Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“Eew! Twenty-five looms,” I mutter unhappily because compliments sometimes feel icky.
“For some of us, twenty-five is a distant memory.”
“What were you doing at that age?”
He shrugs. “Trying to stay out of jail.”
“Hashtag goals,” I say weakly as I make a ridiculous gesture, crossing two fingers over two others. “Did you manage?”
“I did. I worked construction during the day and in a casino at night. I made enough money to buy a piece of land. I built a house and sold it for a profit. Did it a couple more times, then I built a strip mall, bought a nightclub, and another. Inherited some money, bought more bars, nightclubs …”
“And the rest is history?”
“No, then my father died and left me a bucket of money, so I diversified.”
“Into art and money laundering? Oops!” I slap my hand to my mouth, eyes dancing anyway.
Another forkful is pushed my way, though I hold up my hand as, with the other, I rub my full tum.
“I have my fingers in many pies, and not all of them are strictly lawful. I run unlicensed gambling houses.”
“In Chelsea.” Where it all began.
“And some other places. The stakes are high, and the clientele requires anonymity.”
“Because it wouldn’t do for people of their standing to be seen in casinos or snorting coke off some girl’s backside?”
“You didn’t see that,” he asserts.
“Why, have you?” I almost squeak. It was just something I plucked from my imagination.
“The night we met in Chelsea was a different kind of night. No one of note there, and the poker stakes weren’t so high.”
“Three hundred thousand!” I protest.
“There are different levels of play, but my regulars gamble much deeper than that.”
“Then they’ve got problems.”
“We’ve all got problems.” A tiny smile plays on his lips. “And we all want to hide those problems from the world. They want privacy to play, in all sense of the word.”
My stomach sinks. “You’re talking about prostitution, aren’t you?” But Raif is already shaking his head.
“I don’t run drugs or girls. They’re on offer, sure. The girls are freelance but absolutely not trafficked. And the drugs, well, let’s just say I don’t smuggle, and I don’t deal. They’re just a perk. And all this is just a small portion of my empire, if you like.”
Multiple streams of income, my mind offers cynically.
“Why do you do it, then? If you’re making more money in other business, why bother?”
“Influence. Leverage. Call it what you will.”
“Blackmail?”
But he just smiles an enigmatic-looking smile.
“At least you’re self-made. Meanwhile, I’d be working in some crummy office if it weren’t for Whit’s help. The gallery is really only mine in name. Whit owns the bricks and mortar, or the shipping container, as it were. And the stock. I think that makes me some kind of nepo baby.”
“No, Lavender, that’s not true. What Whit has done for you is what families do,” he says. “What they’re supposed to do. Look after each other.” He lifts the tray away and kisses me, soft and sweet. But not without heat.
“Pity kiss?” I say as it breaks.
“Yours or mine? Don’t answer that,” he adds, resuming his position next to me, sliding his hand behind me to cup the nape of my neck. “You and me, we don’t need pity.”
Another kiss now, slow, deeper. Wetter. He makes a growly sound as I work my fingers down the hard planes of his stomach. He catches my questing hand.
“Who’d pity us?” I whisper as his lips slide down my neck, and he presses my hand above my head.
“No man in the world would pity me, wife.”
I sigh, my back arching as his fingers trail up my inner thigh. “You like saying that, don’t you?” My thighs tremble as though shy to part. “My wife.”
He hooks my leg wider, exposing my most intimate parts to the daylight. He watches my face as his fingers slide inside me.
“It’s what you are, my incredible, irresistible, hot as fuck wife.”
I turn my face, burying it in the downy pillow, each compliment matched with a stroke of his fingers.
“You only say that when there are people around except…”
His thumb dips, gathering my wetness to slide it over the swollen rise of my clit.
“Except last night, I got off on you wearing my ring while you jacked me off.”
“That’s what it was all about.” How… unexpected. Weird but also lovely in a kinky, possessive kind of way. I probably wouldn’t ever mention it to anyone, let alone admit that I like that sort of thing. “Oh!” My body undulates, and he swallows my gasp in his kiss.
“Got me as hard as a pole. You know why, don’t you?”
My head thrashes against the pillow. It’ll probably look like a bird's nest after this.
“I like how it sounds,” he says, moving over me to between my legs.
“You mean, in bed?” I whisper as he hooks my leg over his shoulder.