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“Ty dazhe na vkus sladkaya.”
You even taste sweet
“Do svidaniya, kotyonok.”
Goodbye, kitten
He was going to whip me like Carlo beat his pregnant wife in The Godfather.
WTF
malen’kaya lgunishka.”
Litte liar
J’ai le syndrome de Stockholm. Tu as le syndrome de Stockholm. Nous avons le syndrome de Stockholm.
I have Stockholm syndrome. You have Stockholm syndrome. We have Stockholm syndrome.
“Just mine.” The words froze to ice, and his eyes finally lifted to mine, an immoral matte black. “Your misery, your attention, your body—all mine.” The caustic words settled on my skin, slowing each inhale. “I’m beginning to think I need to prove it to you.”
“Ya vyyebu vsyu lozh iz tebya.”
I'll fuck all the lies out of you
“Ty dash’ mne trakhnut tebya?”
You will let me fuck you
“I wanted rose petals and lit candles for my first time, but, really, what could outdo this?”
Hahahaha
Dazhe tvoya kiska na vkus kak klubnika.”
Even your pussy tastes like strawberries
“Eta pizda byla sozdana dlya trakha.”
This cunt was made for fucking
“Ti slishkom ideal’naya chto bi byt’ nastoyashchey.”
You are too perfect to be real
“I don’t regret a lot of things, kotyonok, but I do regret what I did last night.”
“Tell me what you really want from me, kotyonok. You can have it. Anything besides letting you go.”
“I want you to care . . .”
Ronan’s hand dropped from my face, and with a harsh sound, he pushed away from me. “You’re a goddamn headache, you know that?”
“I feed my captive vegan,” he growled.
“She spends her days doing yoga and playing in the yard and her nights reading classics by the fireplace.” His sardonic tone lacked humor.
His gaze narrowed. “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?”
“You were going to catch a plane home without saying a word to me, weren’t you?”
“Am I that easy to leave, kotyonok?”
He watched me for a second. “Jesus Christ.” With a frustrated noise like he was in pain, he released my hair. “I’ve Stockholm syndromed you.”
“Ya dumayu uzhe slishkom pozdno dlya etogo.”
I think it's too late for that
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.
“U neye ovulyatsiya,” I explained. “Ona prakticheski iznasilovala menya.” She’s ovulating. She practically raped me.
Kirill’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “I ty ne mog ot ne’ye otbit’sa.” And you couldn’t fend her off, I see.
“Ya ne govoryu togo, chego ne imeyu v vidu.”
I don't say anything I don't mean
“Fuck, woman.” He pulled me in to kiss me deeply—just to shut me up, I think. Still, I sighed into his mouth, heat washing to my toes. I went in for more, but he pulled back and skimmed his lips across mine. “Ya lyublyu tebya. Tak sil’no chto ne mogu dumat’ kogda ty daleko ot menya.” I love you. So much I can’t think when you’re away from me.
