Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
"You can't fuck him," I tell her, my eyes steely.
"You don't own me, Sloane," she says to me.
She's pulled back. Other side of the bed. I'm still holding her, but we're not about to fuck like we were before.
"No one owns me," she says with finality.
And that's it. I can see it in her eyes.
When Drake told her she couldn't come see me, what did she do? She fucking came to see me.
If I press this too far with her, I'm just going to drive her back to him.
I need to play my cards right.
Because something is up with this girl. I never thought I'd get hung up on a girl, until I met this one.
And I can't let her slip away. Not just yet.
"Babe, I'll never tell you what you can or can't do," I tell Natalie. Her face, filled with steely resolve and independence, starts to unfreeze.
She looks at me as I run my hands over her back, running it up and down her spine.
It takes a few minutes, but her expression starts to soften.
"I will never try to own you," I tell her. She looks at me. "Unless we're fucking. Because then, that ass is fucking mine."
Two seconds. Then a smile.
How can you resist a face like mine in the morning?
You can't.
Five more seconds, and Natalie's gorgeous fucking body is pressed against mine. I never want to let go of her naked form as it entwines in mine.
As I fucking kiss her on the neck.
And begin to take her.
Fuck, I'll do anything this woman wants.
All she has to do is ask.
12
Drake
I look down at my watch and draw my coat tighter against the wind. The weather is unseasonably cold and it makes me clench my jaw. Natalie should be here right now, and she isn't. I've waited long enough. Time is money and I can't sit around here any longer.
I take the elevator down to the lobby, and walk back out to the street. The sound of the city's traffic whizzes past me.
Just as I step foot onto the sidewalk, I see her—she nearly bumps into me. Her blonde hair is being blown by the wind and she's tucking it behind one ear.
She looks up and seems surprised to see me. "Oh, wh—what are you doing here?"
I feel my brow furrow, but I try to smile. I don't want her to see me like this—flustered, pathetic—so I swallow my irritation.
"I'm here because I thought you'd be here too," I say, in all seriousness. "You were supposed to be home. I've been waiting for almost an hour. Where have you been?"
"Where have I been?" she laughs, but it's clear she doesn't find this funny.
Her eyes are flashing like shards of broken glass. Despite my best effort to hide it, she can sense my irritation. "I'm not supposed to be anywhere. I can be wherever I want to be, Drake. Do I ask where you are every day?"
"Listen to me," I say. "I'm making it my business. I care, Natalie. I need to know where you were."
She shakes her head, unwilling to give me what I want. "It's none of your fucking business."
"I'm not here to fight."
"Look, I may like playing the little girl, but that's not me all the time. I have a life, outside of …" she thinks for a moment, searching for the right words, "us … this … whatever you want to call it."
The way she can compartmentalize her life, and go from hot to cold is confusing. And why is she acting as if she has something to hide? She's hedging, I know it. It must be Sloane. He must be getting to her.
"If you want my money for Dirty Lil' Angels," I say, "You need to change your tone."
"Change my tone?" she mocks, in a high-pitched laugh. "Didn't you just hear a word of what I said? You can drop the daddy act right now."
Fuck, she's sexy when she's mad. The way her chest heaves, and she crosses her arms, pushing the tops of her breasts closer to me. The way she purses her moist lips.
"Think about your company," I say. "Dirty Lil' Angels could use this funding; it will take you to the next level, but I'm not prepared to hand over that kind of investment capital when I can't trust you."
She looks at me for a moment without speaking, and the word trust hangs in the space between us like a dare.
"I have … alternate sources … of funding," she says, slowly, knowing that if she isn't careful, her words can change the course of everything.
Alternate sources. I roll those words around my mind for a second. I wasn't fucking born yesterday. I know what that means. That's the real reason she wasn't home.
Sloane.
"Would you trust the future of company on that alternate source?" I ask.