to her. She wanted desperately for it to all go away.

"Are you sure?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't send him away.

"Yes," she hissed.

"Alright. Goodnight." He let his hand trail off of her body.

Turning away with a defeated sigh, he left her in the bathroom and wondered back down the long corridor to his daughter's room.

Opening the door slowly, he looked on as Anya slept