Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“What?” he laughs grimly. “Why the fuck would I be angry with you?”
“Some guys get like that, don’t they?” I say. “Not that I have much experience, but still …”
“Jade,” he growls. “Men who get angry at their women for smiling at another man aren’t real men at all. I know you’re mine in every sense of the word. You belong to me. So you can smile and be friendly as much as you want. I’m the one who gets that curvy body all to myself. I’m the one who gets your creativity and your smile and everything else that makes you, you. It’s all mine.”
He reaches across the table, past the glass vase, and takes my hand in his. I squeeze tightly, holding him as though he’s the anchor that will stop me from drifting off into the sea of anxiety that perpetually hounds me wherever I go.
The waiter brings the drinks and Jamie raises his glass in a toast.
“To us, and our future, and our children,” he declares.
“To us,” I say, raising my glass with his and then taking a sip of the champagne.
I swallow hard when I realize that a burp is trying to creep up my throat and erupt out of my mouth. I feel Jamie’s eyes on me, probably wondering just what the heck I’m doing. That just makes it worse.
I cover my mouth and turn away, making an ugly, shaky sound as the burp half-escapes from me.
“Oh, God,” I say afterward. “I’m so sorry.”
Jamie smirks and reaches over, giving my hand another squeeze.
“Princess, you could burp and fart all night long and I’d still want you just as badly. I’m not interested in any fake ideal of what a woman is. I’m interested in you. I’m still going to fuck you like you deserve later.”
“Later?” I whimper.
He flinches, sitting back.
“Not necessarily later this evening,” he snaps.
“No,” I whimper. “I was just … I was thinking that… you know, I think I might be able to do that. But …”
“But what?” he says, sitting forward, his whole being aimed toward me now that I’ve introduced the idea of him taking my virginity tonight into the equation.
“But you need to be prepared for it not to work,” I say.
“What do you mean, not to work?” he asks.
I give him an are-you-kidding-me look, willing him to understand that I’m talking about his manhood not fitting inside of me.
Something clicks in his mind and he gives a short nod.
“Oh, that,” he says.
“Yeah, that.”
“Do you think I’ll give a damn?” he snarls. “Having you naked and in the finest hotel suite this city has to offer is enough for me.
“I am going to fuck that virgin pussy, but if what you’re so sneakily alluding to does happen …”
I giggle and his smirk tics, and for a brief instant, I imagine him smirking that same way as he sits at the head of our family dinner table, the proud alpha leader of our family.
“If it does happen,” he goes on, “you’ll just have to agree to do whatever the hell I tell you that doesn’t involve that. Your tits, your ass, your cunt … I’ll take them in every way I can.”
“Yes,” I whisper, my panties getting hot and wet again, my thighs tingling. “But won’t you be angry?”
“Jade,” he growls, so loudly that I flinch back as though he’s going to leap across the table and claim me right here. “The only thing that makes me angry is you not realizing how beautiful and sexy you are. Like I said—be naked, be willing, be mine, and nothing you do will ever make me angry.”
I let out a shivering sigh, squeezing my thighs together, my hole fluttering, and my womb snapping at me that this is all moot, anyway.
When the time comes, I’ll be ready.
That’s what my womb says.
But I’m not sure I believe her.
“We also need to talk about this waitressing situation,” he says.
“What situation?” I ask.
Now it’s his turn to give me an are-you-kidding-me look. He stares at me firmly for a few moments and then sighs.
“You should be writing full-time, Jade,” he says. “I’ve read your work and it’s incredible—”
“Wait, you read my work?” I ask.
He nods. “I read the stories that appeared in those short story collections online,” he says. “They were emotional, sincere, well written … they were, Jesus, Jade, they were amazing. You’ve got real talent.”
“But I don’t want to be a sponge,” I whisper. “Why should I get a free pass to follow my dreams when so many other people don’t?”
“Because you’re my woman,” he snarls passionately. “It was different when Yasmin made the offer. But you’re going to be the mother of my children. You belong to me. And the best thing for you – and readers everywhere – is to focus on your talent.”