Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Ha,” she replies. “How? Exactly how did you kill these . . . females, Victor? Were they shot? Strangled? Stabbed?”
“Luxury.” I stop in my tracks at the sight of her haunted eyes. Memories of Gina Whitson’s stab-riddled body are evident. I can tell that the horrible recollection drains her spirit. After seeing the police photos of the investigation, the sight is forever embedded in my brain. How I wish I could’ve shielded Luxury’s innocent eyes from coming home to find her mother.
8
Luxury
I must have lost it. My muscles were screaming in agony, and my brain was thudding in my cranium. Now, my body is at complete peace, though tears drench my cheeks. Darkness has crept over the room, and Victor’s arms wrap around my waist.
My haven.
My protector.
The substance of my contentment.
As Victor spoons me, my squirming has also awakened something else. Victor’s arousal presses like a hot, titanium shaft against my ass. I turn to face him, both of us lying on our sides.
“Of all the times you’ve left me before, Vic.” My words hang in the air between us, instead of snaking into betrayal, appreciation ribbons into my tone. “You stayed this time.”
“Not an option.” His eyes mimic that of an ocean, hungry and relentless. My asking has surely landed on deaf ears. He begins to open up. The tension drains as Victor grazes my cheek. I don’t want to feel connected to a murderer. So, I take his hand in mine. Instead of allowing it to loop and interlock with my slender fingers, I stare at those scarred knuckles.
Fighter hands.
Killer hands.
What if my mother was a mark too? Victor spared my father’s life, having met me first. Was Gina Whitson a paycheck? Even though he claimed money wasn’t the reason he took the assignment. Also, over time, the security he hired for us surely costs the same as my father’s bounty.
Damn, I should’ve googled Victor Tudor. But I’d searched Dr. Victor Finch, and no truth came from that. All I know is the man I love has an affinity for murder.
While framing my face in his hands, Victor’s thumbs skim my tears. “Remember when I disclosed how I protect my brother?”
The trepidation rolling through me slowly vanishes as I reply, “Yeah.”
“That innate feeling extends to you now, Little One. I will always protect you.”
His words seep into my flesh, melding into the very fiber of my heart. Though I try to stop the tears, my pillowcase still gets soaked. Yet, at this moment, I’m not crying for fear of Victor. Emotion rules me—love. The love I sought from him. After days. After minutes. The second that my eyes had found his, I fell in love. Victor stares at me as if he is my ruler. My savior. My king.
“You belong to me, Luxury.” Victor leans on his elbow. Hard, rough hands caress my jawline, mouth, and cheeks. I remember when he shampooed my hair. He must be the most tender murderer in the world. As Victor focuses his every whim on holding me closely and kissing my breath away, I focus on his nonverbal professions of love. I hear that tabooed L word clearly as his hands control my body.
Victor’s mouth devours mine, and stuttering, ragged moans escape me. The tenderness amplifies in an intensity that will crescendo, but before we can take it too far, I move my face away. “Wait. My father’s downstairs. Victor. Victor, I know you hear me. Jonah is right down—”
A furious kiss disregards me—blinding, heart-stopping. All my senses shut down as his tongue wars over mine.
Victor moves down the bed, snatching his tie back and grabbing the waistline of my sweats.
Ripppp.
The thick material exposes my midriff then he snatches them down, pausing as he stares at my panties. My laughter is a fog of embarrassment. These hot pink one-hundred-percent cotton panties did not come from Victoria’s Secret, but these granny panties are clean.
“Every chance you get, you bloody defy me! I’ll burn your entire fucking wardrobe, Little One.” Victor shreds the material to pieces.
“My gawd, Vic.” I shake my head with a smile, whispering, “That is not something you threaten to do.”
“I do not voice idle threats. That was a promise.”
Again, I laugh and shush him. I’m paranoid, wondering if Dad hears us.
“No ‘shhhhs,’ Lux. You’re a loud lover.” Amusement dances across his face.
I shake my head, “No,” but he disappears between my thighs. His lips suck in my bulb, and my pussy surges against his face. Victor pulls away, growling, “You will sing for me, Lux.”
I take a second to catch my breath then quickly assure him that this will be quiet. He alternates from kissing and tracing the lips of my labia with his tongue. Clutching the sheets, I hold in the moaning that was always a sure incentive to him. The first orgasm rolls past my lips with ease.