Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
None of this is real at all. And I’m just another disposable whore he purchased to use however he wanted.
I push myself off the bed and grab the stupid white dress from the floor, along with my lingerie. Fuck him. And fuck these clothes he thinks I like, and fuck this whole stupid joke.
I storm into the bathroom and slam the door shut. But instead of getting dressed, I just grab the bathrobe from the closet and wrap myself in that instead. It’s warmer than the stupid dress, and a hell of a lot comfier anyway. I shove on slippers, too, and pad back into the penthouse, leaving the other clothes puddled on the floor in there.
“Bonnie,” he says the moment I emerge, but I storm right past him to push the elevator call button.
Damn. It’s a lot harder to storm out of a place when you have to wait for an elevator.
“It’s business, Bonnie. I need to work.”
“Whatever.” I toss my head, hard. “I’m tired of you playing with me.”
He laughs, too loudly for my taste. I turn around to glare at him, but he just smirks. “Clearly you love me playing with you.”
I roll my eyes and jam the elevator button harder. “You’re just stalling.”
He crosses the room to my side and takes my hand, pulling it away from the button. “Bonnie.” He waits until I meet his gaze again, my jaw set in defiance. “I don’t have time right now. I told you, I need to work. I’ll fuck you when I’m ready, and not a moment before then. That was our deal.” His gaze bores into mine, and I hate how much sense he makes when all I want to do right now is fume at him.
“Our deal was that you fuck me, take my virginity, and pay me. That was the deal, Pierce. None of . . . this.” I wave my arm at the room again.
“Our deal is finished when I claim every virginity you have. That’s what we agreed.” His hand drops between us to cup my pussy, and I tense in response to his touch. That only makes him laugh again, because he can clearly read the desire on my face. Damn him. “You will just have to accept it, Bonnie.”
The elevator door dings open behind me, and I pull myself out of his arms and storm into the elevator. “You have no idea how much you’re fucking up my life right now,” I inform him, just as the doors close again in his face.
It’s not really fair to throw that at him, I know. He doesn’t know because I won’t let him. But he can’t just go around assuming he knows what’s best for everyone, and what everyone needs. Especially when he has no idea what’s going on with me, or why I need this money right now.
I clench my fists at my sides. I don’t have time to wait around for him to feel like fucking me. I need cash, now. My grandmother needs cash, now.
I hit the bottom floor, and the doors open to reveal more than a few strangers and hotel guests eyeballing me, standing there in a bathrobe and slippers. Damn. And the car—or whatever my “ride home” means—won’t arrive for another hour, Pierce said.
Then I notice the sign by the entrance. Continental breakfast served daily, 5AM-8AM.
Perfect. If nothing else, at least I can make Pierce pay for my damn breakfast. It’s the least he can do at this point. I storm up the steps to the second floor landing, where there’s a buffet laid out with about ten different kinds of hot meals awaiting.
“May I have your room number?” the hostess greets me, and I turn to smile at her, about to speak, when her gaze lands on my robe. “Oh, please, right this way, miss.”
Before I can tell her the number—which I’m not even sure I know, is there more than one penthouse? —she’s leading me through the maze of chairs and seating me in a private booth in the corner. She snaps her fingers at a passing waiter, who immediately about-faces and rushes into the kitchen.
I’ve never seen anyone treat guests like this. Not even in fine dining, and I’ve covered a few hostess shifts at some really nice places in the city.
The waiter returns in a heartbeat with coffee and tea, both of which he places before me. “Would you like any other beverages?” he simpers. “A mimosa, perhaps, or a bellini, that is a favorite of Mr. Pinewood’s, I believe.”
Startled at the name, I glance down at my robe. Sure enough, there’s a double initial crest embroidered on the pocket. P.P., just like the way Pierce signed that note to me when he sent the dress and jewelry. Pinewood?
But then I think about his screenname. PiercingPine32. Well, that would be even less subtle than I already thought, but hey, it fits him.