Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
How is it after all these years I’m more afraid she’ll reject me, what she sees, what she hears than I was skulking around the estate?
I was colder then.
More ruthless.
Uncompromising.
She managed to see parts of me I couldn’t even see myself.
Acknowledge them.
Discover me.
And here I am…ready to do it all over again.
Shed some of the old.
Lean into some of the new.
My eyes fall to the object in my hand as a plan begins to form.
Hm.
Perhaps we should get into something old and drive into something new.
Chapter 11
Brynley
How is it possible for one person to look so damn delicious?
He really is like a real-life Bruce Wayne.
And honestly?
I fucking love being his Selena Kyle.
She has an amazing dress collection.
And this little black, fitted, thin straps, glittery number with the lower dip and high front slit would totally be found in there.
Just like these stilettos.
“You’re late, Miss Kyle,” Wes sexily scolds on an equally irresistible smirk.
“Four seconds, Mr. Wayne.”
“Four minutes.”
“And tell me those four minutes weren’t worth it for me,” I salaciously spin a circle upon my arrival, “in this dress.”
My husband’s gaze hungrily sweeps across my ensemble, making sure to linger longingly at my full tits doing their best to be beamed out of my tied up attire and into his mouth. “Worth.” His glare glides itself along my exposed inner thigh. “Every.” It admires the bit of my ass on display courtesy of me cocking my hip. “Second.” The mismatched glare that’s already making me wet gravitates its way to mine. “It always is.”
“Exactly,” sassily leaves me alongside a slow trailing of my fingers down his black dress shirt covered chest.
“Love the new hair,” he warmly compliments prior to lovingly brushing a lock away from my face. “The color. The cut. The style.”
It’s impossible not to steal an excited bite out of my bottom lip. “New hair. New me.”
“I love the old hair and the old you.” A tender stroke is slowly delivered to my cheek. “And I can’t wait to love this hair and the new you.”
“Ugh, send me to med bay,” I dramatically gush on a small tug of his shirt, “because you’re making me weak in the knees and that is so not normal.”
“I want you weak in the knees, Little Prey,” the man that’s easy for me to love purrs in tandem with dragging his knuckles lightly down my throat. “And by the end of the night, I want you on them.”
Whimpers seep free against my own volition.
Not that I’m sure I would’ve stopped them even if I could.
I fucking love when he takes charge.
Not when he’s controlling.
Something tells me that even after all our years together, he’s still learning the difference.
“What’s that doing out of the Batcave?” my chin kicks itself towards the white ’65 Shelby he’s leaning against. “They forget to put her away after her bath this morning?”
“No, I just thought it’d be nice if we took her out for the night.”
“We who?”
“You and me.”
“You don’t drive.”
“I do drive.”
“Mmm…you’re driven.”
“I am usually driven-”
“Which is why our stock in everything we invest in stays so steadily high.”
“But,” he struggles not to grin, “I can drive.”
“Can you?”
“I used to drive you to work all the time.”
“When Lurch or Franken No Fun were unavailable?”
The glare I’m twitched gets me giggling in a snarky fashion.
What can I say?
I didn’t mean an all new me.
I’m still me.
New hair or old hair or no hair.
Which I briefly considered, by the way.
“We’re taking her out,” he firmly announces on a pull of the handle to the passenger door. “Making new memories.” One hand is gestured towards the leather interior. “Shall we?”
Slipping past him allows me to slide into the very confined space with a pleased smirk.
Is this about to be comfortable?
Fuck no.
Am I about to enjoy every minute of it?
Without. A. Single. Doubt.
Once I’m settled, he shuts the door, walks around the front for his side, and joins me in the condensed space.
I wait until he starts the engine to playfully poke, “You sure you know how to handle a stick?”
“That wasn’t the question you were asking me at three in the morning when you were bent over my desk, now was it, Mrs. Wilcox?”
Heat flushes my face forcing me to distract myself by buckling the lap belt. “And where are we headed?”
“Into the unknown,” he teases on a wink.
While the reference seems to strike a memory with him, it doesn’t with me.
I mean it most likely should.
I’m sure it was meant to.
I appreciate that it was even if I can’t recall exactly what.
Maybe to our first date?
Our exit off the main estate property is slow and gradual and done to the sounds of us arguing over music choices – because old car to me means old music – however the instant we’re onto the main public road of transportation everything shifts.