Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I purse my lips.
He narrows his gaze. “Did someone suggest you weren’t absolutely perfect, Kendra?”
I chuckle sardonically. You could say that.
He doesn’t need my words. He stiffens. “They were out of their mind.” His hands come to my sides and ease up until his thumbs are stroking the undersides of my modest breasts.
I arch into the touch, my body coming alive in a way I’ve never experienced. A whimper escapes my lips as I shudder from the contact. He hasn’t even touched my nipples.
I’ve been planning to get a boob job for a while. Well, I wasn’t really the one planning it. Brad was. The asshole. But I’ve been putting it off because I don’t even like needles. The thought of having surgery to change my body brings more bile to my mouth than the far-too-many drinks I had tonight.
Bialar—Papi—turns the water back on. His brow is furrowed. He doesn’t like thinking that someone found me unattractive. For some reason, that pleases me.
I glance down at my body. As far as I know, I’m okay. Or I thought I was until Brad started telling me otherwise. I shiver and cross my arms. I’m unnerved to be nearly naked in front of this man I just met.
I’m even more unnerved when he reaches for my thong and pulls it down my body, leaving me totally exposed. Vulnerable. Nervous. And drunk.
The moment he lowers me into the water though… My God it feels good. Maybe he’s right about Eleadian water. Maybe he was right about the prick in my finger too.
I shiver as the warm water surrounds me. This is really happening. This man is claiming me. He already has. I’m not going back home. I’m free.
But what have I traded my horrible life for?
Chapter Three
Kendra
If this is a dream, I don’t really care right now. The water feels amazing. It seems like it’s actually chasing my nausea away.
“Close your eyes, Little one. I’m going to pour water over your head.” Bialar—Papi—has a hand on my back as if I’m truly a baby and might fall over if he doesn’t support me. He might be right. I’m sure I’m swaying a bit.
I lift my head to look at him. “My hair will be a disaster and my makeup.” Why am I worried about these things? Because no one ever sees you without perfect hair and makeup. Not even Brad. Especially not Brad.
Papi stares into my eyes. I wonder what he sees. He doesn’t look irritated, angry, or impatient. He doesn’t look like any of the men in my life. My former life.
It’s hard to believe this is really happening. I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m afraid to believe this man might actually be the answer to my prayers. On top of that, he’s jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Blond and tan with piercing blue eyes that are currently making me shiver. He’s well over seven feet tall. More than two feet taller than my five-six.
And he’s about to ruin my hair and makeup. I jerk my gaze away to glance around. “My purse…”
“I think you left it in the bathroom, Little one. I’ll have someone bring it up.”
“I’m sure my makeup is a mess. I’ll need to fix it.” I won’t be able to do much for my hair. It’s not like I have a curling iron and hair dryer in my purse. But I can repair my eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, lipstick…
Papi lifts my chin, forcing my attention back to him. “I can’t wait to wash this silly makeup off your face and see your beauty underneath. You won’t be replacing it, Little one.”
I frown. “Trust me. You don’t want to see me without makeup.”
His brows furrow. “Close your eyes,” he repeats.
I squeeze them shut, letting him pour water over my head. What if he doesn’t like what he sees underneath and returns me to the dance floor so he can find a more suitable mate? One who doesn’t have vomit in her hair and smudged makeup.
“Keep your eyes closed, and tip your head back, Baby girl.”
I do as I’m told, which unnerves me, especially when he begins to wash my face. He’s not going to like what he sees underneath, but I’m not in a position to argue my case. Hopefully, he’ll find my purse and let me fix myself back up after this odd bath.
Whatever soap he’s using smells amazing and feels just as good on my skin. It’s like I’m getting a facial. It’s been a while since I last had one. I’m still queasy, but it’s lessening as he massages my face. He’s so gentle as he rubs my mascara off.
“Such a good girl,” he praises. “Stay still so I can rinse.”
Warm water trails down my face, leaving my skin tingly in its wake.
“Now, let’s get the vomit out of your hair.”