Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Finally. Fucking finally. What took her so long?
“But I need a place to stay.” He grins provocatively, enjoying seeing me squirm.
“New York is the home of six hundred and seventy hotels. Go stay in one of them.”
“Bros before hos.” Riggs makes a show of yanking his bag from the floor and swinging it over his shoulder. He snaps his fingers, hanging his head down. “Oh, that’s right. She is your sister.”
He makes his way out the door, slamming it, but not before he salutes me. “Enjoy!”
I perch on the edge of the coffee table and stare at Grace for a few seconds. Her expression is peaceful. That’s how I know it’s all an act. Grace usually has a puckered frown on her face when she’s asleep. Like she uses this downtime to contemplate world domination.
“I know you’re awake,” I say.
I figure she realized I wasn’t alone when we got in and wasn’t in the mood to explain her state of nakedness.
Her face doesn’t flinch.
I sigh. “Riggs is gone, we have an important conversation that’s overdue, and I may not be in a charitable mood tomorrow morning, once the alcohol wears off.”
Her eyes flutter open. She sits upright, pouting like the spoiled princess she is. “Ugh, I hate most of your friends, but that one takes the cake, Ars. He acts like an actual frat boy.”
I say nothing. It’s been two weeks. She should be on her knees servicing me right now.
“I made you mashed potatoes with extra butter and onion bits, just like you like.” She stretches like a lazy cat, shooting me a grin. “And there’s a seasoned steak waiting to be thrown in the pan.”
She examines me, waiting for my words.
I tilt my head in the kitchen’s direction. “Well? Steak’s not gonna make itself.”
She stands up. I smack her ass lightly on her way to my kitchen, admiring her long legs in those heels. She rolls her shoulders as she takes the raw steak out of the fridge, probably to relieve the tension building in her body.
“Grace.” My voice is cold as a sharp blade, traveling down her neck.
“Hmm?”
“Come here when you’re done.”
While I wait for my steak to fry, I enjoy a glass of Moet & Chandon and a hearty blow job. She is on her knees, bobbing her head enthusiastically back and forth, taking more of me in than she normally does. I stand casually by the window, watching the darkness engulfing the tree-filled park while Grace fists my cock, sucking my balls into her mouth, her tongue massaging them.
I won. I know it. She knows it. Still, the satisfaction of having her in the palm of my hand is not as tangible, as glorious as I imagined it’d be. The fun part about Grace was always—always—the chase.
Dinner is pleasant. She smiles at me frequently, stroking my hand and asking if everything is to my taste. It is.
“Congrats on the will, by the way.” She finally gets to the point forty-five minutes after I woke her up.
“Strange choice of words, but thanks. Congrats on the theater.” I cut a juicy piece of steak and pop it into my mouth. “What’re you going to do with it?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She twirls her champagne glass by the stem, lost in thought. “I have a call with my financial adviser next week. I’ll know more then. You don’t think there’s a way to turn this into a profitable venture, do you, Ars?”
I think it’s an endless money pit designed to appease the females the Corbin men are enamored with and is a waste of brick and mortar.
“No.”
“Maybe I’ll sell it, then.”
“Don’t expect a substantial revenue. It’ll take a lot of money and a few miracles to turn that place around and make it appealing.”
“You’re so smart.” Grace sighs, beaming at me. “We’ll revisit this subject after I take a good look at it. I’m sure you can help me out with that big brain of yours.”
I put my fork down, tired of this tedious charade. “What took you so long?”
She knots her arms over her chest defensively. “What do you mean?”
“I mean coming here. Don’t play dumb.”
“Nothing. I . . . I don’t know.” She throws her hands in the air. “Can you blame me? I guess it’s hard, coming to terms with the fact that you’re in love with your stepbrother. A stepbrother you haven’t always been kind to. It’s been a pretty difficult month.”
“In love with me?” I splutter.
The timing, the convenience of it, makes it all transparent. She isn’t in love with me. With my money, maybe. And as much as I want to marry her, her lies are transparent at best and offensive at worst.
“Of course I’m in love with you, Arsène. Why else would I be with you for so many years?”
Because you’re an attention-seeking Erinyes, and you simply can’t let a good marriage prospect go to waste.