Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“Um,” I muttered sitting up while pushing my blonde locks out of my face. “I’m okay, thanks! Sorry about waking you! I just wanted to grab some of my stuff and get out of here before—”
“Before I woke up?” Patrick growled, one black brow quirked. I colored because he’s utterly gorgeous, even at this godawful hour of the morning. His thick thighs rippled, and that chest was broad and bronzed, showing off defined six pack abs. His dick, despite putting me through the wringer last night, began to stiffen and grow as I watched. In fact, a pearl of pre-come beaded at the tip, making my mouth water. Reading my mind, Patrick grinned while fisting his hard shaft.
“I have what you need, sweet girl,” he growled. “Now get back in bed before I tie you to the frame and make you scream.”
With that, it was on. I spent most of the next three days in the man’s suite, moaning and creaming as he possessed my curves in every possible position. It’s the only way to describe it. The man claimed my body as his, and worked it over like his favorite fucktoy.
“Goddamn,” he gasped, rolling off me before gently patting my tender pussy. “Good kitty. You’ve made me very happy.”
“Good kitty?” I squeaked. “What about here?” I asked, pointing to the love bites on my breasts. “What about here too?” I asked, flipping over onto my hands and knees before bouncing my ass in his face.
Patrick chuckled with amusement.
“Good doggy,” he laughed, gently swatting my asshole with the flat of his hand. It was moist and wet still, ravaged from masculine penetration, but Patrick merely swatted it again before reaching for his phone.
“Yeah hi,” he grunted into his cell, already talking to someone. “Tonight at seven, right? Harry Reid. Do you have a passport, honey?” he asked, looking at me with raised eyebrows while covering the receiver with one big hand.
I stared back.
“I mean, yes, I do, but what for?”
It was too late because Patrick was already barking orders into the phone. Then, he hung up before jumping out of bed and rising to his full height.
“Get dressed honey,” he smirked with a smile. “We’re going to pick up some of your stuff at your apartment. Passport included.”
“What?” I gasped. “But wait, what do you mean?”
“Come on, it’ll be an adventure,” he called while sauntering to the bathroom, his bronzed rear end sculpted and muscled. Damn, this man is fine and I momentarily lost my train of thought.
“But where are we going?” I squeaked, trailing him to the bathroom as he jerked on the hot water. Steam immediately began pouring into the massive glass stall, and my man stepped in as I leaned against the doorframe watching that sculpted, gladiator-like form. But his smirk was loud and clear even as he began to lather shampoo into his black strands.
“Join me?” he asked, running blue eyes suggestively up and down my nude curves. Hot tingles coursed through my kitty even as I clutched my thighs together.
“Not before you tell me where we’re going.”
“You’ll find out,” is all he would reveal, and then with one swift motion, I was pulled into the stall with him. What the hell? How in the world did that happen, when Patrick was standing inside the shower while I was still leaning against the doorframe? But the alpha male is fast and athletic, and soon, the bathroom was filled with our gasps and pants as he deposited a creamy load into my sweetest spot once more.
Now, I’m living in Patrick’s Irish castle full time. Yes, he was true to his word and transported me all the way across the ocean before landing in the Emerald Isle.
“What do you mean, this castle belongs to you?” I whispered while trailing a butler into the massive, black stone building. “People don’t own castles anymore! They’re just historical relics that have been converted into museums.”
Patrick pulled me deeper into the interior, and my jaw dropped at the sheer luxury on display. The main hall was at least triple-height, and rustic yet luxurious at once. Massive wooden wheel chandeliers hung from the ceilings, with heavy oak furniture scattered about. Muted tapestries covered the walls, depicting knights in battle, as well as saints in brown frocks, ladies in pointed cone hats with no eyelashes, and mythical creatures peeping from behind every stone.
“Castle Droghaire has been in my family for centuries,” Patrick remarked casually as a footman offered him a glass of wine. One was offered to me as well, and I took it automatically, astonished that liveried footmen even exist. “My ancestors are vicious, don’t get me wrong,” my lover continued. “They’re cunning and conniving. But they happened to help the right king in the right battle at the right time, and were elevated to the Irish peerage during the fifteenth century. As a result, you’re looking at the Right Honorable Patrick Henrica Leavenworth O’Lachlan, 7th Viscount Ferrard.”