Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
He grabs a wad of tissues from the box on the vanity and pulls out. His release leaks from my body and runs down my thighs while he watches with concentration. I don’t move. I let him take his fill, secretly enjoying this unexpected power he gives me too.
He wipes the wetness from my inner thighs and discards the tissues before zipping up. Then he grasps my hips and carefully helps me to my feet. I stand on wobbly legs, studying his reflection in the mirror.
“Don’t clean between your legs,” he says, pinning me with a smoldering look. “I want you to feel me inside you with every step you take.”
“I probably smell like sex.”
“Good.” He grabs my hair in a ponytail at the base of my neck and twists it around his fist while giving me a possessive smile. “Then everyone will know you’re mine.”
My heart pounds out an erratic beat, one that’s simultaneously hopeful and fearful. It feels as if I’m balancing on the edge of a cliff with the wind whipping around me. It can either push me over or pull me back, depending on the direction from where it comes.
“Why is that important?” I ask. “Is it part of the show you’re putting on?”
Thud, thud. Thud, thud.
Silence.
The only sound is the thumping of my heart in my ears.
When he finally speaks, his voice is flat. “Yes.”
I go over the cliff, my stomach bottoming out as I plummet to the ground where disappointment waits like sharp rocks to impale my body and to stab right through my chest.
“Because my life is yours,” I say, tasting the bitterness of that statement on my tongue.
“True.” He turns me with his hands on my shoulders to face him. “But it’s also to keep you safe.”
After quickly washing his hands in the bathroom, he gives me my wrap and my clutch bag, takes my hand, and pulls me behind him to the door.
The slickness between my legs and the lingering burn under the skin of my glutes are no longer sexy, wild, and adventurous. He eradicated everything with a few cold words, reminding me of my place in our reality.
He’s broody in the car, so much so that I don’t dare to speak. I shift in my seat to find a more comfortable position for my sore bottom while staring through the window. I hitched up the dress at the back so that I don’t spoil it. If he gets a cum stain on his leather seat, he only has himself to blame.
He doesn’t drive long before pulling up at a mansion in Park Slope.
I shoot him a glance. “This is so close to your house we could’ve walked.”
Our eyes lock. Once again, it’s like before, when he fucked me, and nothing existed but the moment and us.
Taking my fingers in his, he presses a kiss on my knuckles in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly manner. “With those heels on your feet?” He lets me go. “I’d never be so cruel.”
The connection between us snaps as he slides from behind the wheel and gets out of the car. His attention is already trained on the house when he helps me from my side. I don’t miss the tense set of his shoulders or the hard line of his jaw.
A tingle runs down my spine, nerves twisting my insides.
Several expensive cars are parked in the street. Saverio intertwines our fingers and leads me to the front door.
A valet asks if Saverio would like him to park his car somewhere safe, at which he gives him a clipped no, barely sparing the man a glance as he ushers me up the steps. A hostess opens the door and tells us to make ourselves at home in the backyard where drinks are served.
I look around as we cross a big foyer and an enormous lounge. The house is decorated with contemporary art and furniture, the accent colors red and black, but it seems cold and empty like a show house that lacks any signs of living.
Sliding doors lead to a covered terrace. The late autumn day is mild, but I’m grateful for the wrap that I pull around my shoulders to cover my nipples.
People mingle around cocktail tables on the lawn. The women are dressed in evening gowns and most men wear tuxedos. At the far end of the garden, a gazebo stands on a small stage. Chairs decorated with white ribbons and cream roses face the gazebo.
A waiter offers us champagne, but Saverio declines.
“Juice?” he asks with his head bowed down to mine even as he scans the crowd with his gaze.
“Um, please.”
A few people turn their heads our way. We’re the talk of the gathering as we go to the bar on the other side of the terrace. Suppressing the urge to fiddle with my dress, I square my shoulders and walk with my head held high next to Saverio. All the while, whispering reaches my ears.