Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Then, with it lubed up from my own desire, he slipped the thicker part of it inside me, and I was shocked to find the other end of it almost… clamped against my cleft, holding the penetrative part inside of me.
“Julian!” I gasped, eyes round. “No!” I said, scandalized. I mean… how could I even walk with something inside of me like that?
He ignored that, reaching for his phone, then clicking on something. Then the entire thing—inside and out—started to vibrate.
“Oh God,” I cried, trying to press my thighs together. “No. I can’t.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, shooting a devilish smirk at me. “I believe by that you mean Yes, sir, please.”
He emphasized the words with another long pulse of pleasure.
“Yes… sir…” I whimpered, pressing my thighs together. At his raised brow, finger poised over the button, I added, “Please.”
I learned that night that if I ever started to think he’d shown me the best he had to offer, I was likely about to be proven wonderfully wrong.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Julian
I’d been on all sorts of aircrafts in my life.
Even I had to admit that a private jet was the superior way to travel.
Of course, that might have had more to do with the fact that I got to fuck Scarlet forty-five-thousand feet in the air without having to hide in a cramped bathroom to do it.
And while I enjoyed the hell out of the yacht, Portugal, and even the flight back to the States, I was glad to be home.
Scarlet was eager to scoop up Hugh, so we popped right over to Drea’s place on the way back from the airport.
She was so distracted by loving on him that the doorman had flagged me down instead of her, passing me a bouquet of pink roses.
“When did these get here?” I asked, not sure how someone would know to send her flowers when she’d clearly been out of the country.
“Early this morning,” he said, rushing toward the door to open it for another resident.
Early that morning.
The flight had been eight and a half hours.
So that would have been sometime when we were on the flight.
She probably posted a departure picture or something before we left the airport.
Seeing Scarlet had gone up ahead of me, I took the elevator up alone, turning the flowers in my hands.
She told me she liked peonies. White ones. Not pink roses. But this was the second time she got pink ones. The other ones, she’d tossed right down the trash chute.
An ex.
That was what I thought the last time.
But with all the talking we’d done, she hadn’t mentioned an ex who might have been holding a torch.
At this point, I was relatively sure she wouldn’t have kept something like that from me.
Curiosity piqued, I glanced at the little white card.
And there were two words there
My dove.
My dove?
The fuck?
“Hugh must have been—where did you get those?” Scarlet asked, eyes going wide as she stared at the flowers.
Every inch of her tensed.
“The doorman,” I said.
She charged across the space, grabbing the flowers from me, but not before I could grab the card off the front as she took it out into the hall, tossing it all—glass vase included—down the chute.
“Julian, don’t,” she said when she walked back in, finding me sliding the note out of the envelope.
She didn’t try to take it from me, even though I could feel it in the tension in the air that she wanted to.
“Scarlet, what the fuck?” I snapped, holding the note up at her.
Clearly, whoever ordered it had shown up in person to fill out the card, filling the four-inch rectangle with tiny, rambling font about how he was sick of her acting like they weren’t meant to be together, that he was going to meet her for a talk.
The talk of a fucking crazy person.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted, trying to grab it from me. Likely to rip it to shreds and toss it.
I was quicker, yanking it away from her.
“Do you know who is sending this shit?” I asked, watching as her gaze slid away.
“No.”
“Why haven’t you reported it?”
“It’s all anonymous,” she insisted, shrugging it off. “Fake online accounts. Scattered petals. Bouquets. None of it ever leads back to anyone.”
“For you. But if you let the police—“
“It’s not that big of a deal,” she insisted, walking off into the kitchen, making herself an espresso shot, even though she didn’t have any of her creamers in the house.
“There are threats in this note,” I told her. “Do they always make threats?”
“I don’t read the notes,” she admitted, standing there watching her espresso drip into a cup. “And I delete and block online. It’s just an… overzealous follower.”
“Who knows where you fucking live, Scarlet.”
“He can’t get into the building.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He certainly can’t get up the elevator,” she said, adding sugar to her espresso.