Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“I figured you were going to put me on display,” I mutter.
“I would never put you in that situation, mostly because you’re mine, and I’m a selfish fucker. Is that what you thought when I said I wanted to come here?”
Archer steps fully inside, letting the door close us into the room.
“I hurt you, Arch. I’d suffer anything that—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “I’m not testing your love, Brooks.”
I point to the fucking leather pants I’m wearing, but he just laughs.
“That doesn’t count.”
“How long do we have the room for?”
He takes a couple of steps back, his eyes locked on mine for the longest moment before he turns toward a massive basket on the table across the room.
“Twenty-four hours.”
I nearly choke. “A full fucking day.”
“That’s how long the wager allows, but we can stay longer.”
I could argue that the day started when I had to wedge myself into these fucking pants, but then he starts pulling things from the basket, and I can start to see the potential in the amount of time we’ve been given.
“Tell me that’s for show,” I hiss when he pulls out a giant silicone cock. “Because there’s no fucking way—”
“I didn’t get to customize the basket, Brooks. Calm down.”
I take a step closer, avoiding looking at the far wall. There are a lot of things in this room, but no bed.
“How do you feel about nipple clamps?” He turns to face me, the clamps in question dangling from his finger. His eyes drop to the front of my pants. “Well, that answers my questions.”
“I’m always hard around you,” I argue. “That doesn’t mean—”
“I’m going to strap you up.” Archer points across the room, but I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know what he’s talking about.
“Maybe we should try the bench first,” I offer. “Wouldn’t you like to bend me over and shove your cock inside of me?”
I shift on my feet, becoming all too aware that Archer was right. The pants and precum are a duo made in heaven.
“The bench is for fucking my ass,” he says with a wink, dropping the clamps back to the table. “Take off your shirt.”
I pull it over my head, but he stops me when I reach for the snap on the leather pants.
“That’s my job. Now back up.”
I do as he asks, watching as he pulls out his phone.
“Need to get proof?” I mutter.
He chuckles. “I need to pull up a YouTube video.”
“And you think ‘How to Strap a Man to a St. Andrew’s Cross’ is on YouTube?” I scoff at the ridiculousness of it.
He turns his phone around, proving me wrong.
“Can you at least kiss me first?” I mutter. “I’m not just a piece of meat to hang up and play with.”
He rolls his eyes as he shoves his phone into his back pocket.
I pull him to my chest the second he’s within arm’s reach, dropping my mouth to his. My hand drifts down his body until I find the hem of his shirt. I pull it over his head, out of my mind with need when he makes that perfect sound I love so much deep in his chest.
“Are you trying to distract me?” he asks against my lips.
“I find you completely fucking irresistible. I’m ready to play whatever game you want.”
“Jesus, we’re going to have so much fun in here. Step back and—”
We both jerk to a stop when a loud ringing fills the air around us.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
“Should we answer it?”
Archer takes a step back and I take the initiative to cross the room and pull the receiver from the wall.
“Yes?” I snap, more than a little irritated at being interrupted.
“Mr. Morgan?”
“Yes.” My attitude falls away because the girl on the phone sounds upset.
“I’m so sorry this is happening, but the parking lot just filled up with paparazzi.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, looking over at Archer. I know we’re in here alone, but I just have to make sure he’s okay.
“There was a prospective guest getting into his car when you arrived. He must’ve called them. I swear, Mr. Morgan, we value your privacy.”
“How many people do you have on staff that can help get us out of here?”
“One. It’s the middle of the week, and the other guys don’t get here until after sunset.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “I’m going to call someone. Send them our way when they arrive.”
“What’s wrong?” Archer asks the second I hang up the phone.
“Some dick in the parking lot saw us come inside and he called the fucking tabloids.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I pull my phone out, dialing Kit’s number. I’ve done enough in recent months for him, he owes me.
It rings before connecting to voicemail, and I grow increasingly agitated as I call him several more times.
“He’s not fucking answering,” I mutter, but then the phone rings in my hand.