Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Then I panic again because he’s calling me at this time. Something must be wrong.
I swipe it to answer. “Hey! You okay?”
“You alone?” My heart rolls around in my chest.
“Yes. It’s four in the morning.”
“Yeah, I saw that…”
“Saw, what?” I ask, lying back in the bed and dragging my sheets up to my chin. “Why’s it loud there?”
“Hmmm?” he says, and it almost kills my internal organs with how smooth he sounded. Lazy, almost.
“I said why’s it loud there?”
“Oh, Nate and Tillie had a fight, so he threw a party to piss her off.”
“And you’re there to take her side?” I smile, because he is a lot of things, all bad, mostly, but when he cares about someone, he cares.
He grumbles. “Sort of. Send me a photo.”
“What?” I bite down on my lip, even though I know what kind of photo he wants.
“Don’t play dumb, Saint. Send me a photo.”
“Why?” I might like his attention, too, even if it is extreme.
“Because when I wrap my hand around my dick later tonight, there’s only one girl I want to be looking at. Send it.”
I try to hide my smile. My cheeks sting. “Okay, wait there.” He doesn’t answer, so I flip the camera to selfie, throw my shirt off and toss it into the corner. I debate with myself about my underwear, before unclipping my bra and sliding my panties down. I finally get the lamp to turn on, resting my phone on the bedside table against it. Leaning against the wall, sideways to the phone, I hold my nipples, while arching my back, and take three shots. One with me looking naturally at the camera, another with my leg perched and smiling, and another while looking down. I pick up my phone and swipe through them, shrugging and then sending them straight to him.
“I sent them.”
“You just took photos now?” he asks, seemingly surprised. “Didn’t you just wake up?”
“So?” My cheeks flame red. Was I not supposed to?
“Nah, nothing. Usually chicks need to spend hours to get ready, go through one hundred filters to make them skinny, and then tweak whatever shit they think I won’t like.”
Instantly I cower. He’s done this before. Of course he has. I don’t know why it bothers me.
He goes silent on the other end. “How much have you had to drink?” I ask.
“A bit. Hold up…” He disappears, and I figure he got the photos, so I quickly slide back into my clothes and under the covers, resting my phone against my ear. “Jesus fuck, Saint! I didn’t mean send nudes!”
“What?” I ask, confused.
His tone drops to a growl. “I didn’t mean send me fucking photos of you naked!”
“I don’t know what nudes mean!” I snap back at him. Shame washes over me. He doesn’t like them? “I can take other ones if you don’t like them.”
“If I don’t?—” He laughs, and it’s maniacal. It reminds me of the night he took my virginity and licked the blood clean from between my thighs. A door slams in his background and I jump, even though I know he’s not here. Suddenly I wish he was. I wish he was here so I could calm him down, because I’m well aware of the kind of turmoil he’s creating inside of his head. “Don’t ever fucking say that again.”
I gulp, my throat swollen. “Brantley?”
He doesn’t answer, but I hear his breathing heavy on the other end.
I continue. “I think I miss you.” His breathing stops, and my chest tightens again. I struggle to breathe as I wait for his answer, but the sadness that weighs down on my heart tonight is heavy. “I’ve never been this far away from you, I don’t think, or at least that I know of.”
“It doesn’t seem like a good idea now, does it?” he bites at me. He’s angry. I get it. His answer to everything is anger and silence, which usually never go hand in hand, but that’s one of the many reasons why Brantley Vitiosis is exceptionally unique. There will never be another like him—which is both a good and a bad thing. He exhales. “Come home.”
“I will.”
“When?” The fact he’s allowing me to make a decision without interfering is proof he’s allowing me to grow a little.
“Today, I think.”
“Good. Because Saint, if you’re not on that jet today, I’ll have Trevor—the man who I have stationed outside that swanky little hotel you’re staying at down Queen Street—gag you, tie you up, and throw you onto that plane. Got it? Don’t fucking test me. I’ve given you enough time over there to do whatever the fuck you think you have to do to help the Madship mess, but mark my words…” He pauses, and I’m still holding my breath. “If your sexy little ass is not on that jet today, I’ll show you exactly why people are scared of me.”