Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
She gives me a nod, and I crouch slightly to get the right angle, enough to glide smoothly into her with how wet she is. It’s still a tight fit, and when I’m fully seated, I force a breath through my nose, maintaining control.
I can’t lose it like the last time and scare her off. Can’t risk it.
I start a steady rhythm and cup her hips to pull her back against me. Once she starts meeting me stroke for stroke, I bring my right hand to the center of her back and glide it over the bunched-up fabric of her skirt right down to her tight little asshole. “Breathe, Pantry Girl; you’re going to like this.”
I press my thumb against the little ring and only push in enough to give her a little sensation. She gasps and moans again. “Lee!”
“I like when you say my name like that,” I tell her, picking up my pace because fuck, her pussy feels like heaven around me, and I’m not going to last much longer.
I move my hand around to her front and pinch her clit gently, making her arch into me harder, seeking more, deeper, harder, faster. She wants more, then I’ll give her more.
This time, I set a brutal pace, forcing her against the edge of the stool as I take her hard. Every thrust is greeted with a moan, and when she shatters, she shouts, “Lee!”
I grin as I thrust a few more times, riding out her orgasm and then reaching my own like a lightning strike down my spine. When I slow and stop, I’m still inside her, but I feel the warm heat of my cum dripping from her pussy onto my own thighs.
“You see what you do to me?” I pant. “This is us. This is our normal. And I won’t have anyone else make you doubt that, not even yourself.”
She hangs her head, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face, and lets out a long, stuttering breath. “Will this be my punishment every time I question it? Are you going to make me watch us have sex every time?”
I shrug and gently pull out of her, then get a rag from the kitchen to clean us both up. I don’t bother putting her panties back on. She doesn’t have any more classes today.
After I help her stand and lead her to the couch, she curls her body around mine, resting her head on my shoulder. It takes a moment, but I notice then that there isn’t even a whisper of changing her gloves or needing personal space.
Fuck. I think I’m …
I have to hold back the words as they spring to my mind. She’s not ready for them yet. Hell, I’m not ready for them yet, but they are there, waiting on the tip of my tongue.
Three little words that mean we are well and truly done pretending.
TWENTY-THREE
salem
Sterling Manor’s foyer gleams with old money perfection, everything arranged at precise angles, which should soothe my need for order. Instead, each perfect surface feels like a challenge. Like a test I’m already failing.
“Right this way,” Katherine directs, leading us toward the grand living room. “The photographer’s been waiting. It’s very important we get Emma’s engagement photos done.”
Lee’s hand tightens on mine, skin against silk, as we follow his mother. He’s been quieter than usual this morning, tension radiating off him in waves I can almost count. One, two, three pulses of anxiety that match my own.
The living room is a mess of equipment and people—lighting stands disrupting the perfect symmetry of the architecture, cables snaking across Persian rugs, and a photographer who immediately zooms in on us.
“Ah, the happy couple!” The photographer approaches, hands already reaching to position us. My breath catches in my throat. He’s going to touch me. Move me. Arrange me like one of the props scattered around the room.
Suddenly, I notice all the things that are wrong. Katherine’s pearl necklace doesn’t match her shoes, and the subtle differences in sheen on her outfit make my skin crawl. The antique curtains hang unevenly, the left side exactly two inches more open than the right.
Silver frames on the mantel tilt at varying degrees, none of them parallel to the edge. Three different staff members shift furniture without measuring the space between pieces, creating dysfunction in what should be symmetry.
Freshly cut flowers are placed in crystal vases, but they’ve been cut to different lengths, making the noise in my head louder. Even the morning light streaming through those uneven curtains hits the room at angles that make the shadows irregular, unpredictable, wrong.
“Salem?” Lee’s voice echoes off in the distance like he’s a million miles away. “You okay?”
No. Nothing about this is okay.
“I-I’m okay. Just a little overwhelmed.”
“It’s going to be all right. I’m right here with you through the whole thing. Maybe count the books on the shelf over there.” He points. “Kinda sad, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single person pick up one of those books and read it.”