Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
A massive fist.
What . . . was hiding inside his fist?
While I know my body is stuck in a foreign country, tossing and turning in a bed that’s not my own, I can’t wake myself from the past. A memory plays out like the perfect dream.
“You only have two choices, Little One. Pick one.”
I found my voice, at least a shred of it, to murmur, “You’re calling me Little One. You only do so when playing fair.”
A cocksure grin implied the royal asshole had given fair warning.
The shower. The massage. The friggen British accent. I was an idiot, blinded by the grand gestures.
Gulping down an excuse, I mumbled, “Two firsts? One is a spanking?”
“Yes.”
I measured out, “I’ll get dressed, then we chat about these . . . firsts?”
His gorgeously haunting face slid side to side.
“Alright, so I’m to assume you’ll spank me.” My heartbeat clawed up my throat so swiftly that it was hard to gulp. “Vic, I took a shower. I’m super moisturized.”
“Very.”
“A spanking would hurt.” My murmured tone fragmented. “Let me apologize?”
Again, a taunting headshake.
“Okay.” I fortified my shoulders like the prideful New Yorker I am. I rationalized, “Could be nothing in your other hand, though?”
“Could be.” A broad shoulder hefted ever so slightly.
Mouth pinched tight, I sulked. “Vic, this is psychological torture, but I’ll take what’s in your hand.”
My stomach flopped. My heart, lodged in the column of my throat, found it, and they flipped together like two fish slowly dying at what I saw.
I grumbled, “A chain.”
“So, you won’t complain. Luxury, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
My sniffling skitters, and I rouse myself awake.
I’m not strong enough, Vic. Not without you.
I glance over the bedroom illuminated by the soft lights of the television. Of all the times to reminisce, this shouldn’t have been one of them.
I set aside thoughts of what I’d later learn was not a regular chain at all, but a sex toy Victor had for us that night. I can’t even recall what I’d done to deserve a punishment. Aside from my big ass mouth.
But now, what I will never forget is my man embracing Madeline Elliott.
“I hate you, Vi . . .” The words collapse into an endless gorge as I glimpse Ahmad standing in the shadows of my room. The way he hurried away this morning—I had no faith he’d come. The glimmer in his eyes implies he’s been watching me for a while. He’s pleased by my statement.
Of course.
He hates Victor too.
Ahmad steps toward me. A panther to its prey. Each move he makes sends a garment falling until nothing is left but his taut, tanned body. His jagged muscles, which I’m sure have tempted scores of women, are on full display, along with battle wounds that surely have been the subject of many after sex conversations. My throat burns at the sight of his erection.
Ahmad climbs onto the bed. With a pleasing smile, I beckon him beneath the sheets. Tears stain my cheeks. I tighten my eyelids quickly and then kiss him like . . . Vic.
Living is my only goal as my tongue glides with his thick, minty one. I inhale his clean fragrance and realize that all of Ahmad’s rigid muscles have eased. It’s go time, Luxxie. With my focus divided between moaning, French kissing, and playing up the moment by tugging my hand in my hair, Ahmad catches me off guard when he leans up. He slides my legs around his waist, and at that precise second, I grab the steak knife from under my pillow. The tip of the blade points at Ahmad’s chest.
The sudden laughter erupting from Ahmad’s abdominals dashes the seriousness of his situation. He leans forward, allowing the blade to prick his chest. “Your intentions,” Ahmad says while snatching the knife away, “although good, should’ve cost you your life, Luxury.”
I gasp at the hot prickling pain where he squeezes my wrist. My oxygen is depleted as the cold blade of the knife now slides up and down my neck. Ahmad continues, “Alas, I have no idea how to explain what brought us to this predicament. Do you?”
I glare at Ahmad as he tosses the cool blade onto the floor. Still mounting me, Ahmad speaks with a lightly teasing baritone. “Most of the sheikh’s wives came willingly. Yet here you are, hiding dinner knives. Shame on the staff, right?”
“Get off.” I speak through gritted teeth.
“No.” He smiles, grabbing my hips and grinding against the apex of my sex. “I rather like this position. You tempted me, Luxury. Do you have a death wish?”
“I don’t want to die.”
He stops massaging my thigh. The area is left ablaze as he gives my flesh a punishing thwack. Ahmad rolls off me and sits on the edge of the bed. Even his back muscles are intimidating.