Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Let’s go and wait for your bride.” Keir holds open the door for me to go first, but I don’t want to go.
Cold feet? I don’t know.
The woman I am about to marry prefers women.
She will never give me what I want.
What I need.
And I’m not a man to take it.
And the thought of fucking another woman right now doesn’t even want to cross my mind.
I love fucking.
I love watching.
She would be a joy to watch.
Of that, I’m sure.
“Joey, she’s here,” Keir announces.
I follow him out to stand at the end of the aisle. A few of our family are already seated as the back doors open.
She steps in.
Dressed in red.
Her long hair is up, loose curls falling from the back of her ponytail.
And red lips.
Hot.
Red.
Lips.
Just right for ringing my cock!
She doesn’t look pleased to be here, so at least we agree on something. But she sure does look beautiful.
“Red,” Keir whispers.
He knows it’s my color.
I wanted her to wear white.
But, of course, she chose something different.
When she reaches me, I offer her my hand, but she refuses, clutching her black roses instead.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, her eyes meeting mine.
“I know,” she replies, and a smile plays on my lips.
FOURTEEN
ADORA
I’m not going to lie because the girls did an amazing job. My makeup has stayed the whole time, even after three glasses of champagne, which I hate.
But this day requires champagne or any form of alcohol really.
“I want to go,” I tell Joey, who is sitting next to me. We haven’t moved from our seats, and I’ve barely touched the food that has been placed in front of me.
“After we dance,” he replies. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” He nods to my glass.
“Nowhere near enough,” I reply, smiling.
“Adora.” I turn to Troy, who is sitting next to me. “Be nice.”
I give him an eye roll. “I am,” I bite back.
“Let’s be honest. You could have had worse. That man is fine with a capital F.”
“I can hear you,” Joey says from the other side of me.
“And he’s also an ass, in case you haven’t been able to tell.”
“Still hear you.” Joey clears his throat, then stands. He turns to face me and gently reaches down and moves my glass to the table before offering me his hand. “Time for our dance.”
“I don’t want to,” I argue with him.
“Too bad. Now get up.”
“Yeoowww,” Troy says.
I give Joey my hand, and he helps me to stand before guiding me to the dance floor. Everyone starts clapping, and I avoid making eye contact with anyone around us.
“Didn’t take you for the shy type,” Joey remarks as we get to the dance floor. He pulls me into him so our bodies are touching and puts his hands on my waist.
I feel it.
I feel him.
Everywhere.
His touch is warm and inviting.
I hate that.
Hate that my body likes it.
That it likes him.
It’s a deceiving little bitch.
“I’m not shy.” Our bodies are locked tight, my hands resting on his shoulders as the song plays. I can’t even tell you what song it is. All I can hear is the rhythm of my own heart beating. It’s the alcohol. That must be the reason he’s having an effect on me.
“You’ll be staying with me tonight,” he states, making my feet halt where they are. He notices before he steps on my foot and looks down at me. “You knew this was going to happen.”
“I like my place.”
“Sell it.”
“I don’t want to sell it.” I try to pull back, but his grip doesn’t waiver.
“You can sell it and put that money into your bookstore and hire someone,” he suggests. I hear the logic in his words, even his soft delivery, but I don’t want to reason with him because I don’t want him to be right.
“I don’t want to share a bed with you.”
He says nothing, but I hear him take a deep breath.
“Why are you so calm through all this? This is a fucked-up situation.” He pulls back this time. His hand catches my wrist, and he tugs me, angrily, but his grasp is still gentle. I follow him until we get to a back room, and he slams the door shut behind us.
He turns to face me, then starts pacing back and forth. Stopping, he looks at me quickly, his eyes wild, then he resumes his pacing.
“Is this a panic attack?” I ask him, confused by what is going on.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Fuck off,” he growls.
We hear footsteps before he turns and faces me again.
“What?” I ask him.
“Is this what I want?” He scoffs and waves his hand up and down my body. “A fucking woman who prefers pussy over cock.” He shakes his head. “Is this what I want? A woman who is annoying at every fucking turn.” He takes a breath, and I’m about to speak, but he holds up his hand. “You are not what I want. I would prefer to marry who I want, who I love, but because of the stupid fucked-up life I am living, I get you.” He snarls the word then continues, “You… you are the last thing I want.” Then he turns and storms out, leaving me standing there by myself, feeling sick to my stomach.