Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Seeming drunk on pleasure, she begins to giggle. I lie down, pulling Autumn into me, her back to my front with my arms wrapped around her like she might try to escape me.
Wiggling her ass against my now soft cock, she asks, “Am I the little spoon to your big spoon?”
I growl into her ear, “You’re the perfect spoon for me to grip and grind and rut into. And then curl around for what I expect will be a great night of sleep for us both.”
“Is Xerxes okay in the other room?”
That she worries about my dog when all he’s done is be rude to her tells me a lot about Autumn. “He’s fine. He, uh . . .” When she looks over her shoulder at me, I confess, “He’s lying in the guest bed, tucked in on the pillows as though they’re a nest.”
She stares at me for a second, trying to decide whether I’m joking or not, and then laughs. “Of course he is. Lucky dog.”
“Eh, I consider myself lucky that he chose me. We’re kindred spirits, though he’s perhaps not as charming as I am?”
Autumn mock-glares at me. “Are you fishing for more compliments after I told you that your dick reminded me of the Eiffel Tower?” When I don’t deny her charges, she answers, “He’s definitely not as charming as you, though you’re losing points by the second.” The warning is accompanied by a big yawn that she rushes to cover with her hand.
“Sleep, Princesse. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”
I push a button on the remote that stays on the bedside table, and we are blanketed in darkness. Autumn snuggles into me again, buried to her chin and surrounded by me.
“What’s tomorrow?” she murmurs.
I kiss her shoulder and whisper, “Week two of the competition begins.”
I’m not sure she hears me because she falls asleep quickly, a testament to how spent she is after the hard fuck, but I can’t sleep. I want to watch her in the darkness, listen to her breathe, and bury my nose in her soft hair to breathe her in.
Tonight, something changed. With us, and within myself.
I’ve never dated seriously, never even considered it. But when I told Autumn that this was not casual, I don’t think she understood how much I meant that. I could’ve waited on her if she’d asked me to, painfully and agonizingly delaying the inevitable until she was ready.
But now that I’ve had her, there’s no going back. I’m addicted to her. My Autumn, my Princesse.
CHAPTER 17
AUTUMN
“We’re wasting an entire morning,” Beatrice gripes as we walk along the sidewalk in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré district, checking out the beating fashionable heart of Paris. If Fifth Avenue is the heart of NYC fashion and Rodeo Drive the heart of Los Angeles, we’re here in Paris’s heart, seeing the best the city has to offer.
We’re supposed to be here to get inspiration for our next show which is themed Seduction.
I get the feeling Beatrice has seen all this before and definitely doesn’t need any help in the seduction department, but today was arranged by House Corbin so I’m not going to turn down a day out with the girls . . . or the three thousand euros of ‘pocket money’ they’re giving each of us to pick up any little trinkets that spark our imaginations.
“Check her out,” Molly says, trying not to point to the woman on the other side of the street. She’s definitely a sight, wearing eight-inch-high platform stilettos that would make Gaga at her weirdest lift an eyebrow. To the woman’s credit, she doesn’t so much as wobble as she struts down the street.
“I am . . . in trouble,” Yori says quietly. “Many, many beautiful fashions. But I don’t know Seduction.” She poses with her hands on her hips and exaggeratedly pursed lips.
“What is seduction in Japan?” Molly asks.
“Girl lay back, pretend to be hazukashii, then make sounds like this,” Yori says before starting to squeak like a hyperventilating hamster on helium. “That is sekushii in Japan.”
“Ugh . . .” Katarina groans, and then quickly adds, “No offense.”
“No. It’s okay. The pretending is ridiculous.”
Molly agrees vehemently, “Hell yeah, it is. If you’re pretending, that means you’re probably not getting your own Os. Who’s got time for that? Do seduction that makes you feel sexy. Who cares what he thinks about it?” Molly is caressing her own curves as she makes her suggestions, completely oblivious that she’s drawing the attention of several other people on the street.
Beatrice clucks her tongue. “Tis true. If left up to men, we would all be dressed either virginal in white, or la putain in black leather.”
I’m not sure of the exact translation, but I get what Beatrice is saying.
Meanwhile, Molly’s got her own mental wheels turning as we pass by a boutique with a display of hip-hop inspired outfits. There’s music playing inside, and she’s bobbing her head in time with it. “Yeah . . . yeah!” she says, throwing her hands up. “I love it when you call me Big Momma! Throw your hands in the air if you’se a true player!”