Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
But not there.
I untangle our bodies. Flip her over. Push her knees apart.
"Touch yourself, sweetness." I nip at her ear. "I want to feel you come."
She groans as I enter her again.
No warm-up.
I fuck her hard and fast.
She slips her hand between her legs. Works herself with those perfect circles.
She comes fast, pulsing around, tugging at the sheets, mumbling curses into the bed.
It pulls me over the edge.
With my next thrust, I come. I rock through my orgasm, spilling every drop, consumed with every inch of her.
My entire world is Vanessa.
Jagged breaths. Soft skin. Pure bliss.
For once, I unfurl.
Release something deep and aching.
Something I can't articulate.
She's heaven.
But there's more too. More than the pleasure spilling through my body.
Something warm and supple.
An affection I've never felt before.
Not like this.
Not even close to this.
I pull back, do away with the condom, help her clean up as I catch my breath.
She rolls onto her back, stretching her arms over her head with a sigh. "You wore me out."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Will it make your ego bigger?"
"Of course."
"Even so. I have to admit it." She smiles, all softness. "You did."
She showers first. Then I take my turn.
When I emerge, she's in bed, in the pajamas I bought her. She traces the neckline of the slip and raises a brow. "Is that why you asked if I always wear silk?"
I shake my head. "I invited you here."
"To your hotel room."
"To spend the night." I cup her cheek with my palm. "I'd rather you sleep naked. But…"
"You're such a great host you brought pajamas?"
"Exactly."
"What bullshit."
"It's true."
She laughs. Tugs at my pajamas. Pulls me into bed. "Of course you wear silk pajamas. Top shelf-whiskey. Designer watch. Three-hundred-dollar pajamas. Simon Pierce, King of New York, man of luxury."
"New York now?"
"You don't want to lose the throne?"
"Never."
"Both." She smiles. "Darkness. And New York."
"And man of luxury?"
"Absolutely," she says.
"What do you wear at home?"
"You want to picture me there?"
I do.
"Picture me naked."
"Is it accurate?"
"Maybe."
I run my fingers over the strap of her nightgown.
She turns and melts into my chest.
"What do I have to wear to sleep? To prove I'm not a stereotype?"
"A Taylor Swift t-shirt and boxers."
"Taylor Swift?"
"Don't tell me you're unaware?"
"I live with a teenage girl."
"Is she a fan?"
"A die hard."
"She seems the type. Sweet and energetic.
"I took her to a show."
Vanessa laughs. "You did not."
"Two years ago."
"You wore a suit?"
"What else would I wear?"
"Jeans and a concert tee."
"I don't have any."
"Really? None?"
"I've been to shows." I pull her closer. "With people I loved. Never for myself."
"You don't like music."
I nod into her back.
"There's something sad about that. I don't stop and smell the roses"—she plucks a petal from the bed—"but I know what I love. What brings me pleasure."
"Beethoven and opera?" I ask.
"Have you seen opera? It's transcendent."
"For work."
"You weren't moved?"
"No."
"Because you don't like art."
"I never paid attention. But I will. Preston is trying to convince Liam to go. If I suggest it—"
"Our entire families will be there watching us." She laughs. "But it would be nice. To go with him. And Lee. She loves it."
"She does?"
"She only acts tough." She drops the petal. Nestles into the pillow. "No, she is. But she's like you. She loves her family. She just does it ruthlessly."
"Ruthless."
"You like the sound of it, huh?"
"I do."
"I knew you would." She mumbles into her pillow.
"I am the King of Darkness."
"What's that make me?"
"A queen."
"I'll hold you to that," she mumbles as she falls asleep.
I expect to struggle to sleep, but I don't.
I rest easy. Wake early to the buzz of my phone, reminding me I need to check on my sister.
I slip out of bed, dress, check on Vanessa before I leave.
She doesn't rouse.
I'm not relieved.
I'm disappointed.
The feeling deepens as I leave, make my way back home. I already miss her. I already want to see her again.
I already want to lose myself in her.
Is that even possible?
I don't know.
But I know one thing: I need to make her come again.
Chapter Fifteen
VANESSA
This time, I leave the pajamas and the same note.
Thanks for the hospitality.
- V
I smooth my dress. Step into my heels. Apply a coat of lipstick.
Men have it easy. They can wear last night's suit without telling the world they spent the night in someone else's bed.
Or is this Simon's bed? A home away from home?
Hell, he might have a spare suit in the closet. Or at least a fresh shirt and tie.
No. The closet is empty.
No signs of clothes. No signs of him at all.
But then it is a hotel room. Supposedly, one for important clients. Why would Simon leave his clothes?
Why am I overcome with the desire to steal his shirt and tie?
Wear them home, leave them in my bed, lounge.
Smell like him all day.
Good sex.
It's too fucking intoxicating.
I slip out of the room before I get ideas.
Sure, I get a few looks on my way out of the hotel room, but I call on Daddy's advice to hold my head high, and I ignore them.