Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
I reach over and pick up the mug. The hot chocolate is ice cold.
Chapter Seventeen
HARLOW
In the bedroom, my fingers shake as I try to unzip the beautiful dress. I don’t know what Cal will do with it. It’s probably not something he can return, but it’s not mine. I can’t keep it. I can’t keep him. I don’t know why he’s so insistent on marrying me. I’m guessing it’s because he made the deal in the heat of the moment and is honorable enough to see it through. Getting rid of Grandma’s apartment is gut-wrenching, but I wasn’t lying when I said that a weight had been lifted. It’s an anchor, a beautiful one, but it’s holding me down. Everything can be solved by selling it. I’ll still have all her stuff. I can find something for a quarter of the cost or even less if I move outside the city.
As for Cal, I don’t regret the time I spent with him either. Having him love me for even a moment is a gift. He made my first time amazing. He made me feel beautiful and desirable, and when I look back at this moment in my life, it will only be with happiness and gratitude. I brush the tears from my face. I don’t know why I’m crying. These are probably tears of relief, not crushing sadness at the lonely life that stretches in front of me without Cal. Why won’t this zipper come loose?
The door slams open. I spin around to see Cal undoing his belt buckle. He pushes me forward until I’m bent over the bed. The sound of metal clinking against metal sends a shiver down my spine.
“You’re not selling a single thing.” His hand slaps one panty-covered cheek. “We’re getting married.” Smack. “We’re living here.” Smack. “And you and everyone else in this building are going to love it.” Smack. He rips off my panties and thrusts a hand between my legs. “You’re soaked.”
The sound of immense satisfaction in his voice is irksome. I try to twist around, but he won’t let me. “Oh no. You had your tantrum, and now it’s time for mine.”
He kicks my legs apart, and I feel his broad head at my entrance. I have a half second to think about how I was in this position prior to dinner before that cockhead slams inside of me.
“Uh!” A surprised shout escapes me.
“You’re not leaving me,” he growls in my ear. His whole frame presses me into the mattress. This time he’s not gentle, not careful. Fabric tears. The zipper is wrenched down. The dress falls away. I take a heaving breath. He withdraws, and I whimper at the loss. “You want this?” He rubs his head against my sensitive lips.
“Yes.” I push my hips back and try to get him inside me again.
“Then say it.”
I seal my mouth shut. I’m not promising a thing.
“Harlow, I swear to God, if you don’t vow to stay with me, you are never getting my cock again.”
“I’m not saying it,” I insist.
He smacks me again, this time close to my core, and I nearly come in response. I’m so weak when it comes to him. Hell.
His frame slides off my back, and I look over my shoulder in fear that he’s really leaving. He smirks.
“No cock, but I’m going to get that promise from you one way or another.” He rips the rest of the dress off of me and then drops to his knees.
I try to squeeze my legs together, but he shoves his big shoulders between my thighs and muscles me open. I tell myself to resist, but it’s a lost cause. The moment he lays his tongue against my sex, I’m a goner. I bury my face in the blankets to muffle the sounds of my moans. He eats me out like I’m a ripe peach and he hasn’t had food for days. His fingers hold me open. His tongue drives inside of me again and again until I can’t stand, can’t breathe, can’t think. I want to come. I need to come. I begin to ride his face, moving with the motion of his mouth, rubbing against the hardness of his jaw. “Yes, more, please, more, I’m—noooooo.”
I turn to see him rocking back on his haunches, his mouth wet, his eyes hooded. “Want more of that, do you?”
He swipes his hand across the back of his mouth and stands up. His cock is hard as a rock. The tip glistens in the moonlight.
“Where are you going?”
“To make myself a hot chocolate.”
He actually turns around, cock out, pants undone, and leaves me. My pussy is throbbing. I must be hallucinating because he did not just bring me to the brink of ecstasy to abandon me.
“Get back in here,” I yell.
All I hear is cupboards opening. I haul myself off the bed, clutching the tattered chiffon to my chest and hobble out to the kitchen. Cal has done up his pants, but his belt is still hanging loose. I bite my fist to stifle the moan. He looks so hot bare-chested, feet bare, puttering around my kitchen. If I marry him, I could have this every day. Not the hot chocolate but him, semi-nude in my house, looking husbandly. The catch is that someday he’ll leave me, and then I’ll be devastated.