Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I always thought Seb needed a tragedy to shake him up. Something to remind him he wasn’t that untouchable.
“I didn’t forget, dude.” Seb laughed on the other line. “I just didn’t care enough.”
I wanted to punch his face in. Instead, I scooped up a basket and started loading it with things Briar Rose needed. Doliprane, fluids, electrolytes, carbs, and zinc.
“Your asshole ways are going to catch up with you one day,” I grumbled, heading toward the cashier. I didn’t want to waste any time. I needed to be back in that room in case Briar Rose threw up or something.
“Nah, I’m lightning fast. Oh, by the way.” Seb snapped his fingers on the other line. “I also convinced Dad to let me have the green Lamborghini for the summer. It was pretty easy to sweet talk my way into it, since I caught him bitching and moaning about your flaky ass to Manuel.”
Dad’s COO and right-hand man. Great. Word was out around the company that I was an irresponsible POS.
“I’m getting back there as soon as I can.” I slammed my teeth together, tossed a few notes in the cashier’s direction, and stormed back to the hotel. “I just want to make sure Briar Rose is okay.”
Seb’s turned serious for the first time. “Is she sick?”
“No, nothing like that. Just having a shitty week.”
“My Spidey senses are telling me yours is about to get even shittier when you come back here.”
I seriously hated him sometimes. “Can you at least tell him it’s an emergency?”
I could call Dad up myself, but it would take me a few hours. Taking care of Briar Rose required my laser focus right now.
“Sure, if I remember.”
“Not everything is a joke, Seb.”
“No.” He yawned. “But this conversation is, or I wouldn’t laugh.”
“I—”
But he hung up on me.
Bastard.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Oliver
I woke up with a start, drenched in a pool of my own sweat. The arm clamped around my hip stopped me from shooting upright.
My dick bobbed against my abs. Full, and thick, and one hundred percent hard. Maybe from the dream – of Paris with Briar, her begging me to fuck her right on the streets. Or maybe from the fact that a tiny, soft hand currently held it hostage in a vise grip.
“Briar.”
She didn’t budge. The sheets had fallen in a lump at our ankles. Still, I could barely make out the silhouette of her slim figure in the dark.
I nudged her shoulder, horrified when she tightened her grip, twisting it up and down a bit.
“Fuckkk.”
She hacked out a snore and kicked my shin.
Shitfuckdamn.
I tried prying her fingers off me, one by one, but she groaned, refusing to let up. My balls squeezed tight.
“You have to release me, or I’ll come all over the ceiling.”
Not an exaggeration. While I didn’t enjoy sleeping around, I did spend a decent amount of time acquainting my dick with my fist. But lately, I’d neglected it. Any free time I’d had over the past few days, I’d spent at the hospital with Briar.
Mornings watching her stretch out her arms in the sun, her sleeve falling off her dainty shoulder. Evenings of her staring at me with her teeth sinking down into her lip, inviting me to do the same. And nights sleeping near her, listening to her soft moans.
She’d always been like that. Prone to wild dreams. That drunken night in Paris featured the filthiest wet dream she’d ever described. It was a miracle I’d kept my virginity until nineteen.
Briar swung her leg over me, grinding against it as she finally released my dick from her grip. The second she freed me, I moved her over to her side and erected a Great Wall of Pillows between us to save, well, my erection.
“Ol?”
I froze, breath in my throat for a second. “Yeah, Cuddlebug?”
She didn’t reply. I released the breath and stared at the ceiling, counting sheep. I figured I wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep tonight, but I had to try. This would be my last solid night of sleep before our major renovations kicked into high gear at the hotel.
Minutes later, long since she’d called out to me, she whimpered something in her sleep.
I craned my neck, struggling to hear.
“Don’t leave, Ollie.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Oliver
Romeo Costa: We might be late.
Zach Sun: Why?
Romeo Costa: Dallas.
Farrow Ballantine-Sun: What’s Dallas doing?
Dallas Costa: Contemplating how the gym can simultaneously be my husband’s happy place and my own personal jail.
Romeo Costa: Not my fault you told your doctor you’re emotional eating after labor.
Dallas Costa: No, I said I’m BACK to eating after labor and it makes me emotional. There’s a difference.
Zach Sun: Is there, though?
Dallas Costa: Absolutely. It’s my default factory setting. Now he thinks I’m suffering from postpartum depression and need something to release endorphins.
Romeo Costa: You reap what you sow. In this case, eat.
Dallas Costa: How can exercise be prescribed? It’s not even a drug. In fact, I’ll NEED drugs after this. My ass is on fire.