Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“They know that too, but they will not be willing to lose face over the matter. They think they are in the right despite what they did.”
“Fine. Set the meeting up. We will see how they respond to me meeting with the Italians first.”
“When did I set up that meeting?” he asks.
“Right now.”
“Got it.”
Fucking shit dicks. They want to act like big men, let’s see how they like seeing me with another lover.
“Anything new with Bart?” I ask.
“Nothing, all’s quiet on that front. One thing, though, is his mother is dying from some form of cancer. They found out the results about a day ago.”
“Hmph… Have all the bills taken care of. Make sure she is in the best care.”
The day goes so slowly that I can feel my life slowly draining out of me. If I still had any piece of my soul left I am sure today would wipe it out. There hasn’t been anything but the dull life of a businessman putting out fires from one company to the next.
Rubbing my temples, I frown at the thought of doing this for another hour.
If Adam were old enough to have some formal education behind him, I would have his ass here doing this shit. Let him go gray working with the fucking staffing issues, figuring out all types of shit that has nothing to do with being a damn criminal.
“Fuck it.”
Pushing the button on my desk phone, I say, “Melissa, I’m done for the day. Have Andrew meet me with the car.”
Her voice comes through the phone sultry. “Yes, sir. Will there be anything I can do for you?”
She’s been on the prowl again lately, trying to get to the thick cock in my pants. Not going to happen though. I have a woman back home to keep me more than interested.
Melissa is a trophy wife type, she just wants to sit and look pretty all day. To command all the servants to do her bidding. Boring and plain. She would no doubt bear children for me, but then insist on plastic surgery to fix what childbirth can do to a woman. She’d never put the effort in like Lilith does.
I dial Lilith’s phone and hear the hint of annoyance in her voice. “Yes? Did you have to make this thing so complicated to use?”
“It’s for your safety, dear. We’re going out tonight and I want you to dress up to impress me. Make sure you show off those legs.”
I don’t let her say anything else as I disconnect from the call. That should get her nice and riled up for me.
I want to hit the new club tonight. The changes I had the owner start making should be showing by now. No more backroom fucking for drugs, and the crackhead strippers are gone. It’s also the right time to make a call out to the Italians to see how they are feeling.
Calling up Simon, I say, “Have you set anything up with the Italians yet?”
“Not yet, something come up?”
“Yeah, see if you can get them to come to the new club tonight. We can have drinks and talk about a few things.”
“Fuck. Is this we, as in you and me, or we as in something else?” he grouses at me.
Fucker can’t even go to a strip club. He’s a gigantic germaphobe.
“You, Lilith and I.”
“Are you serious?”
I disconnect the call before laughing out loud.
15
Lily
I think I’ve been drunk on sex. The past two weeks have gone by in a haze of orgasms and ecstasy. I was deprived for so long I feel like I’ve been overdosing on endorphins, and it’s seriously impacting my decision making capabilities.
I’ve spent my nights in bed with Lucifer, and I’ve spent my days shopping, pushing his credit limit.
There could be worse ways to live, I suppose, but I’m seriously beginning to question my sanity.
Seriously, what the fuck am I doing? Am I just going to accept this situation? Am I literally just going to lie down and take it?
Whenever I’m in Lucifer’s presence, it’s so much harder to remember that I hate him. So much harder to remember that I resent him for stripping me of my freedom.
I should hate and resent him, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t just accept this…
He should respect me as a person. He should consider that I have feelings, and desires, and dreams. That I’m not just something he can keep locked away in his house. I’m not some toy he can refuse to share with the world.
This is no way to live.
Is it?
But each day it’s getting harder to remember why I’m harboring such anger for him. I’m adjusting to my situation, adapting to the unusual circumstances.
And so are the children.
Adam, I’ve never seen him so happy or so relaxed. The tenseness he’s always carried around in his little shoulders is gone. I didn’t realize it before, but I think being ‘the man of the house’ all those days Marshall was off fucking his mistresses put a lot of pressure on him.