Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
The bedroom is opulent in an oppressive way. Everything is perfectly in place. It’s gold leaf and polished burl wood and century-old Turkish rugs.
It’s so fucking contrived it’s boring me to fucking death. The door to the bathroom is closed and I wander back into the sitting area to stop myself from going in there and deep dicking her for the remainder of the weekend.
Pressure builds behind my ear drums as the newness of what Hannah is creating inside of me turns to frustration.
I pick up an antique enameled porcelain vase, stuffed with fresh-cut white roses, and throw it against the wall.
The shattering of the porcelain feels like I’ve opened a window and the rush of spring air is swirling around my face.
There.
Nothing in the world is perfect and people that try to make it look that way are only trying to hide the level ten chaos and insecurity going on inside them.
I like a little chaos. I like broken pieces. I like to take impossible tasks and try to figure out how to make them happen.
I walk over and pick up the shattered porcelain. I place each piece on the top of the table from where it came, laying them out in a pattern of my own that is more pleasing than the original form. The roses go among the destruction, then I step back and admire the beauty of what I’ve made.
The soft sound of the shower coming on has my dick hard as stone. A fury builds in my gut as I think of the water coursing down her body. Touching what’s mine without my permission.
I’m fucking pissed.
At water.
My fingers curl into fists as every thought is of what I would do if I was in there with her. I would do it, but I know myself. The next time I touch her, it will be the full Monty. We will need more time than we’d have right now, so I’ll just suffer my blue balls and get the necessaries out of the way so I can buy back my life and make one with her.
I distract myself by pouring a dram of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard and cross to the window, staring out at the clear horizon, imagining this new possible future with a girl I barely know.
My pretend daughter. The vision is as clear as it is confusing. We’re standing on the balcony of a villa overlooking a sea as clear and blue as the sky is today. The breeze catches her hair, tossing those blonde curls across her face and fluttering her white dress. It’s so fucking simple.
A tightness gathers in my chest that’s a tangle of hope and fear. I’m losing the Dietrich I’ve built for the last thirty years. The indifference I’ve honed and crafted is shattering like that vase. What’s being rebuilt in its place, I’m not sure, but I do know I want to re-build it with Hannah.
A life. Together.
If this deal comes off the way I hope, it will leave me free. The millions I have squirreled away will be enough to build the home of her dreams, with rooms for all the children I’ll fuck into her. I already have the house. Far, far away from here. All it needs is final signatures for the rebuilding work that’s needed.
But it would never have been a home. Not without her. And now it will be our home.
If she wants to be an actress, I’ll manage her. Be by her side so no one fucks with her. Because that business is as filthy as any and I’ll stop the heartbeat of anyone that thinks they can screw with what’s mine.
Get a hold of yourself, I tell my silent reflection in the window. You’ve spent a handful of hours together and you’re ready to buy the farm with this girl.
I let the warm liquid burn down my throat, then set the empty glass aside and psych myself up for an evening of frustration as I watch her, knowing we’re playing these parts. The stakes have multiplied. I have to make this work. I need my freedom.
Hold on to Dietrich Belotti just a little longer. This is business.
I take a deep breath, distracted by the steel-hard erection pressing against the seams of my underwear. I wait until the shower is off, keeping my polite position by the window until I can’t stand it another second.
I stomp to the door, rapping my knuckles twice. “I want to see my little girl in that dress. I’m getting impatient.”
“Okay, just a second,” she answers.
I could barrel in. But I want a whole visual moment of her going from little girl to pretty woman.
The anticipation sends a jolt of excitement through my already stiff cock as I wait, wondering what I’d do if I walked in on her right now.