Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“We. Can. Literally. Bloody fucking help. Each. Other. Luxury!”
I love you, Victor, but . . .
A true love story is devoid of stipulations. No buts. One just simply loves. We’re not in a love story anymore.
“Victor, I need . . .” I splutter, “I . . . need help . . . but you can’t help me.” I must help myself.
First and foremost, I can taste Madeline’s death. She will not die by any other hands but my own. Once I’ve cleared this funk that’s clouding my brain. Once I can stomach a full plate of food and string together a plan, she’s dead.
Her death has my name written all over it.
But as for the sheikh and Noor?
We barely escaped the Middle East. Now, I’ve gotta escape the thoughts of how our baby may have been born with Victor’s eyes and my hair. Or . . .
“I love you, Victor. But as I said the moment we touched down in New York, the girl who loved you shamelessly has vanished.” And you cannot vindicate what occurred, so why even speak of such things?
The sheikh had an entire army. Noor had her own detail. Finding his gaze for the first time, I push through, putting myself last again because of my obsession with Victor Tudor.
A world without him in it isn’t worth living.
Sending Victor to exact our revenge is like sending him before a firing squad.
“Vic, I won’t have you suffer through this version of me that I hate!”
“My love will sustain us until you’re ready.” In a split second, Victor’s hands clasp my wrists, thumbs brushing over my pulse. As a shiver runs through me, I tug my hands away from his touch.
I chew my lip, then murmur, “Earlier, you promised not to ask anything of me for a year. Maybe I’ll—”
“I will not live a year without you, Luxury.”
I’ll have murdered Madeline by then. Perhaps . . . perhaps her death will ease this darkness rising inside of me. This need for the sheikh’s and Noor’s deaths. I can’t have that satisfaction. I won’t see the love of my life dead. I’d rather live without him. I modify my version of the tragic truth and growl, “Go back to your duchy, Victor, and leave me alone. Just for a little while. Please.”
18
Luxury
After such a passionate argument, I’m sucked into the dream again. The one where Victor and I had returned to his yacht after I’d said something crazy. My mind’s fixated on the words he’d said to me while we floated over the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
“Luxury, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
The cut of my narrowed eyes cursed him for presenting me with an oddly shaped chain. And while I’m in the throes of a lucid dream, I wonder if I’d rather stay in a place where Victor first learned to love me or return to dreams of watching babies and children with their families.
I glanced over the long, thin chain, realizing it ended in an extended bulb, which was smooth like glass, blue and shiny. “Vic . . . wh-what is that?”
“Proof that you’re stronger than you look, Little One.”
“It better not be some type of doggy leash!”
His devilish smile was sharp as a knife, and then he sighed. “I would never. You are precious to me, not a bloody animal. Albeit, you are in trouble, are you not?”
I snarled at him, and Victor chose not to reprimand me. His soothing tone reminded me of the dominant who often kissed and made the pain go away as he said, “Good girl. Now, lay back and open wide.”
I’ll be damned. Lay back and open wide was the singular sexiest phrase I had ever heard in my life and may have blinded me from being so damn gullible. Victor Tudor chipped away every innocent thread still tied to my soul with his depraved desires.
“Now, Little One, listen closely. The last time we had a safe word, you pushed your limits too far. Do not place me above you, sweetheart, or you will receive the thrashing of your life. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“What is your safe word?”
I mumbled the word.
“Atta girl.” Victor took my hand and positioned me at the edge of the bed. Palms that had squeezed the last heartbeat from some asshole’s throat swept over my hips. Victor was nurturing, although I only had eyes for the whip chain or whatever.
“Now, Little One, shall I explain what this is or just show you.”
I muse over the fear of Victor’s revealing his hand and gave him the ol’ New Yorker shoulder shrug. “Nah, I’m good.”
Half a smile tipped his mouth, and I percolated.
“You are worthy of the crown jewels, Luxury Whitson.” While his hands slid over my thighs, coaxing them open, I moaned in delight. “Now, show Daddy your pussy.”