Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
It takes several minutes until I feel I can stand without my legs giving out. I give her neck a kiss then push up, pulling out of her ass, loving the soft whimper she gives as I leave her, my cum dripping from her hole.
I slap her ass hard and say, “Consequences. Now go upstairs and get some sleep.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lyriope
I remember the first time I woke up in the back of my car after a long and cold night parked in a supermarket lot. I had been so disorientated that it took me several moments to realize exactly where I was.
That feeling returns as I open my eyes and see the white ceiling above me. For a second, I wonder if everything that has happened to me is a dream. Surely, it’s a dream. Men like Nick Hudson don’t exist in real life. His mansion is just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I accidentally took something when I was at Wonderland, and I’ve just been in a drugged stupor that made me hallucinate all this.
Fluffy white blankets and pillows that nearly engulf my head make me feel as if I’m lying in a bed of clouds. So, yes, surely this is all a dream. No one sleeps in clouds. I move just enough to look around the room and when I do, I grimace at the tenderness in my… in my ass.
Oh God, it wasn’t a dream what happened last night. I reach behind me and softly touch the area where I had been invaded last night and know right then that the sore and raw area had been claimed by Nick Hudson. He had fucked my ass as he had promised to do if I were to break his rules.
My face heats at the memory and the fact that my pussy has a warm tingling sensation as I remember being bent over his desk and violated in every way he chose. The worst part of last night wasn’t the act itself, but it was the fact that my body wanted more. I didn’t want to just be fucked there. I wanted him to claim every part of my body.
Even now.
I should be screaming, horrified, demanding my release. I should hate Nick, despise his disgusting and animalistic act. And yet, it was by far the hottest experience of my life. It even surpasses the first night I spent with Nick at the Morellis’ holiday party.
There’s a small knock at the door, followed by Diane popping her head in. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d like to get dressed for the day. Nick told me that now would be okay.” She takes a cautious step inside as I sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
I consider sending her away, but I remember how this was one of Nick’s rules, and though last night was—Well, I didn’t want a repeat so soon. That, and I also don’t want to get this woman, Diane, in trouble for not doing her job.
“Would you like to take a shower first?” she asks.
“I took one last night,” I say, kicking my feet off the side of the bed.
Diane rushes to the closet and pulls out a lovely blue dress. It’s simple in design, appears to be cotton, and also appears it will hang down to my shins or so. I’m not really a dress wearer, but I don’t want to look like a suburban soccer mom as Nick accused me of looking like either. He’s proven his point enough for me to know that if I want to be comfortable—in every sense—then I need to follow his house rules.
Trying to focus on the bright painting in front of me as Diane does her job, I refuse to speak or make eye contact with the woman as she dresses me. It’s bizarre and invasive. The only thing that helps me is remembering that royalty got dressed all the time by the staff. Regardless, it’s the most awkward feeling in the world to be lifting my arms and allowing a woman to place a dress over my head.
Once I’m dressed, Diane gives me simple black flats to wear, and I’m relieved I won’t be expected to walk around in five-inch heels all day. She then has me sit in front of a makeup table and mirror and begins combing out my hair.
There’s another knock on the door followed by a woman entering the room with far more confidence than Diane had. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I recognize her from. She’s the woman that worked the front door of Wonderland.
“Good morning, Lyriope,” the woman says. “My name’s Martha. I work for Mr. Hudson. He’s had to leave the country for a couple of days for business and wanted me to look after you and make sure you have whatever you need while he’s away.”