Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
He leaves me cold even before he pulls out. When he does, my ass is on display with his release running down my legs, but I no longer find it hot.
I find it lonely.
His zipper sounds. His presence fades.
Yet I can’t find the energy to peel myself off the table and to cover myself.
The water comes on. A moment later, he returns with a warm, wet paper towel and cleans between my legs.
Cool air assaults my wet folds as he walks to the sink and dumps the paper towel in the trashcan. It’s only then that I manage to straighten, fumbling with my underwear. He washes his hands and dries them before walking back to me. Methodically, he finishes the task of dressing me by pulling up my jeans and fastening the button. He doesn’t kiss me or turn me to face him. He takes his wallet from his pocket, removes a hundred-rand note, and leaves it on the table next to me.
I die a thousand deaths when he walks from the room. My legs wobble when I finally gather the courage to turn around, and it’s not from the aftereffect of my powerful orgasm.
So this is how it’s going to be.
A financial transaction, safe and secure for Leon, putting him in familiar territory while making me a whore.
CHAPTER 4
Leon
The despicable things we do for money are only surpassed by the despicable things we do for love. In my case, it’s more of an obsession, but it’s still a curse. Violet has already made an animal out of me. Now she turned me into a monster with her cruel betrayal.
When I come back downstairs after my shower, my deceitful little fiancée is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping herbal tea. I’m surprised to find the money I left on the table gone. I didn’t expect her to take it. I expected outrage, maybe even hoped for it, but what I get is infinitely worse. Politeness. I much rather prefer she gives me the silent treatment. A cold shoulder implies she’s affected, that feelings are involved. But after what she did, what did I expect?
“Hungry?” I ask, burying my head in the fridge.
“No.”
Too tired for cooking, I take out a carton of eggs. “Did you have lunch?”
“No.”
I carry the eggs to the counter. “You should eat.”
“I will when I’m hungry.”
“Every meal,” I say, giving her a reprimanding look. “Your health is not negotiable.”
She doesn’t reply. She simply drinks her tea while I fix an omelet as if we didn’t just have hot, dirty sex at that very table. It’s not that she’s pretending it didn’t happen. She’s simply accepting it did.
We eat in silence with me serving and she saying thank you. Neither of us broach the elephant in the room, that tomorrow will be one of the most important days of our lives. It’s supposed to be a highlight, but by my own doing, it stretches ahead like a major letdown.
I want her again, but I don’t act on the need. If I do, I may want other things, things I told myself I’ll never give again. If I can’t give it, I have no business of wanting it.
When her plate is empty, I load the dishwasher and wipe the counters. She sits in her chair, looking serene but out of place. Like the bastard I am, I don’t try to make her feel welcome. Two days ago, I would’ve gone out of my way to help her settle in. Now our dynamic is different. Besides, Violet doesn’t like to be told what to do, not outside of the bedroom. She won’t want me to spoon-feed her a guide to happiness for unwilling brides. This is her home. The sooner she makes a place for herself here, the easier it will be.
Exhausted, I leave her to stew in her thoughts as I brush my teeth before dragging myself to the spare bedroom. I didn’t sleep last night. I had a lot to think about. Staying with her tonight isn’t going to allow me much sleep either.
After stripping down to my briefs, I crawl into bed and check that the house alarm is set by using the app on my phone. It’s a bedtime habit. Then I flick off the light and throw my arm over my face.
Minutes roll into hours as I lie in the dark, unable to shut down my mind. At two in the morning, I give up, pull on a pair of tracksuit pants, and walk barefoot to the hallway. In front of my bedroom door, I stop to listen. What I expected other than silence, I don’t know. Reassurance, maybe. That she’s there. Safe and sound. That earlier in the kitchen wasn’t a figment of my imagination. I can stand here and tell myself all these bullshit lies, but deep inside I know why I’m listening. I can deal with her anger, but I won’t be able to handle her tears. Trust me to make a woman cry herself to sleep on the night before her wedding. It’s a dick move only I can manage.