The Billionare's Pretend Wife
Powerless against his strength, I clawed at him with my free hand, digging my thumbnail into the soft tissue below his jaw.
Natasha punched me in the gut.
I doubled over, trying to catch my breath.
“Remember your place!” He swiftly wrapped a length of rope around my wrists and lifted my arms to a bolt loop on a soffit overhead. With a clip ready, he fastened my arms high above my head.
“Tell me what you want,” I said.
When Natasha finished locking me in place, he stood back and grinned. “I want you, Ms. Robert.”
Hanging from my wrists—a dive in reverse—I balanced on my toes. Natasha traced the barrel of his gun from my belly to my chin.
Bab Populer