Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“No. You cannot.”
I grab her hand. “In bed, now, please.” I lead her through the house and down the hall to her bedroom. My heart begins to beat faster and faster with every step closer to her door.
“Julian,” she purrs playfully from behind me.
“Mr. Masters to you,” I snap. This is way too familiar for my liking.
Her hand is small and deliciously soft, just how I imagine her body to be.
For fuck’s sake, rein it in.
“Mr. Masters,” she repeats in a gruff voice, mimicking me.
I open her bedroom door and am greeted with her scent. Sweet smelling perfume fills my nostrils, and I start to hear my heartbeat pump in my ears as my arousal begins to take over.
Get out of here.
Get out of here now!
My cock is now at full length and dripping. Her scent is all around me and I just need to fuck her.
I throw her on the bed, and she laughs freely as she falls back onto the mattress. Her eyes hold mine as she giggles playfully, her arms are up above her head and her long dark hair splayed across her pillow.
“So bossy, Mr. Masters,” she whispers.
I clench my hands into fists as I stand over her. “You have no idea,” I whisper. God, she looks fucking edible.
Leave…
My heart is racing.
I hesitate as I take a moment to control my voice. “Goodnight, Miss Brielle.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Masters,” she breathes sexily.
I leave the room and practically run up the stairs. I tear open the bathroom cabinet and take out the baby oil.
A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
Brielle
Pound, pound, pound.
Oh God, my head.
What the fuck happened last night?
I frown as I try to focus around my room, and then down at myself. I’m still in the clothes I wore out last night.
I feel so sick. What the hell was I thinking, drinking all those cocktails?
I can hardly remember anything since I got in the car to come home.
That’s weird. I was fine when I left the club.
I get up, go to the bathroom, and then take a look at myself in the mirror. My hair is wild. My hot, smoky makeup from last night now looks like a half dead racoon. I look like road kill.
Oh, dear God, my breath.
I squeeze toothpaste on my toothbrush and begin to brush my teeth while I feel sorry for myself, staring at my reflection. And now I have to babysit today while Mr. Masters plays golf.
A fleeting image of myself dancing in the kitchen crosses my mind.
Wait, when was that?
Did I?
I close my eyes as I try to remember what happened last night.
Was he already awake? Did I wake him up?
Oh no.
Fuck.
I spit out the toothpaste with force and quickly wash my face. Then I run into the bedroom and start climbing out of my dress.
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.
What did I do? What did I do?
I nearly rip the dress as I tear it down, throwing my dressing gown over my underwear before I run out into the hall. I race up the stairs into the main house and find Willow sitting at the breakfast table eating her porridge.
“H-hi, Willow,” I stammer.
She looks up and frowns. “What happened to you?’
“Good question,” I mutter as I look around the house in a panic. “Where’s your father?”
“He’s just about to go golfing, I think he’s in the garage.”
I bite my bottom lip. "Okay, thanks. I need to see him about something." I run out and down the back steps to the garage. I find Mr. Masters in there cleaning his golf clubs with a rag and what looks like a bottle of oil. He's looking down and concentrating on the task at hand.
“Good morning.” I smile. Please let this all be a figment of my warped imagination.
His eyes flicker up to me, and then back to his golf clubs.
Shit. He’s pissed.
I twist my fingers together as I watch him, not knowing what to say.
“Is everything okay? I whisper.
His cold eyes rise to meet mine. “No, everything is not alright,” he says coldly.
My eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”
“You can’t be that obtuse, Miss Brielle.”
My heart starts to beat faster.
He goes back to cleaning his golf clubs.
“Did I wake you last night?” I whisper.
His furious eyes rise to meet mine. “Among other things.”
I scratch my head in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means your sexual advances are superfluous.” He sneers.
My eyes widen in horror. What the fuck? “S-sexual advances?” I stammer. “Why…what? What do you mean, sir?”
He slams the golf clubs down on the ground with a thud. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I ring my hands together in front of me. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Masters, but I don’t even remember getting home last night. Please tell me what happened.”
He shakes his head in disgust, opens his car, and walks around the side of it. I run after him like a puppy. “What happened? What did I do?” I plead.