Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
All I cared about was that it was a Friday.
And I was at Jay’s, he had already been inside me, and I’d already come apart under his grip. Now I was in the closet. Getting ready. I had everything I needed here now. All of my favorite products. Skincare. Haircare. Makeup. Tampons—just in case. The birth control shot stopped my periods all together, which was something that took some getting used to but something that was totally freaking welcome.
I’d received one injection already. Jay was present when I got it, of course. It didn’t bother me. Him watching me get the shot in order to make sure I didn’t trick him in to a pregnancy. It probably should’ve bothered me. But it didn’t.
I’d been informed that there was another event I must attend tonight, something to do with a collection of homeless shelters. I didn’t know what it was, but I got the feeling that it was exceptionally important for Jay.
Something about his energy. With every event I’d had to attend with him he’d been eager to leave, angry about having to go in the first place. Subtly, of course, because Jay’s anger was never overt. It was the way he did up his shirt. Fastened his watch. Fucked me against the wall before we left.
My first indication that tonight was different was that Jay wore a tie. The first time I’d seen him wearing one. Ever. No one dared comment on his lack of one at black tie events. They were all scared of him. Now I knew why, of course. Because he ran the criminal underworld of L.A.
Because he was responsible for death, violence.
Yet I was still with him. I still slept in his bed. Still touched his body with my lips. Still let him bruise me with hands that had killed people.
Because whether or not he was wicked, he needed loved. And I think I loved him because of how wicked he was in an already cruel world. Because he contained multitudes. Like the Bob Dylan song. He had shown me his heart. Only the hateful part. Just like Bob Dylan said. And I fucking loved his hateful heart.
“The white.”
Jay’s voice sent shivers down my spine.
I’d turned to my ever-growing rack of clothing that lived in his closet. My fingers had been trailing the fine silks, the dresses and gowns that I’d bought on Jay’s account. Some of them, at least. Others appeared magically, fitting in perfectly, embodying my style, the heart I never thought I’d had. Dark. Sultry. Sexual. Light and dark at the same time.
Jay’s arm came up beside mine as his front pressed into my back. I was only wearing panties, a garter belt and sheer stockings. No bra because I hadn’t decided what I was wearing yet. Plus, Jay liked it when I didn’t wear a bra. He liked other men looking at my nipples straining through the fabric of whatever I was wearing. I knew that because he’d told me many times while he was fucking me in, unable to keep his hands off me.
“They see what will never be theirs, what belongs to me,” he’d whispered one night when his fingers had been tweaking my nipple as I was laying on the floor of the kitchen—we hadn’t made it to the bedroom.
Jay’s hand covered mine and directed me to a white dress.
“It should be fucking criminal for you to be standing in my closet, that ass still red from my hand, that pussy still full of me, looking like you haven’t been fucked hard enough,” he said in my ear.
I sucked in an unsteady breath as our intertwined hands took the dress down.
My ass did still sting. My pussy did contain traces of him, tender from the way he’d taken me the second I’d walked in the door, more evidence of his unsteady emotions tonight.
None of that mattered. I wanted him as though we’d been apart for months.
“I can’t be late to this,” he continued. “Otherwise I’d make you spread your legs, put your hands against the wall, and I’d fuck you until your knees gave out.” His hands cupped my ass, creeping forward until he brushed my panties.
I leaned back into him, breathing heavy.
“You’re dangerous, Stella,” he murmured, his finger slipping inside.
My entire body went taut, radiating pain and pleasure.
“Your pussy promises redemption, for even the most accomplished of sinners,” he whispered in my ear, moving his finger inside of me.
Then he was gone. I was left holding the dress, standing on unsteady knees, shaking from his touch.
“Get dressed,” he ordered, voice arctic.
When I turned around, he was gone.
Yeah, tonight was something to him alright.
It took me a few beats to recover, to realize what I was holding in my hands. A white dress. The white dress. The one from my birthday party. The one that should’ve been hanging in my closet in my apartment.