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Handsome in the way rough palms muffle screams, the way people bow to kings, and most of all . . . the way an angel falls from grace.
I bet people went out of their way to listen to this man talk.
dépaysement (n.) when someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one
“Listen, I just want to pay for my room,” I said, slightly out of breath when I finally caught up to him. “I’m sure you have lots of other things to spend your money on. Giant underpants can’t come cheap.” He almost appeared amused. Or constipated? I couldn’t be sure.
“You shouldn’t give a fuck about what other people think. Trust me, they don’t care about you.”
Don’t give this one away. —Ronan
nazlanmak (v.) saying no and meaning yes
Too bad her soft heart was her downfall.
“Moy kotyonok.” I ran a thumb across her parted lips. “I told you this city would eat you alive.” I just didn’t tell her I owned Moscow and everything in it.
She acted like she was deprived, but I knew she received oral from men and women alike—and often. She just wanted to see me on my knees. I’d rather put my dick through a meat grinder.
Me: Fuming. Can barely speak. Nadia: You’re a jerk. Me: I’m busy. Stop texting me. Nadia: Busy doing what? Me: Nadia: ARGH!
It was the idea Mila’s soft eyes were almost permanently snuffed out by a cup of tea.
With shaky hands, I closed my ripped romper as best I could and sat up, feeling so sick and naïve. I didn’t know why I did this to myself; why I cared so much tears burned the backs of my eyes; why I couldn’t hate him even now. If anything, I despised myself for serving Ronan the vulnerability on a silver platter, only for him to reject me like cheap vodka.
mamihlapinatapai (n.) a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire
He would do this no matter how much I begged. He would destroy Khaos and stomp on my soft heart in the process. Because I was worthless to him. Just like I was to my papa, to The Moorings, and to Ivan.
“Don’t ever fucking disobey me in front of my men again.”
kilig (n.) the feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach
“When someone calls you a whore, you get the fuck out of their bed,” I growled. “It’s called having a little self-respect.”
Though what I didn’t like the most was the fact she wasn’t going to tell me I was hurting her.
“You’re not into slow and sweet either. I don’t know what you want from me.” Insecurity touched her voice. “I want you to like it.”
heliophilia (n.) the desire to stay in the sun
I was the stupid one for thinking I could handle it and not feel anything for him afterward.
When I entered the kennel and saw Mila lying beside Misha, shivering, it felt like a knife to the chest. Without a word, I lifted her in my arms and started back to the house.
Her words were a punch to the gut—especially because I believed her. I knew it before I even dragged her outside.
A shiver wracked her, and the pressure in my throat expanded, compelling me to skim a kiss across her cold thigh and roughly say, “Izvini.” I’m sorry.
I’d wanted her body. But now, I wanted her loyalty even more. “I know, kotyonok. Now, go to sleep.”
toska (n.) a dull ache of the soul
He held my heart in the palm of his hand, bringing it out to play sometimes before putting it back in his pocket to be forgotten.
“You pull a trigger on me, and I can’t even leave you out in the cold for fifteen fucking minutes. So you tell me, Mila, who cares more here?”
“I’m an emotional fuck,” I replied. “Get over it.”
I suddenly wanted to imprint myself on him; to make him remember me forever—no matter the consequences.
“Fuck,” he cursed softly. “I told you, nothing happened to me.”
Ronan pressed his face against my neck with a low groan. “Inogda bol’no smotret’ na tebya.” He wasn’t going to translate the statement for me, but he didn’t need to. I understood what he said. Sometimes it hurts to look at you. And now I knew it wasn’t only water running down my cheeks.
fudgel (n.) pretending to work while actually doing nothing
I’d like to think my interest in Mila was just about her body, but I’d never talked to a woman as much as I did her without experiencing the pull of suicidal boredom. And yet I was the one striking up conversation even while balls-deep inside of her just to hear what that mouth of hers had to say. The truth was . . . Mila could have braces and leprosy, and I’d still want to fuck her six ways to Sunday.
I wasn’t being demanding, so I must be sick? Jesus Christ.
“U neye ovulyatsiya,” I explained. “Ona prakticheski iznasilovala menya.” She’s ovulating. She practically raped me.
Mila got to her feet and aimed a glare at me. “Ovulating? You’re the one who’s always ovulating if you ask me.”
I’d normally be enjoying two fingers of vodka and a cigar after this day, though now all I could see was the heartbroken look on Mila’s face.
“Fuck.” He pulled out of me, turned me around, and framed my face with his hands. “Did I hurt you?”
“Lions don’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep.”
“Oh . . . I must have forgotten. He said something like that when he came to see me last night.” Interesting. I wondered if he went to see her after I blew him and rode his face or before I passed out with him in his bed.
“That tongue emoji was for you, was it not?” she asked, kicking me in the side with her stiletto.
“Because you’re so sweet you fucking glow.” His eyes darkened. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take that light from you.”

