Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
He comes to a stop and looks down at me. I plead with him to let me have one. He wouldn’t let me have one at dinner with my parents. I’m not sure why he’s against me drinking when he does, but he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. It’s not like I’m going to work afterward.
“Just one.” He finally nods.
I give him a soft kiss on the lips, making sure to keep it PG. I’m afraid if I do anymore, I won’t be able to stop myself from dropping to my knees in front of everyone and begging him to fuck me like the slut he’s making me.
He waves down the woman and grabs a drink from her tray. She gives him a bright smile, then walks off into the crowd. It’s like the hostess at the restaurant all over again. I’m invisible. Ladies always are. We’re told to keep silent and look pretty. We’re arm candy and nothing more. Women like me don’t have minds or voices of our own.
I take a sip and swallow the sweet tasting champagne. I used to drink back in high school. But once Whitney died, my mother became an alcoholic, so my father cut back on the alcohol in the house.
Tyson leads us into a ballroom decorated in black and gold. A DJ is set up over in the corner. Round tables are positioned throughout the room with black tablecloths over them.
I’m about to open my mouth to say something when Tyson steps in front of me, making me come to a halt. I look up at him, and he’s got his lips thinned, his jaw sharp.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried. I hate to say it, but I actually feel safe with Tyson. He’s proven that no one will touch me, but we’re in a house full of nothing but Lords. Other than the bands wrapped around my nipples and my burning clit, my senses are already on alert being here.
“There she is,” a woman’s voice comes from behind him.
He closes his eyes for a brief second and then steps to the side. “Mother.” His voice is as tight as his body is pressed up against me.
My wide eyes go to the couple standing in front of us. The woman has dark hair and big blue eyes. They look like Tyson’s. The man standing next to her has his dark eyes on mine.
I look down at the floor as the rush of embarrassment heats up my chest and face. It’s going to be dinner with my parents all over again.
“This must be Laikyn.” She steps forward, and I look up at her.
“Yes, ma’am.” I reach out my right hand.
She looks at it but makes no attempt to shake it, so I drop it to my side. Whatever. I’m not here to impress her. Her son already married me. Not like she or I can change that.
Tyson makes no attempt to introduce us, so I’m not sure why I should care.
I lift the champagne flute to my lips, and she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, and you can’t miss the huge rock on her finger. I don’t understand why Lords spend so much money on things that don’t really matter to them.
“What?” I lower the glass without taking a drink of it. Lifting it up to my face, I look to make sure nothing is floating inside of it. Nope, just bubbles.
“Ty.” Her wide eyes go to her son. “She shouldn’t be drinking.”
What the fuck is it with these people and not letting me drink?
“She’s fine, Mother,” he responds tightly, and I square my shoulders and take a sip this time.
“But the baby …”
I spit out the drink all over my mother-in-law’s salmon-colored dress.
She gasps, stepping back from me. Well, that’s one way to give me space. Tyson chuckles, and his father narrows his eyes on me. “Excuse me?” I ask his mother, wiping the champagne off my chin.
“Well…” Her large eyes go from his to mine. “Aren’t you two trying to get pregnant?”
“No.” I shake my head. I mean, I guess we’re practicing, but definitely not trying.
She places her hands on her narrow hips. “I mean, I understand wanting to be married for a little while before having a child.” Her eyes come back to mine. “But you’re not getting any younger.”
A Lady usually starts reproducing at a young age. I’m twenty-one, so to them, I’m already too old. “We won’t be having children,” I say when I realize she isn’t getting the point.
She blinks and looks at her husband, who has still not said one word to his son or me.
“But … but Tyson.” She looks at him. “You’re an only child. You need children to carry on the Crawford name.”
“Maybe you should have had more yourself,” I offer, taking another drink of the champagne. Why should that be put on us?