Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” he roared, the gruff, gravel of his voice turning me on even more. His hand moved to the back of my head as he fucked my mouth.
His release unexpected, yet I swallowed everything he had, loving every second of it.
When he was done, I rocked back on my knees, wiping the side of my mouth and gazing up at him.
And what a sight he was. His muscles were glistening from the exertion of fucking me so hard and coming even harder, evidenced too by the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
But it was the look in his eyes that would’ve knocked me off my feet if I’d been standing on them.
Yes, his eyes were clouded with desire, drenched with erotic satisfaction. But there was something beyond that too. Something heavier and thicker than pure desire. There was reverence there.
I might have been the one on my knees, but he was the one worshiping me.
It was only a couple more seconds before I was no longer on my knees, no longer looking up at Rowan but in his arms.
“I’m far from fuckin’ done with you, cupcake,” he grated out, carrying me down the hall and up the stairs to my room.
“Not gonna rest until every inch of your skin is mine.”
And he spent the rest of the night doing that, even though every inch of my skin had belonged to him since the second my eyes landed on him walking into my bakery.
I should’ve known Nathan’s mother would turn up eventually.
He’d been run out of town.
Not that I didn’t think that Rowan was a man of his word, I just didn’t think that Nathan was smart enough to stay away. To let Rowan keep him away. I made a mental note to talk to Rowan about that. We’d never really properly addressed what had happened and why he did it. We’d been busy.
But whatever Rowan’s threat had been, it had obviously stuck. From what I heard of town gossip, Nathan was in New York, working with some celebrity real estate firm.
I was sure most of that gossip came from the woman wearing the tailored pantsuit circa the Hilary Clinton presidential campaign. Ditto with the haircut.
She was doing damage control for her son. Saving face in front of the country club, making sure their precious reputation stayed intact. I knew how much those things meant to her because she’d reminded me. Reminded me that I came from nothing, of all the things that would be expected of me when I married her son. Namely giving up my business, my career, so I could get the hairstyle, the pearls, and start popping out babies.
I’d kindly told her that wasn’t going to happen.
When she found out that I was not only former trailer trash but former trailer trash that she couldn’t mold into something that would be palatable for her and her family, she began to actively dislike me. Of course, she never said anything outright, never did anything I could bring to Nathan. She was covert about her insults, about the ways she reminded me I was too big for the designer dresses everyone else was wearing, how my side of the church would be empty because I didn’t have a family. Nathan might’ve noticed if he’d tried to pay attention to me. But he didn’t. He let his mother treat me however she wished without stepping in or standing up for me.
And when she walked through the door of the bakery, nose turned up in distaste, I thought, not for the first time, how glad I was that I didn’t have to deal with that woman for the rest of my life.
I had a feeling that I’d have to deal with her at some point, though. Not because I’d called off the wedding—she’d already spat her venom at me about that—but because Nathan was no longer in town. No longer the big man in the small town. No longer the son she could brag about at her charity lunches.
And she was going to blame me. Because she could never see Nathan for what he was, and I was the easy scapegoat for anything and everything that happened in his life since he met me.
“Why don’t you go out back, babe?” Fiona asked me, her gaze on the woman in Chanel, clutching her purse to her body like she was walking through a bad neighborhood.
“No.” I smiled at the last customer as Claire approached the counter. “I can handle this. Her.”
I felt stronger now than I had before. Freer since I’d given myself permission to call off the wedding. And yes, since Rowan and I became a thing. He made me feel powerful. Made me see the power that was already inside of me.
It was uncanny how much this woman reminded me of my mother. Not in appearance… Claire wore her hair short and cropped, whereas my mother kept hers longer, past her shoulders. Claire was petite and half-starved, and my mother was where I got my curves from. But both of them were drenched in Estée Lauder makeup, Botoxed to high heaven, and walking in a cloud of Chanel No.5.