Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
My mother, who took three million dollars to walk away, abandoning me to a monster masquerading as a father.
A father who didn’t want a son and pawned me off on underlings before just shipping me off to boarding school.
I know that Kiersten’s different. The way she looks at me tells me that. I could lose it all and she’d stay with me. If the contract were five million dollars or five dollars, she’d be mine.
That’s something a man rarely finds in this world.
What we have is perfect as it is. I’m not going to fuck this up with a pen and paper. At that thought, my phone pings, and I half expect it to be her.
It’s not, though. It’s Joshua. You could buy her a promise ring?
I merely grunt at his suggestion before pocketing my phone.
She should officially meet Joshua. He’s seen her at the club, of course. He’s sat with me during three of the auctions. But they’ve never met face to face. He’s never had the chance to know her. Still, he says she’s good for me. Still, he wants me to give in to the social expectations. He suggested that I marry her.
Joshua lost his goddamn mind, although he made the idea somewhat appealing.
And as tempting as that would be, and I admit that it sounds nice, I want to have my cake and to eat it too. I want the benefits without the risk, and while that makes me a greedy bastard, I know that it’s not fair to Kiersten to let her think there’s more until I’m over whatever hang-ups I might have.
There would be benefits, of course. I could have Kiersten on my arm for real events, not just as ‘the girl in my office’ or ‘the girl in my penthouse’.
My mind reels with all the pros and cons as I’m handed the bag and leave the boutique, taking my time to head back to the car. The brisk breeze is a touch too cold, but I don’t rush.
I could have her at corporate events.
I could take her out to fine restaurants, not worrying if the paparazzi might snap a photo.
I could have her at my public birthday party. Not that it’s a big event, just a small gathering of my closer acquaintances and Joshua. But everyone will be unmasked, everyone will be recognizable.
Is Kiersten ready for that? Would it shove her away from me?
That risk, that fear even . . . I’m man enough to admit that it terrifies me.
Instead, I purchased her something else I know she’s always wanted.
It’s already at the club, waiting in our new playroom. It’s one of a kind, a handcrafted platinum collar. It doesn’t resemble a standard collar, though, laying flat across the collarbones and chest in front and nearly an inch and a half wide before arcing up gracefully to a half-inch in the back, where it’ll attach just underneath the bottom of her hairline. The individual segments are so finely crafted, so carefully fitted together, that the seams between them are nearly invisible to the naked eye when worn.
In the center is a three-carat diamond, as flawless as the woman who’ll wear it. I want that gift to be between just the two of us, in our space, our refuge. I want Kiersten to understand that while I might be too damaged a man to ever be more than her Dom . . . she means everything to me.
It’ll be the only thing she wears tonight when I attach her to the playroom’s St. Andrew’s cross to tease her body however I’d like.
As I drive, with the dull hum of the engine accompanying me, I go over every aspect of tonight.
Of course, kink furniture isn’t the only thing in the playroom. I made sure of that, and behind the floor to ceiling partition that runs on a motorized control is a king-sized bed with silk sheets. It is fitted with all the right hidden attachments to allow for any sort of bondage play Kiersten and I might enjoy, but that’s not what it’ll be used for tonight.
I want to replay our first night.
The memory makes me smile slightly as I drive back to the office, knowing Kiersten is waiting for me there. I hope that my first gift acts as the misdirection that I want it to be, making the second gift all the more exciting and surprising for her.
But when I get upstairs, the receptionist has a tight look on her face. “Sir, a Mr. Lewis came to see you,” she says, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. “I told him he needed to wait until you returned, but—”
“It’s fine,” I reply tersely as I head for my office. Ivan’s an intimidating motherfucker, and I’m not surprised the receptionist didn’t do anything. But hearing his name puts ice in my blood. If Ivan’s here, and Kiersten’s waiting for me . . . yet again. The fucking bastard doesn’t know what no means. He doesn’t know fucking professionalism.