Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
A sigh escaped my lips. We hadn’t had that discussion in a long time. My mother couldn't understand why my ambitions didn't extend further than being a personal assistant. Maybe she did understand, but she just didn’t want to acknowledge that I wasn't one of those women who were big on careers.
Once upon a time, I even dreamed of meeting Mr. Perfect, getting married, and filling a house with babies. Five to be exact. To many people, the idea was old-fashioned and daft, but to me, it was heaven on earth. There was nothing I wanted more.
And why not too? I had seen the kind of rock-solid marriage my mother and father had, and I wanted the same thing for myself. I wanted a man who would love me despite all my flaws. The way my father did my mother.
My mind stupidly went to Mr. Frost and I could have laughed at myself. He was the farthest thing from my dream husband. Mr. Frost was a lion—he’d eat you alive if you let him. That was one mistake I was not going to make. He could play with my body all he wanted, but that was all he was going to get—my body, not my heart or my devotion.
"Honey," my mother said, her voice tinged with caution. She was going where she knew not to. "I know how busy you are. Do you want me to get some prospectuses from a few colleges for you?"
I fought down my irritation. I’d told my mother countless times that I didn’t want to go back to college. I loved my job, and all I needed was to settle into a PA role that I enjoyed. This one wasn’t it, but it was a stepping stone to other jobs.
"Mom, I can do it myself if I want. I'm fine with things the way they are," I muttered, trying my best to hide my impatience.
"If you say so, sweetheart.”
“I say so. Look, I’ve just walked through the door…”
“Oh! I should go get dinner ready too. Do you want to come over for some meatloaf?”
“Not today, Mom.” Not in my state.
“All right, then. See you Sunday for the big clean."
“See you Sunday.”
I hung up, part of me relieved, part of me filled with guilt. The logical side of me understood that my mom was still recovering from the loss and she needed me, yet I despised our reversed roles. I was the mother and she was the child.
The following morning, I woke up earlier than usual. Even though I should have been still very pissed at his domineering ways, I found myself incredibly excited to see him again.
I couldn’t understand it.
On one hand, I detested his arrogance and rudeness with all my heart and soul, and he had also attempted to treat me as if I was his little servant, but he could also turn me to putty with just one loaded look, or a one-sentence text.
He was like my hottest fantasy come true.
I decided to comply with his text, but I had no intention of submitting to any other kind of request. I would dress as he had stipulated, but all he was doing was looking.
No touching.
He could look, he could even salivate, but no more.
I chose my outfit with more care than usual.
Mr. Frost clearly had an affinity for pencil skirts, so I chose one that clung to my curves and had a slit up one thigh. I considered wearing a blouse with a plunging neckline, but as I was rummaging through my clothes, I came across a sheer black top I had bought to wear on a night out. I'd never had the guts to wear it out even with a bra.
Without a bra, it would be…
I thought of Mr. Frost’s wintery eyes as I pulled it off the hanger. I pulled on a pair of silky hold-up stockings. The stocking top showed through the slit of the skirt. I then searched for a long jacket to wear over it.
That way, at first glance, I would look completely decent, but when I took off the jacket, it would be downright scandalous. I slipped into a pair of black high heels and stood in front of the mirror. Through the almost transparent black blouse, I could clearly see the pink peaks of my nipples. I walked towards the mirror, my sheer stockinged leg sliding in and out of sight.
My outfit was totally outrageous, to say the least. It screamed fuck me in 107 different languages.
Yes, I was going to enjoy watching Mr. Frost squirm. It would be sweet revenge for the way he had tortured me the previous day.
I almost lost my nerve as I was leaving my apartment, but then I reminded myself of how greedily his tongue had moved between my legs.
I got into my car and drove to work.