Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
She clutches a pearl thong to her chest and giggles.
“Don’t you dare! I was just being polite!”
I laugh and stroll to her. I wrap her in my arms from behind, so I can press my half-hard self against her ass. Then I put my chin on her shoulder. “You like them?”
“I love them, but how did you know my size?”
I grin.
“Sweetheart, I’ve touched this body so many times already that I think I know all your sizes, down to the circumference of your little toe.” Of course, I don’t add that I know her ring-finger size as well. “I guessed, but I’m a good guesser when it comes to things like this.”
Harlow turns in my arms and kisses me. “Thank you for this, Gray.”
“Of course. You belong to me, and it’s my job to take care of you.”
Her lips part in a slight gasp and then she says, “Well, in that case, let me take care of you too.” She begins to kneel in front of me.
“As much as I would love that,” I say, gently raising her back up. “We have an engagement to keep.”
She blinks.
“We do?”
“Yes, it’s your other surprise.”
She laughs.
“You don’t need to keep surprising me, Gray.”
“But I want to,” I smile.
“But if I don’t know where we are going, then how can I pick the right item to wear?” she smirks.
“Clever girl.” I have to give it to her. That was slick. “Pick something you would wear to a nice restaurant.”
“Fine,” she shoots me a devilish look, but then smiles. God, she’s so cute. She picks a dress with a snug skirt that hugs her hips and struggles into it. I could watch her wiggle into that thing all day long. She turns and shoots me a sweet smile.
“Zip me up?”
I nod and zip it halfway before lifting her long dark curls and kissing the bare skin at the nape of her neck. Then I zip it all the way up. “Ready?”
She nods, “As I’ll ever be.”
“Oh, one more thing,” I say, pulling a jewelry box from my drawer. It’s large and could never be mistaken for an engagement ring, but she gasps anyways, her eyes round.
“What’s that?”
“I never see you in jewelry,” I ask. “I want to know why.”
She smiles.
“Truthfully, I’ve always associated jewelry with my mom Catherine, and the way she and her friends overly decorate themselves. I like it, but she always wears these huge pieces that are so gaudy. I never want to be like that.”
I open the box and inside is a simple pearl necklace. “So, something not ostentatious, but still quite pretty?”
She gasps. “Oh, Gray. It’s gorgeous!”
“Let me put it on you.”
She nods as I lovingly wrap the necklace around her delicate throat. The pearls sit perfectly above her cleavage and gleam in the low lights, their luster incredible.
“Now, we’re ready.” I offer her my arm and she slips her hand into the crook of my elbow as if she belongs there. We go down to the first floor and I guide her to the hotel’s exhibit area off to one side.
She sees the signs and her voice becomes giddy. “You’re kidding me!”
“I thought you might like it, sweetheart.”
She throws me a dazzling smile and then darts ahead, her joy unbounded. I can’t help but chuckle. I watch as she waltzes from painting to painting, her eyes studying every line and color. Finally, she remembers I exist, and comes back to Earth. “Nadine Figueroa is a world-renowned watercolor artist. Why would she come to Denver though?”
I chuck her under the chin.
“Well, we’re not exactly small potatoes, Harlow. Denver’s a big enough city.” Part of me wants to tell her I paid and arranged for the exhibit to come to the hotel, but I prefer to watch her simply enjoy it all. There’s no need to take credit for everything.
“Which one should I start with?” she begins before directing me to a particularly magnificent painting of a peacock reaching its head into a tree. She tells me of the significance of each brushstroke, how each curve represents something. I try to pay attention, but it’s hard to keep my eyes off the beautiful girl “And see this, right here?” she asks.
“Mm-hmm?”
“Her line work explores the concept of representation without clarified meaning, letting the viewer decide what the painting means. She’s a true artist in full command of the medium,” Harlow sighs.
I nod. “It’s as if the artist is exploring the impermanence of life.”
Harlow blinks at me. “That’s very astute.”
“Thank you…?”
“I don’t mean to sound condescending, Gray, but I didn’t know you were familiar with this artist’s work.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” I wink.
She nods and smiles mysteriously. “There really is.”
I’m still wrapped around Harlow come morning. We went back to my mansion after the exhibit and she showed her gratitude several times. Harlow’s definitely one of a kind, from her genuine love and appreciation for fine art, to the filthy woman she becomes between the sheets. My feelings have gone from temporary infatuation to a deep-seated need for the curvy girl.