Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“I want you so badly,” I whispered, looking him deep in his blue-flecked gray eyes. Could he hear what I wasn’t saying? That I wanted him for longer than just a morning romp. Longer than the next few weeks we had together. That I wanted him more than I’d wanted anything in my life, and it scared the shit out of me. “You’re so much more than I— More than I could have ever—”
His eyes softened in the way I adored. “Grace, you’re the most precious thing I’ve ever held in my hands. I’ll keep you safe. I swear.”
Was I reading into things? Was that the Montgomery version of a declaration of feelings? Oh God, please, I wanted him to feel even half of what I was feeling. Even an inkling of what I was feeling would be enough.
But I was too scared to ask for clarification or press for more.
Instead I gave myself over to him, and for the first time, we didn’t just fuck, we made love.
That was two days ago. This morning when I woke, though, Montgomery was nowhere to be seen.
I yawned and stretched, squinting my eyes against the bright light of… I squinted harder, then searched for a clock. What time was it? It looked too bright out to still be morning.
Just then the door opened, and Montgomery came in with a tray of food. He smiled when he saw me awake. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Or should I say, good afternoon.”
He came over and set the tray at the foot of the bed.
I sat up eagerly, my stomach growling. “Ooo, breakfast in bed. So, this is how the other half lives.”
Montgomery rolled his eyes. “Not exactly. I usually eat instant oatmeal for breakfast that I heat up in the microwave on my way out the door. Bachelor, remember?”
I mocked outrage and leaned over to cover his mouth with my hand. “Don’t let Mrs. Hawthorne hear that heresy or she’ll move in with you so she can cook you three square meals a day.”
But Montgomery just tugged me forward by my arm until I landed in his lap. “What about you? Would you do something to fix my bachelor ways if you could?”
It felt like his bright, intense eyes were asking about more than just my opinions on his eating habits. Could he be— But I mean, nothing could ever work out between us because he’s— and I’m—
I averted my eyes to the tray and frowned when I saw a small white bag stuffed with silver tissue paper beside the food, like it was a present.
“What’s that? Is it for me?” I reached for the bag and Montgomery’s eyes widened.
“That’s for after breakfast,” he said, but I was too quick. I snatched the bag and danced away to the other side of the bed.
“Are you trying to keep my present from me?” I giggled, reaching in. My hands closed around an object hidden in the tissue paper and I frowned, not knowing what to make of it. I pulled it out and held it up, laughing. “What is it?”
When I looked over at Montgomery, though, his face was red and he had his hand on the back of his neck.
I looked back down at the object of my hands. It looked like a narrow silver egg on a little bejeweled stand, except the egg was slightly pointy on top. I turned it over in my hands. The end of it was covered in jewels that I would have been sure were rhinestones if I were standing in any other place than this mansion. But as it was, I was pretty sure they were inset diamonds and rubies.
“Is it an antique or something? I don’t get it.”
Montgomery choked a little and then came over to where I was standing. He delicately took the silver egg from me.
“Yes, I guess it is an antique of a sort. It’s been sterilized. But um, it’s used for… It’s um…” His hand went to the back of his neck again.
“What?” I asked, laughing at how embarrassed he was getting.
But his next words had me glad he was holding it, because I might have dropped it in my surprise. “It’s a buttplug.”
“A what?”
Now he was grinning, enjoying that I was the one uncomfortable. “A buttplug. Well, a trainer really. I asked Mrs. H to get it for us because—”
“You asked Mrs. H! For a buttplug!” Oh my God, I was going to die of embarrassment. Staid, solid, Old Country Mrs. Hawthorne had procured me a buttplug. I dropped my face into my hands.
“It’s a good thing. You’ll be glad for it.”
I looked up at Montgomery like he was nuts. “Glad for it?” My voice pitched up an octave higher than normal.
He moved closer, probably sensing that I was near to losing it. “At breakfast we received another invitation.”