Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I ply the remains of the pleasure out of her from behind, rock hard cock pressed against her ass cheeks, hands still toying with her big meaty breasts.
“That was crazy,” she gasps. “I can’t believe that worked.”
I turn her around and crush her lips with mine.
“I can’t wait to find all the different ways to make you cream,” I whisper when the kiss breaks off.
Her eyes blaze, but there’s something else there, a tremor of hesitation.
She’s not ready.
Soon.
I hope.
“But first, shall we order ourselves some food? Even if we can’t go out, Popstar, I’m taking you on a date.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dakota
I stand at the edge of the bed, staring down at the dress with a dreamish blanket draped over me. Always, at the edge of my mind, I feel a niggling that tells me soon I’ll jolt awake and still be in Dobry’s clutches. Or perhaps I’ll wake up back at the cottage and find that the men got the best of Damian.
Something—anything to wreck this magical closeness, the way we can recede from the world, even if for a little while, to just be together.
I never thought I’d have that with a man, and especially not with a silver fox protector like Damian.
The dress is black and lacy at the cleavage and across the hem, the sort of sexy dress I’d never have the courage to wear.
Or the reason to wear.
Damian ordered it the same way he’s ordered everything this evening.
A phone call and a bribe.
He’s currently on the balcony, moving things around to make us our own personal restaurant. He wants this to be as much like a real date as possible, and so do I. But as I gaze down at the silky sexiness of the dress I can’t help but imagine him breaking into wild laughter the moment he lays eyes on me.
“Okay, okay,” I imagine him saying between gulps of laughter. “Maybe we should stick with the baggy stuff for you. I was wrong.”
I chide myself, interlocking my fingers. After everything that’s happened, surely it’s selfish of me to still be concerned with such unimportant things as my self-image, and yet it’s still there.
I think I could be in hell and still be worried about my waistline.
But Damian’s helping me get through that, isn’t he?
Knock knock.
“Yes?” I call out.
“Just checking that your fine ass is in that dress,” Damian snarls. “I can’t wait to see how amazing you look.”
I listen closely to his tone of voice, trying to detect any sign that this is a cruel trick.
Absurdly, I envision an army of high schoolers waiting outside the door with him, ready with pointed fingers and cocked-back, guffawing faces.
“Screw this,” I hiss under my breath, gritting my teeth.
I tear off my clothes quickly and pull on the dress without giving myself any more time to hesitate. I wriggle into it and feel the fabric squeezing against my flesh, and then I find the hairbrush at the vanity unity – an exotic hairbrush with a handle of carved exotic wood – and brush my hair hurriedly.
I glance at myself in the mirror, hair falling in waves to my shoulders, body squeezed into the dress, thighs on display.
I take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I call. “I’m ready.”
The door opens and Damian prowls in, his eyes aimed hard at me as he stalks forward.
I turn shakily. “What do you think?”
“Is there really any doubt?” he says.
“Well, yes.”
“Wait, what?” he snaps. “You’re being serious? You don’t know how fucking smoking you look right now? Jesus, those thighs could chase a man into his dreams. And by man, I mean me. Because if any other man – ever – tried to touch those thighs, those creamy fuck-toy thighs that belong to me, I’d put him in the ground. Do you understand? Who do you belong to, Dakota? Say it.”
“You,” I say, my sex tingling, my nipples aching from his magic in the kitchen. “I’ll always belong to you, baby.”
“Good girl,” he growls, smoothing a hand through the iron of his hair. “We better get out there quickly. With you looking like that, I’m damn close to skipping the main and going straight for dessert.”
“Oh, what’s for dessert?”
He bares his teeth like a wild beast and closes the distance between us. He’s wearing a steel suit he also had ordered up. It fits him snugly, the silver hugging his bulging arms. Freshly shaved and smelling of his natural manly musk, he stares down at me, a subtle smirk on his lips.
“You’re really just an innocent virgin, aren’t you?”
“Oh,” I murmur, cheeks blooming red. “You meant …”
“You’re dessert,” he says.
I giggle, slapping his chest playfully. “I guess nerves are making me slow.”
“Nerves?”
I grab onto his shoulders, feeling the stony security of them beneath the suit. They’re so hard, completely unyielding, as though his flesh really is carved of rock.