Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
She suddenly explodes first on a high-pitched squeak. Trembles tear through her at the same time she breathlessly calls out, “Nero.”
Hearing Elle call out my name snaps something primal inside of me. I lean over and sink my teeth into the side of her leg, desperate to have more than just a touch of her – needing a taste. Louder, needier moans swiftly echo around the small space. My hand jerks faster, grinding into my palm, pumping my shaft from root to tip until long, thick ropes of cum cover the curling toes I’ve been anxious to claim. Each burst that lands on her feet receives a welcoming whimper encouraging more to follow. I possessively growl while smearing the white substance across the slick surface I’ve been ceaselessly caressing. Laving of the wiggling digits continues, except now it’s with my cum. Except now it’s being done in a way that we can’t deny is the beginning of something more than just two people forced together for convenience.
Elle Tremaine is not only going to be Mrs. DeLuca on paper.
She’s going to be Mrs. DeLuca in real life, too.
Chapter Four
Elle
Over the past three weeks, my world has changed drastically. The truth is I still can’t decide if I’m more like Cinderella in a contemporary rendition with a creative plot twist or a horror remake where I fucking die at the end. In one glass slipper, I’ve basically been kidnapped to a beachside mansion, coerced into a marriage – which is not at all how I saw that milestone in my life unfolding – and have at least temporarily saved the man my mom once loved, although I haven’t seen very much since I became Mrs. DeLuca. In the other, I’ve basically been given my own castle to roam or decorate as I wish, been wined and dined better than any boyfriend I’ve ever had, and have gotten an unexpected promotion of sorts by becoming the lead interior designer for seven separate projects I would’ve never in my wildest dreams imagined myself getting.
Call it a “perk” of being Mrs. DeLuca.
Turns out there are several of those.
From never being told no by the house staff to never having to ask for anything twice. Last week post lunch, I requested a chocolate silk pie to be served on a square blue plate with a chipped corner alongside a glass of whole milk with three ice cubes – just to test the waters of how spoiled I can be – for dessert and shortly after sharing a balcony dinner of Pasta alla Norma, Nero and I were served that exact treat, crazy extras and all. He was pissed we were being served on something so unacceptable while I was in shock that they didn’t think twice to question my demand. My fake husband insisted they weren’t allowed. It would be the difference between life and death.
I was touched.
And terrified.
There’s something about him that keeps me tiptoeing that fine line.
Sometimes he’s surprisingly romantic – like the way he makes sure I have fresh white roses on the table for every meal I have at the house, whether he’s joining me or not, and how he’ll leave a new pair of high heels at my bedside on the mornings he has to rush away for business rather than join me for coffee. It’s moments like that, that I almost forget this whole thing is a charade for both of us. That he is simply doing whatever it takes to keep me appeased so that he receives his inheritance, washing away mistakes that should’ve never been made. And it’s the remembering of why I’m here in his life that stirs the fear back up. Seeing him abuse that guy about some lack of communication. Watching him wipe away blood stains the night of our wedding reception – that apparently double as some sort of torture event – right before we cut the cake. Overhearing him explain to Mickie the violent way he expects anyone found related to their “fed leak” handled. All of that shit is more than enough to make it hard to sleep underneath our expensive blue silk sheets at night.
I say our because sleeping in the same bed was not up for negotiating.
Neither were foot rubs.
For me, not him.
Nero swears he won’t take me in a way that I won’t offer him but that he does need some sort of pleasure to make it over the next few months. And since the man is super into foot play, allowing him to give my feet TLC after a long day of working on them is absolutely a win for all parties involved.
I just never expected to enjoy it as much as I do.
When he came on my feet in the outdoor shower, I never thought I would like it.