Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
It wasn’t until I got back into the room and into the ensuite bathroom that I remembered the papers that were still against my back, held in place by the waistband of my skirt.
If he had removed a single piece of clothing completely, I would have been caught. But he hadn’t, so I took them out and tried to look them over, sure that I might have something of value.
Lucian knowing how to confuse my mind and play my body like an instrument, didn’t make him less dangerous.
It made it so much worse. Nothing had changed, and I still needed to get out. Having him in prison was still the easiest way to do that.
I looked over the papers I’d stolen, trying to understand what they were, and I realized they were completely useless.
There was nothing but numbers on the page. There was no key, no column headings, and nothing that told me what I was looking at or gave any context to the data. This could show money being bounced between hundreds of foreign accounts for tax evasion, payouts to organized crime, or the earnings report from McDonald’s last quarter.
There was absolutely no way for me or anyone to know.
Maybe I could go back, look in the same place I’d found this, and find the first pages that would hopefully give some context to what I was seeing.
In the meantime, I stuck the pages between the mattress and the box spring, pushing them as far back as I could so the maids wouldn’t accidentally brush them when changing the bottom sheet.
I heard a noise outside the door, and I wasn’t sure if it was Lucian coming up to change or his evil butler coming to check on me. Either way, standing in the middle of the room smelling like sex and looking disheveled was not how either of them was going to find me.
As quickly as I could, I scampered into the ensuite bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as possible.
There may not have been a way for me to go back in time and erase what happened and how it made me feel, but maybe I could singe the memory from my skin.
The water was scalding, and it felt amazing.
With each pass of the loofah, I tried to forget what he had done to me, how he made me feel, and how much I wanted him to do it again.
Instead, I tried to replace the feeling of his mouth on me with that of my fingers. Maybe if I could bring myself to orgasm, I could erase the memory of the way his mouth had sucked at me, the way his tongue felt on my delicate folds, and how unbelievably and sensually intense the entire experience was—from feeling his weight pressing down on top of me, light-headed because his cock was blocking my airway, to even the slightly salty masculine flavor that had filled my senses.
I needed to erase all of it.
It didn’t work, and I ended up coming apart in the shower with his name silently painted on my lips.
Getting out of the shower, I dried myself off as quickly as I could and made myself presentable.
I’d never been to a polo game, but I assumed it was the same for any outdoor posh sporting event.
A floral printed sundress in a pretty baby blue that would hug my curves just right. I used to love dresses like this. They were always so pretty and feminine. They looked modest, with their longer skirts hitting just below my knees and higher sweetheart necklines, but the thin fabric floated over my curves, and when the light hit it just right, you could see my silhouette through the material. They were what I called innocent and sexy.
Dresses like these used to be my favorite part of spring, but now they just left me freezing. But my comfort was hardly a concern for Lucian.
I put on the dress and paired it with strappy heels, a fabulous hat my mother bought me last year, vintage Chanel, so it would never be out of style, and then grabbed a matching cardigan to provide a pale attempt at fending off the cold that had come over me.
I stepped out of the large walk-in closet just in time to see Lucian coming out of his closet.
It was the first time I had seen him when he wasn’t wearing head to toe black. Instead, he was wearing a blue blazer over a crisp white button-down shirt and cream linen slacks.
He looked like a man half his age and yet still just as powerful.
My admiration for his attire was cut short when he dropped a large duffel bag just in front of his penny loafers. I didn’t know what was in the bag, but I did know it couldn’t be anything good. He wouldn’t have anything good in a duffel bag. It just wasn’t who he was.