Bound to the Beast: Russian Hitman Romance Read Online Free

a lot of busty bottle blondes with fake tans and probably fake boobs, too. Not that I minded. Fake boobs felt good, too. A little weird at first, but nice and heavy in the palms and always with erect nipples. There was a lot to be said for that.
     
    I spent the next three hours at that bar, just waiting. Watching as people came and went, I mentally compared their faces, clothing, and body type to the Christopher’s. No dice. Finally, it was starting to get late and I was beginning to think this was all a bust. Christopher might have been here at some point, but not tonight. Not now.
     
    Frustrated, I gave up and waved down the bartender.
     
    “Sir?” he asked politely. He recognized me, but didn’t know me by name. Probably, he had sense enough to not want to, either.
     
    “Vodka, neat,” I told him, and the man nodded before pulling out a clear bottle of the good stuff. Ah, a little taste of home. The bartender put the tumbler down on the counter in front of me. I swirled the clear liquid around quickly, then downed it in a single gulp. I tapped the counter, indicating that I wanted another, and the bartender obliged quickly.
     
    This one I sipped at, my eyes going over the room again automatically. I was still half looking for this Christopher guy, though by now I’d accepted I wasn’t likely to see him. Wherever he was, he was long gone from here.
     
    Still, I couldn’t help but be vigilant as I drank.
     
    That was why I saw her. She was a pretty little thing, her curves proportionate, but just naturally like that instead of filled in by surgical procedures and shaped by doctor’s hands. She was born that way, developing into the kind of woman men salivated over. Which they were doing right now.
     
    Her hair was a soft blonde, closer to wheat or honey than the platinum color you could only get from a bottle. It was long and thick stopping just above her hips, straight as a wooden board. Her hips were full, more noticeable thanks to that tiny waist which slowly flared upwards into two perfectly round, perky tits. I lingered on those soft orbs longer than the rest of her, indulging in the small press of cleavage that was visible beneath her dress. A soft white summer dress that stopped not far above her knees. It was a spaghetti strap, but otherwise it was really quite modest. Too modest for a place like this in fact. As were her flat, ballerina style slippers. She looked like she belonged on Broadway performing Swan Lake , not slinking around some bar to take shots.
     
    Her round, apple cheeks were flushed and dotted with a dusting of adorable freckles. I suddenly wondered if those freckles were elsewhere, too. My eyes slipped down the long column of her neck, searching now, until they once again landed on her full breasts. I thought I saw a few freckles there, too, and I couldn’t help but grin slyly into my glass.
     
    I’ll bet they’re between your legs, too, sweetheart, I thought to myself.
     
    She walked around almost shyly, her eyes blue and bright, searching out the deep corners of the place, examining faces and expressions and clothes like she’d never seen any of it before. She was smiling so widely that her cheeks probably hurt, showing barely shiny pink lips and a row of pearly white teeth.
     
    Sweet , that was finally what I came to as a word to describe her. Sweet . Not usually my type, but for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was so unlike everyone else in the room, so out of place.
     
    She eventually made it to the bar. “Um, excuse me?” she called out, trying to get the bartender who was at the opposite end. He either didn’t hear her or didn’t care that she was calling; she didn’t look like she had a lot of money. Leaning over the bar farther to get his attention—I noticed the way her breasts sat heavily on the counter, pushing together until even her modest little summer dress couldn’t completely contain them—she waved at him again, “Excuse me,