Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Why the past tense?” I frowned. “I’m going back as soon as I can.”
Ollie’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “Cuddlebug, they … found a replacement.”
“What?” I almost shot out of my seat. “They can’t do this to me. I need to go back. It’ll help me remember.”
“You need to rest.” He patted my thigh, and a jolt of desire zipped through me. “And ask plenty of questions.”
“Okay. What’s my favorite sex position?” I challenged.
“Reverse cowgirl while I operate heavy machinery.”
That made me laugh. Now, this was more like the Ollie I knew. Passionate. Goofy. Real.
“Have we ever …”
“Ever …?”
“Sixty-nined?”
He did a double take. “Come again?”
“Cum again or come again? Never mind. I was just wondering what happens if I accidentally bite your dick when I come.” I shook my head, amused by his automatic wince. “Moving on. Where’s the craziest place we’ve ever had sex?”
“Hmm.” He stroked his chin, giving it some thought. By the ghost of the smile tugging at his lips, I gathered there were plenty of places to choose from. “The Versailles Palace, probably.”
I choked on another sip of my water. “Oh my god, were we drunk?”
“Sober as an angry, freshly rehabilitated uncle on Christmas dinner.” He shook his head. “Didn’t do it in the gardens, even. Right there on the throne.”
I covered my face with both my palms, my ears roasting like Thanksgiving turkey. “You’re lying.”
“Nope.” He popped the P. “Went down on you for forty minutes, too.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
“Okay, I lied.” He paused. “I went down on you for fifty minutes, not forty.”
I barked out a laugh. He laughed, too. And for a tiny, fleeting second, we were us again. Whatever that was.
Oliver turned right into a broad, tree-lined road. A good mile passed before we reached a massive cul-de-sac. Two mansions spurted from each side at the ends of ceaseless driveways, with a third mansion planted firmly in the center, propped up on a hill that helped it tower over the rest. The homes loomed like three kings, overbearing in their size and architecture. Nothing about the view seemed familiar.
“This is Dark Prince Road.” Oliver tapped the accelerator with his foot, finally driving at a faster pace. “Mine is the right one. It has its own lake. Well, it’s more like an inlet that leads into the Potomac. You’re going to love it.”
I cleared my throat, wondering when it had dried. “You mean ours.”
“What?” He turned to me, confused. “Oh, yes. Ours. Sorry.”
A tiny knot tightened in my stomach. I brushed it away, soaking in the property. “Is this the house your dad got you after he spent that year away on business?”
“You remember that?”
“Yup. I remember you got a horse, too.”
“He’s in the stables out back. I have two now. Usain Colt and Al Capony.”
I giggled into my sleeve. “One for me and one for you?”
He parked beside a Roman statue on the gold-bricked motor court, shot a lingering glance at the windows on the south wing of his mansion, and swallowed hard. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll teach you how to ride Usain Colt sometime.”
“I got a horse and never learned to ride?”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the best at everything.”
I pasted a dramatic pout onto my lips. “That’s not what I remember.”
He clicked my seat belt off, rounded the car, and opened the door for me. I accepted his hand, wobbling as the last dregs of winter winds slapped me. Lush gardens framed the manor’s towering stone façade. Spires and chimneys pierced the sky. Ivy crept up the ornate columns flanking the double doors.
He lived in a castle.
We lived in a castle.
“Welcome home, Cuddlebug.”
But it didn’t feel like home at all.
For a reason I couldn’t fathom, it felt like someone’s gilded prison.
Chapter Twenty
Oliver
I’d always known Karma knew my address and would pay me a visit sooner or later. But I had no idea she would deliver its punishment in the form of my first and only love pulling a spiky dildo from my glove compartment, forcing me to make an excuse for it.
There was no excuse.
It started as a small test. Something to see if I could function as everyone else did, with props, and unholy amounts of alcohol, and an NDA longer than Lord of the Rings.
The second I realized the equipment didn’t help, I tucked it into obvious places to throw my friends off my scent. Of course, I knew they found my dumb act a little less believable than a campaign promise during election season. But the more I ramped it up, the more I tried to keep it intact, the less they pried.
It hadn’t always been like this, though.
The last summer Briar and I spent together – the summer we had sex – all I needed was for her to breathe, not even in my vicinity, and I was good for it.