Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Hunger?
“Mercer already told me he was taking you away this weekend.”
“Did he?”
Locke nods. “So I figured I should up my game.”
“Are we playing a game?”
“Life is nothing but a game, Nova. Every decision is a move on the board.”
“So you’re… what? Courting me with teacups filled with champagne? It’s… cute.”
He reaches down for a teacup, fills it with gold bubbles, then hands it to me. “Remind me to tell you about how scandalous afternoon tea can be.”
I take the cup and smile up at him. “Why not tell me now?”
“Because it’s about Mercer and I don’t want to think about Mercer at the moment.”
“You two are… serious?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here with me?”
“Because I want to be.”
This is such a one-percenter answer, I’m almost taken aback. I get that Locke and I come from two very different worlds. But he wears his elite status well. And by that, I mean, he’s not Mercer. One look at Silas Mercer and you know what he is. You know where he comes from. He wears it well too, but in the completely opposite way.
I don’t even know if Locke is rich.
I am one hundred percent certain that Mercer is.
Based on what I’ve learned about Locke and about Mercer’s mother, it is safe to assume that he is obscenely wealthy. He and Mercer grew up together. They have many things in common.
But Locke presents himself like… Olsen.
At least up until now he did.
But this answer—because I want to be—it’s overflowing with privilege. If he wants something, he gets it.
No. It’s more than that.
If he wants something, he takes it.
“Wow.” Locke flashes me a charming smile. “You are thinking very hard about my answer. Tell me what’s going through your mind.”
“I’m just trying to work out who you are.”
He pours himself a teacup of champagne, then sets the bottle back down in the ice. When he straightens back up, his eyes are low and heavy. Almost lustful. “And what conclusion have you come to?”
“None. Yet.”
This makes him smile and hold his teacup towards mine. “To discovering our secrets.”
I tap my porcelain cup to his. “I can’t wait.”
The teacups are small. My sip empties most of it, so I just down the whole thing.
Locke does the same, then takes my cup and sets them both down on the basket.
I wait, unsure what comes next.
He comes towards me. His hands find their place on my hips. Then he carefully and slowly pushes me backwards until I bump into the trunk of the ancient willow.
Immediately his hands are exploring me, rubbing up and down my sides, reaching around to caress my ass. And he’s looking into my eyes with intent. Like he’s got a plan.
I like men with plans. That’s why I prefer the dark ones. They’re always up to something, their minds always calculating things.
Locke presses his hips forward, pushing his thigh between my legs. The pressure against my pussy almost makes me sigh. I want him to kiss me. I want him to devour me the way he has been. But he holds back.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head a little. “Nothing. Just… you. You’re a constant surprise. You have no idea how much—” He stops short.
“How much what?”
“I’ve missed you.” Then he adds, “This week.”
I chuckle. “I’m not the one who disappeared. That was you.”
“I was thinking about things.”
“Wanna talk about those things?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, his fingers reach for the buttons on my blouse. And slowly, with precise deliberation, he unbuttons them. Starting at the top and working his way down. We stare at each other all the way through this. And when he’s done he pauses.
I’m dying through this pause. Holding my breath. Wondering what will happen next.
He pushes my blouse open, then slides it down over my shoulders. But he doesn’t take it off. He puts a hand up and says, “Stay right here.”
I’m… like… confused. But I don’t say anything. Because I’m also enthralled.
Locke backs up, looking at me. He’s breathing harder and when I glance down at his groin, he’s getting hard.
So many things get this man hard. And they are surprising things.
Like this. Posing me under a weeping willow. Opening up my blouse.
There’s something very devious about him. Deviant, as well.
Lots of women would be uncomfortable right now because he’s acting strange. He is strange.
But in my mind, he’s just dark.
“Take off your shoes and put them aside.”
I reach down, without hesitation, and untie the straps on my sandals. I put them aside, neatly lined up at the edge of the tree’s trunk.
“Take off your blouse and fold it up. Place it on top of your shoes.”
I do this, again without hesitation. His dick is growing under his jeans. It’s long and hard along the length of his thigh.
“The skirt.”
I slip my skirt down my legs, pick it up, then fold it and place it on top of the blouse.