Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“There already is!” I slam the door and lock it.
And then I fall to the floor, refusing to let the tears come when I hear the clink of something falling, followed by the distinct smell…of burning plastic.
Chapter
Nineteen
Boston
I wake to a far more refreshing aroma than the one I fell asleep to—fresh ground espresso beans. I’m surprised when I sit up to find a note on the pillow beside me, a black rose stabbed through the golden paper. I slip it free and read it over, but the only thing on it is his name in a calligraphy so pristine it could pass as being printed.
My head hits the pillow once more and I draw the rose up to my nose, surprised by the scent. There is no hint of sweet softness of a flower. No, it smells of amber and clove, of leather, and metallic, like a fresh cut rather than freshly cut from the vine. As if it were dipped in his very dominance.
I inhale again, my eyes closing, quite the image filling the darkness I’m now sated in.
Him hovering above me, his knuckle brushing my thigh as he viciously stroked himself to his finale.
I can’t believe he wiped his cum all over me.
It may have been the most irritating and intoxicating moment of my life.
On one hand, I wanted to slap the shit out of him for demeaning what he did by saying he was marking me like a dog…but on the other, I wanted his fingers to slide between my lips and “force me” to swallow.
I don’t dare think about what happened after, the way he ruined me right there on the stairs for any of his men to see. Not that they’re that stupid.
The chilled window against my back, his burning body buried in my front.
My thighs rub together in the silk sheets, overdosing on his scent. As I press it further to my nose, lifting the stem higher, something slips from the center, a coolness sliding over my neck as it falls behind me.
I jerk upright, scooting down until I spot something shiny. Picking it up, I pull it closer to my face.
It’s a small cluster of diamonds in the shape of a book, with a small thread hanging from the end, a miniature note dangling from it.
To remind you of our scene together, it reads.
Warmth washes over me, the adorable play on the word scene not missed on me, and I chastise myself for how giddy it makes me, swiftly jumping from the bed, fully prepared to forget all about the thoughtful gesture…only to spot a second black rose lying across the top of the espresso machine. The exact spot he knew I’d go first.
Because he knows you.
I shake the thought.
My feet move quicker than I’d like to admit, and I swiftly snatch it up, a little more aggressively this time, smelling it to see if it’s full of his scent as well. It is.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, not wanting to assume, and hating the tiny thrill the thought brings me.
I turn it upside down.
Sure enough, a second charm falls into my palm, and while it really shouldn’t, a smile breaks across my lips as I get a good look. Like the other, it’s made of a bunch of tiny diamonds, these ones molded into the shape of the Hummer.
To remind you of the way you drive me wild, the tag reads.
I bite the inside of my lip, staring down at what I dare to call thoughtful gifts.
Knowing Enzo, they could be his way of reminding me of his threat.
Little does he know, the idea of someone watching him and I together does quite the opposite to me. I think I might enjoy something like that.
But also knowing Enzo, which I’m not sure I could claim I do, he would probably get my shirt halfway off and then freak out and pull that trigger early.
Something tells me he wouldn’t be okay with someone seeing what he keeps saying belongs to him.
Or it could be his way to placate me—give me seemingly meaningful gifts so I forget all about his caveman bullshit, burning my birth control after just one day of use.
Fisting the charm, I look out the window, replaying the end of our night.
Why am I not more bothered by his stunt?
Why do I sort of want to laugh at how outraged the thought of me taking birth control made him, and when did I start to consider his little outbursts adorable?
God, he would laugh if he knew I used that word in any relation to him.
Maybe I’ll call him that at some point today.
A throat clears behind me, and I spin with a sigh, already knowing who it will be.
Grandma dips her chin.
“Let me guess. He wants me at breakfast in ten minutes?”