Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Luxury’s mouth tips into a smile, a plethora of cream peeking from her pouted lips. She drinks me all the way down then dabs the side of her mouth.
“When do I get to cum, Vic?” She pouts as I help her to her feet.
“Not tonight, Little One. But you’ll be permitted to suck my cock.” I take a cloth, washing her anew.
Once she’s clean, my fingertips push away wet tresses from her face. Against my better judgment and Luxury’s previous warning, my lips seek and find her forehead.
The Queen has cautioned against a future for the lovely Ms. Whitson and me. My kiss is a decree that Luxury was, is, and will always be mine.
30
Luxury
Through barely open eyes, I lie in bed, salivating over Victor as he dons a navy-blue three-piece suit. Mama could get used to this.
Awakening on my own, no alarms, I fantasize over the blue, gray, and white striped tie in his hand—not that it will complete the finishing touches—but having it wrapped around my wrists.
My hands will be tied behind my back, me shoved onto my knees, and his cock bruising my lips.
He places a gray dress with blue satin stripes on the edge of the bed. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. It’s a good thing you woke on your own. Or I would’ve been inclined to assist you.”
My eyes pull shut. “Give me a picture of this help you’d offer.”
“Very generous, indeed.” While sunlight streams behind my eyelids, I feel the bed shift. Victor climbs up, knees locking in my hips, hands clutching my wrists overhead. Although I don’t open my eyes, a silly smile plasters on my face as his lips brush my earlobe. The deep timbre of his voice ripples across my skin, “I’d awaken you with my fucking gigantic member at your lips or nuzzling your arse.”
Eyes zipping open, I cork my lips. “Damn, I should’ve slept a few minutes longer, so you could punish me accordingly.”
“Turn over.”
“Oh. I was joking about the ass part. But I welcome another taste of you like I had last night over and over again.”
In one fell swoop, my silly grin plants against my pillow, and Victor’s hand is at the back of my neck as he thrusts his hard-on against me.
This time, his suit and my lace panties have saved me from his vicious pursuit, but next time, I will say they might not. One day . . .
Victor scoots down, teeth piercing my ass cheek. “You’re so afraid, chit. Will I sink my cock in your arse on Valentine’s Day, perhaps?”
No settles at the tip of my tongue. Last night, the bones in my body felt like they’d implode while I was denied orgasm. Can’t say no.
“We will see,” I snort.
“You will see.”
My fingertips trail over the buttons of my coat. Victor preselected every item of clothing I was permitted to wear today.
I fit in. Perfectly.
Victor escorts me around Tudor Enterprises. The company’s perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking Arlington like a sore thumb. Nah, a dismembered thumb. The building is like a Sci-Fi movie if the year is 2979 incorporated in the 1800s.
He introduces me to the analysts on his team and then heads off for his monthly morning board meeting, leaving me in what he called the capable hands of his assistant, Monica.
With the short, cropped hair, a pant suit, and army boots, I wonder if she’s aware of his dark hobbies. Sporting a masculine demeanor, she shakes my hand heartily. “It's so very nice to meet you, Miss Whitson, finally. I've heard so much . . . about you.”
“Really?” I ask. An instant beam graces my face as I follow her to an office with Victor’s initials scrawled in gold on the door.
“Yes. You’re from New York. You own a flower shop. Your father’s Dr. Jonah Whitson.”
“You run background checks on people for Vic, don’t you?” I fake a laugh, though I’m sure I’m spot on.
“I do whatever he pays me to do.” She winks, turning the doorknob to Victor’s office. “Although, I’ve noticed a decline in threats to my position, person, and general well-being since the beast crashed into your world. So, thank—”
Because of her affable demeanor, I eagerly ask the question that’s plagued me. “Will you tell me how Victor’s the Duke of Arlington and not Somerha—”
All the questions swamped in my psyche dissolve at once.
“Who the bloody fuck are you, and how did you get in here?” Monica gasps, flustered. She scowls at a redhead with not a single tan line on the curvy surface of her body. The woman sits spread-eagle on a leather couch smack dab in the middle of Victor’s office.
“Is that jewelry?” I ask. Did this bitch diamond-stud her pussy?
The redhead’s legs fly closed, and she sits up. “You’re not Victor!” she exclaims to Monica with cheeks the same color as her hair. “And you, you aren't Victor.”