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

she smirked. "I know it sounds beyond elementary, but being twisted, as you call it, was a release for me. I mean, I went to top schools, got great grades, had a fucking five year plan from hell," she laughed and sighed. "But it just wasn't good enough."

"According to them?" he asked.

"Yeah, I originally started to travel abroad and take care of kids to get away, but then I saw that there was a hell of a lot of money involved in men who had fallen for the help and wanted to make it all go away after they had played for awhile and gotten bored."

"My fathers no saint, but he would never cheat on his wife."

"I know," she laughed. "Boy, do I know." She cringed. "They're a really weird couple."

"Tell me about it," he said, shaking his head. "So, you got back at papa by sleeping with his friends and bleeding them dry."

"Basically."

"Hey, it is five year plan too," he said, offering her a glass of vodka.

"Like you said, I'm twisted."

She stood up and walked across the room to him to take the glass. He clenched it in his hand and looked up at her.

"What do you do about real relationships if you're always making them up?"

"I don't believe in real relationships." She looked him in his eyes. "They don't last."

"Sounds like your hearts been broken."

"Crushed." She took the glass. "I take it your heart hasn't."

"No. Never had that problem."

"Well good for you." She gulped down the vodka and looked away with her hands on her hips. "I'm sure that just because your heart hasn't been broken, it doesn't mean that you haven't broken a few."

Anatoly thought about Brigitte—the last name on his long list of victims.

"What was his name?" Anatoly asked, still looking up at her. He preferred for the conversation to never focus on him. It kept him from feeling guilty or feeling anything.

"It isn't important." She turned and looked at him. "Do you mind if I pack some of your stepmothers things for tomorrow. You never did let me go back to my hotel to pick up my own stuff."

"I forgot about that. I'll send for them, but for now, Da, just pack whatever is in there."

"It's not like my stuff is better than hers, really. It's like a freaking runway fashion show in her closet," Victoria explained. She turned to walk away and stopped at the doorway. Anatoly was still sitting, brooding over something quietly. "Do you mind if I have one more drink?"

"No," Anatoly pulled the corked top off the vodka and reached out for her glass.

She walked back over directly in front of him and gave him her glass. She was much closer this time. He felt her skin against his.

Anatoly poured the vodka. The sound of the potent contents ran smoothly into the shot glass in the silence of the room. He set the bottle down then sat back in the chair. She was still standing in front of him, in between his open legs. He controlled his breathing, but he could feel the familiar heat rising at his collar.

She finished the shot and set it down on the table beside them. Then, slowly, she leaned in. He watched her closely as she snaked into him.

"What's one night, right?" she said, moving into his body to kiss him.

Anatoly felt her body lean against his. The contact made him grunt a little. Her slim long temple was warm to the touch.

"Don't… "Anatoly finally objected, turning his neck away from her soft lips. He could feel her breath on his skin.

"Why? It doesn't mean anything." She inhaled his cologne and kissed his cheek.

"That's exactly why," he explained. His minty breath tickled her nose.

She looked at him in his memorizing blue eyes. They were face-to-face now, and she could see that behind the tough exterior there was a young man who actually wanted to be loved.

She bit her lip and sighed. "People lie, you know." She hoped he read her thoughts. I do care, she whispered in her mind, but she would never say so aloud.

"All the time," he whispered.

She could feel his hot breath on her skin but he did not move towards her. Finally, she planted her hand against the chair to push herself up, embarrassed at her feeble attempt to persuade him. Refused by both father and son—what a loser, she thought.

His strong hand grasped her waist. Anatoly looked up at her and pulled her back down on his body. He slipped his free hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his lips.

The hunger in his kiss startled her. It wasn't slow and sweet like Dmitry's. It was full of fire and vigor, bruising her lips, sucking her tongue, tasting the inside of her fleshy orifice.

His grip was powerful and found its way to her hair, pulling her body further down into his lap, onto his erection. She melted.

His kiss moved from her lips, to her chin, to her neck. His hot tongue brushed against her soft brown skin as his hands pulled her dress up just above her buttocks.

Their breathing escalated. His hand massaged her round buttocks and felt the smooth wetness in between her thighs. He could not stop. With a yank of her panties, he tore them off and slipped his fingers into her body. She closed her eyes and moaned, only to feel him pull the dress off of her.

Breasts exposed, she planted her knees on either side of him in the chair as he tasted the brown tips of her nipples. She moaned and arched her back. He bit her, nibbled at her skin. The pain radiated from her breasts to the tips of her toes.

She ran her hands through his curly, dark hair and