Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“I will not,” Lavinia fires back. “This…this…” She scans me up and down again, like she’s about to vomit. Then she shoots another glare to Liv, pointing to the back room where she can go fire her in private. “Now!”
“Ring it up,” I growl. “It’s exactly what I wanted.” I look to Liv, rubbing it in her face. “The credit card is in my back pocket. Grab it.” And then to Lavinia again. “Olivia followed my orders. Don’t blame her. I want it paid in full.”
Lavinia’s mouth falls open like she’s going to argue, but I cut her off.
“I mean it,” I say again.
And then I turn away, cutting off any further argument as I check myself out in the floor-length mirrors, observing all angles.
Liv digs my mom’s credit card out of the back pocket of my jeans in the dressing room and shoots me a half-lidded look before disappearing into the lobby. I hear Lavinia’s hushed hissing and stand there, trying to hear what she’s saying to Jaeger, but I can’t.
The bitch needs to shut up. I told her it was fine. I mean, it’s not. Liv’s going to pay for this, and I don’t need help punishing her. She’s my responsibility.
The hem of the dress is too short, the petticoat sticks out the bottom, and the flowers around my neck itch. I hike up the skirt and reach behind me, unzipping the petticoat and letting it fall to the floor, stepping out of it. There’s no way my mother will make me wear this, and I’m half-tempted to start cutting it into pieces so it can’t be salvaged for my future daughter. I could even blame Liv for it. No one would think otherwise.
But…I won’t go that far yet. She’s finally playing, and I don’t want to actually get her in trouble before I can enjoy this.
“If this is the dress,” someone says, and Callum appears behind me, swinging me back into his arms, and I gasp. “I will absolutely be peeling it off you as soon as possible.”
I look up at him, feeling Olivia right outside the room.
He dips down, his breath on my lips as he hovers, not kissing me.
“Callum—”
“Shhh…” he tells me. “I snuck in.”
“I thought you had a meeting of the Skull and Bones.”
He grins, brushing off my teasing.
He’s trying to get a head start in some fraternity before he goes to college next year. Schmoozing alumni and legacies. Milking connections that his father already made for him. I like that he’s ambitious, even if whatever we have going won’t last beyond graduation. He’ll go to one school in the fall. I’ll go to another.
And we both know neither one of us is waiting for the other while we’re away.
“You can’t see the dress.” I stand back up and spin out of his arms.
But he pulls me back in, and I suck in a breath. He presses his body to mine, gazing into my eyes without blinking. “Undress for me,” he whispers.
I still.
“Let me watch the dress come off and your clothes put back on,” he murmurs, his nose brushing mine. “I won’t touch you.”
Part of me wants to. I like how slowly he moves, easing me into it.
He walks us backward into the dressing room and closes the curtain. “Every time I see you, I want third base already, Clay. Show me.”
He moves over my lips, holding back just enough to make my skin tingle where his warmth breath falls.
I want him. I look up into his eyes, picturing myself tearing his shirt off his body and what his skin will feel like against mine, but the tingles fade, and I inch up on my tiptoes, searching for his mouth. Chasing it. Fighting to get it back.
“Unbutton me,” I pant.
I want him.
I want him to touch me and kiss me and take me home and sneak into my bed and…
He loses it. Grabbing my waist, he brings his mouth down on mine, backing me into the wall and hikes up my skirt. He nestles himself between my legs, holding my knee at his waist.
His other hand works the buttons at my back.
“Five minutes, Clay,” he says, jerking the buttons free until I feel the bodice loosen and slide down my torso. “How much damage can I do in five minutes?”
He covers my lips again and grinds into me, the twenty-four-hour scruff on his chin poking my face and lips. I scale my hands up his chest, his muscles tight and thick under his shirt, and I dive into his mouth deeper, waiting for the pulse between my thighs to need what he’s doing. To like it. I’m tired of not fucking around like everyone else. I want my own guy.
I want someone touching me.
I want to search him out for more and not be able to control myself when we’re together.