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)
“I taught you everything you know, VICTOR TUDOR! You came from me. Not the other way around!”
While distance drowns out my father’s screeches, I stroll back through the labyrinth of corridors to seek out the one my soul loves.
33
Luxury
At the sound of the door opening, I rouse awake and gasp at the sight of Sarah fondly running her hand through my hair.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, repressing a yawn. “Who was talking when I went to sleep? Me or you?”
“My dear, you were midsentence. But we’ll reconvene later.” She slides out of the high-partition bed, gesturing to Victor, who’s asking if he should come back.
“Keep quiet, Vicky. The chit requires sleep for the baby.”
The baby? Does Sarah believe I’m still pregnant from the discussion at the table? Or does she sense that . . .
Am I pregnant again?
In shock, my trembling fingers fall over my belly as Victor stutters my sentiments. His legs appear to give out. And the giant favors the edge of the bed, sinking into a seated position. Sarah softly closes the doors behind her while I scoot up, backing against the headboard. I try to peer over Victor’s shoulder as his back is to me. I mumble, “You’re crying?”
“Bollocks. Real men don’t cry. I saw that sticker on the door across from Urban Gardens while stalking you.”
Although tired, I muster a smile. “Real men cry, Victor. And if-if I’m pregnant, that won’t be a fallacy my children learn—whether we have a son or daughter.”
Over six feet of raw muscles turn to address me. Air catches in my throat as I drink in sparking indigo eyes and a face that’s taut, contoured, and perfectly chiseled.
As always, Victor’s British accent sends spasms over my throbbing walls. “Alright, I’ll not teach our children such a shameful statement. Does it appear as if I were crying?”
I chuckle. “Yup.” Instantly, I regret it. In the blink of an eye, he attacks me. Fingers scrub over my ribs until I’m stuttering, laughing, and begging him to stop.
At the jingle of Victor’s belt, my sex goes off like a firecracker, constricting and contorting with need. Victor plants a hand on the headboard and looks down at me. “We’ve not acted on our primal urges as aggressively as we had in the past, albeit, it only takes one instance. Are you on the pill, Little One?”
Eyes flaring, I utter, “Oh my gosh, I haven’t taken anything. I’ve only focused on making you-know-who pay.”
“Good. If you’re not pregnant, we can make that happen. If that’s alright with you, Luxury.” He stacks my thighs over his hips.
“Before you do,” I cut in. The look Victor gives me could stop my friggen heart forever, but I giggle instead of killing over. “Sorry, I’m nosy. You looked a little happier than usual upon entering and before the sobbing sesh.”
“Lux,” he warns.
“Okay. I’ll never mention that again.” I lick my lips as Victor pushes my dress up. His thumb languidly follows the curve of my clit. Although my breathing is now heavy with desire, I murmur, “You just look happy. Did it settle in? What we’ve done.”
While a single digit pursues tiny, pulsing orgasms, Victor says, “I saw my father just now.”
“What?” I gasp. My thighs attempt to slide shut, but the hunk of monster between them won’t allow it.
“He’s alive, Luxury.”
“Oh, thank God. I can’t—”
“Have me murdering my own father if I’m to be a father one day?” He cocks a delicious brow. “One day, as in now, if you’ll stop your incessant need for a chin-wagging.”
I nod, resting my thighs around his lean hips again. This time, we’re not under the compulsion to touch each other’s bodies but genuinely listen to one another. I add, “Granted, I made your father’s survival all about the fact that he got us out of Saudi Arabia—”
Victor chuckles. “That was his sole argument.”
“By your tone, you don’t believe Silas helped us?”
“Well . . . in the desert a month back, I might’ve been inclined to . . .”
“I get it, baby.” I feather my fingers through his dark hair and reach up to press my mouth to his. “You’re a royal again.”
“Again.” Victor’s steely abdomen crushes my chest as he laughs. “I suppose a ‘thank you’ is in order.”
“You’re welcome. I reclaimed your title, Duke of Arlington. Now, I don’t mind you begrudging your father for the rest of your life, but I suspect the truth of him arriving in Saudi Arabia and signing a friggen paper is wedged between your reality and his, Vic. Anyway, I made you pinkie swear based on us leaving Saudi Arabia alive. But I thought that,” my gaze lowers, nerves threaded at the thought, “I wouldn’t want to have a child with a man who murdered his father.”
Victor growls while reaching down to run his mouth over the bend of my neck. “Damn, I threatened to murder him if I saw him outside these walls or the monarchy.”