Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I don’t want to think about the concern in his mother’s eyes or all the very glaring red flags.
Because this feels good.
Early the next morning, sore in all the best ways, lying in his arms, I purposefully push away all the questions that have been swirling through my mind.
I know it’s stupid. I’m very aware that I’m probably sabotaging myself. But every passing day brings me closer to him, makes me want him that much more, and I feel myself tumbling down into a darkness I don’t know how to crawl out of.
A darkness I want to embrace.
He’s that stain, that blot, that beautiful beast. Devouring me. Obsessing over me. I’ve never met a man that could worship a woman like he worships me. It’s almost terrifying, and it’s definitely psycho, but it feels so good.
His attention, pure and unfiltered.
His raw want.
He leaves for work, but not before performing his duties: my legs spread, his tongue lapping my clit in slow circles.
It’s bizarre how fast I’m getting used to him.
I’m a half-hour late to Smoke. “You slept in or something?” Bernie asks with a little gleam in her eye. “You have trouble getting to bed again?”
“No trouble getting into bed,” I mutter. “Trouble getting back out though.”
“Look at you. Humping like rabbits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were starting to like your husband.”
I touch the ring on my finger. “Don’t be silly. I despise guys like him.” I say the words, but they don’t have feeling anymore.
Where once I’d recoil at the idea of liking Carson, it doesn’t seem so strange now.
How could I not love the way he touches me? The way he listens? The way he’s deeply in tune with my wants?
Bernie nudges me. “Right, it must be so hard to have a husband that clearly adores you, has endless money, and oh, yeah, is really freaking hot.”
“What happened to you being worried about me?”
She shrugs. “I still am, but you seem happy. It’s new.”
“I’ve been happy.” I scowl at her.
“Yeah, maybe once or twice. But ever since you got hitched, the last few days have been… good. You’ve been smiling a lot more. You’re lighter than I’ve ever seen you.”
I grimace slightly, looking away. Guilt hits me all over again. I shouldn’t be happy, considering my brother’s lying in the hospital and my family’s been murdered.
But Bernie’s right. I’ve been happy despite myself.
“There’s just something about him,” I say without elaborating, because how can I explain to her that he’s a total freak and I’m actually into it?
“Right, like money.” She laughs at my reaction. “Relax, I’m only teasing you.”
Before I can fight her on it, the door opens as a fleet of delivery people arrive. Bernie begins directing them around as boxes appear, dozens of boxes filled with new stemware, plates, candles for the tables, a whole bunch of little extra decorations we never needed or wanted before.
Once that’s all done, I stand in a sea of deliveries, staring at the stuff like I have no clue what to do with it.
“I might’ve gone overboard,” Bernie admits. “And paid for rush.”
“Carson paid for rush.” I sigh, poking through some new serving dishes. “These are nice though.”
“Really nice. Like the highest-end stuff they had.”
“I’m not going to ask how much it cost, I really don’t want to know.”
“Good because I honestly wasn’t keeping track.”
We get to work unpacking what we can and carrying the rest back into storage. My office gets stuffed to the point where I can’t even squeeze inside anymore, which is going to be a problem sooner or later, but we’ll manage. Keely and Jamila show up not long later, excited over all the new stuff, followed by Fulco.
“Plates,” he grunts, narrowing his eyes. “Dishes. Silverware. All new.”
“Do you like it?” Bernie asks, sounding genuinely worried.
“It will do.” He disappears into the kitchen.
Bernie sighs, brushing at her forehead. “That’s the most effusive praise he’s ever given me.”
We decide to open a little later than usual, which gives the group a chance to inventory all the stuff Bernie purchased, plus time to unwrap and clean most of the new dishware. Fulco seems particularly pleased with a new set of knives. “Expensive,” he comments, holding the big, gleaming blade up to the light. “And sharp.”
I suspect the next Polish thug that comes in here will get that thing straight through his neck.
I’m smiling as the afternoon wears on and our regulars arrive. My friends seem happy, the events of the other day mostly forgotten, though I do notice Keely flinches every time there’s a loud noise, and Jamila’s constantly looking toward the door as if someone might come rushing in with a gun at any moment. But even if they’re struggling to get past the trauma, I still can’t help the warmth I feel deep inside of my chest.