Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
When she’s spent again, I swallow down every drop, then push to my feet, leaning over and connecting our lips in a slow, deep kiss, so she can taste how delicious she is. I glide my tongue into her warm mouth, sharing the orgasm I gave her.
Emotions roll through me like a storm as I draw back, her eyes fluttering as they focus on me.
“Now, be a good little girl and put on the robe there.” I point to the side wall where there are two fluffy, white, five-star hotel style robes hanging. “I’m going to make you some tea and a grilled cheese sandwich. Soak up that alcohol. Tomorrow will be a very different day for you—” I stall mid-sentence. The hammer of realization that I don’t know her name hits me again.
She reads my mind with a smile so sweet, I probably need a shot of insulin. “I’m Fay. Fay Dunkin. Like the donut shop,” she says, her name like a song, and I can’t believe how connected I am to her already.
“I’m Hudson. But when we are home, and especially when I’m fucking you, you call me Daddy.”
Chapter Four
Fay
Amazingly enough, four gin and tonics did not leave me with a hangover. I am thirsty as heck though, but Hudson, in all his stern gruffness, has me drinking Pedialyte on a strict schedule in order to replace my depleted electrolytes.
He had Door Dash deliver a whole case.
Grape flavor, because I said that was my favorite.
I passed out after the bath. The events of the evening and the alcohol finally taking me out hard.
I remember getting tucked into the world’s biggest bed with the softest sheets I’ve ever experienced.
From there, it was sweet darkness and a night’s sleep like I haven’t had in years. Blissful unconsciousness and warmth. Heaven.
I woke to the smell of frying bacon, with sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains, warming my naked shoulders. I slid out of bed to find a super huge t-shirt draped over the end, and after I slipped into it, I followed my nose.
Which is how I ended up on the patio, tucking into a mouthwatering breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns, waffles and French toast, with strawberries and extra syrup. Everything a girl could ask for the morning after she had her first taste of alcohol.
“So…” I start, on a smirk, taking in his more casual look today of a plain white t-shirt stretched across that continent of a chest, paired with a baggy pair of blue jeans. His dark hair is pushed back off his forehead, exposing a long scar close to the hairline. “Are we going to talk about the multiple felonies you committed last night?”
Hudson shrugs. “Nothing to talk about. I did what had to be done, and I’d do it again. Shit, I will if you ever even think of taking your clothes off in front of a roomful of shitfaced dicks again. Or anyone again besides me, for that matter.”
I laugh, covering my mouth while I swallow down a mouthful of French toast. He will do it again? So, he’s planning on keeping me around it seems.
Conflict twists inside of me.
Part of me says that’s a bad thing, that I should be ashamed of myself for sitting here instead of running for the door. But the way my belly flutters at the thought of waking up to this man every morning, to being treated well for once in my life, can’t be denied.
I glance around and through the open French doors toward the kitchen. It’s as big as my entire house. The black and tan stone counter tops gleam, accenting cabinets that reach to the tall ceiling and appliances that probably cost more than most people make in a year.
Or five.
“You’re used to getting everything you want, huh?”
He stares at me for a moment. “I do all right.”
“More than all right, I’d say. This place must be worth more than some entire cities. Did you inherit it?”
“No.”
“So, you’re not some trust fund baby, living on generational wealth?”
He doesn’t answer at once, and I wonder if I’m asking too much, too soon. But I’ve never been in this position before, talking to someone who clearly moves in a different world to my own.
“I’ve never had a trust fund,” he says. “My parents weren’t rich.”
“Self-made man? I can respect that.” I smile, but can’t shake the feeling that I’m in territory he’d rather not talk about. Which seems weird. “If I lived here, I’d have a hundred dogs. A thousand. Black labs, mostly.”
“That so? You’re a dog girl then?” he says, his tongue gliding back and forth between his teeth.
“You could say that. I like gaming, but I love dogs. And they love me. Or, I think they would. I’ve never actually had one.” He nods like he’s committing everything I say to memory. “So, what were you doing at a strip club?” I ask. “You a chubby chaser?”