"I want to go home Vlad. Now," she insisted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off both the shirt and the jacket, draping them over the back of a chair that was pushed up against the marble kitchen island. "No Jane," he said, his voice low, the accent becoming more pronounced as he stalked toward her. "You want to be treated like a whore."
He stopped in front of her, his naked chest displaying the stark array of tattoos. The temple with its base of skulls looked more sinister than ever to her, reminding her that he wasn't a pretend bad guy. He was the real thing. And she constantly mocked and defied him. She was only alive because something about her caught his attention to the point of obsession. She tilted her chin and glared up into his dark,
