Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“What are you—”
His mouth captured mine, stealing my breath.
Once again, he gave no quarter.
When he leaned his head back, my lips were swollen and sensitive from the hard press of his.
He twisted my hair in his grasp. “Don’t ever tell a man he’s your first in anything, princess. You’ll challenge him to become your last in everything.”
CHAPTER 8
CHARLOTTE
The entire way back to the house, I kept silent.
Instead, I stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated by whatever was happening on the sidewalks. I wasn’t seeing anything. I was counting the seconds until I could be out of this truck and away from him.
The moment that the truck pulled into the portcullis of my father’s estate, I opened my own door and ran inside, so agitated, I left my beloved cello behind.
Usually, I would greet the staff by name, maybe even make a little polite chit-chat, but this time, I went straight to my room, unable to even look anyone in the eye.
I locked the door behind me as if that would stop Reid if he wanted to get to me.
With my back pressed against the hardwood, I waited with my eyes closed for him to follow me and try to knock down my door to get to me to finish whatever it was that he had started.
The only thing that followed me was silence.
It took several minutes to realize he wasn’t coming, and I couldn’t understand why I felt a sudden disappointment come over my body.
I shook it off and paced around my room, running my fingers through my hair and trying to figure out what I had allowed to happen. I glanced to the side and saw my mother’s photo sitting on my desk. The eyes in the photo felt like they were scolding me, like my mother knew what had happened from beyond the grave.
I grabbed the frame and slammed it face down on the desk and continued to pace over the thick Persian carpet that covered the hardwood floors.
The pacing wasn’t helping.
It just seemed to make me angrier, making the conflicting emotions and thoughts swirling in my brain spin faster.
So I flung myself on my bed, covering my face with a pillow as I screamed out my frustration into the silk-enclosed feathers.
I screamed again and again, the sound completely muffled by the pillow.
When I finally had released enough energy to calm myself to think clearly, I moved the pillow to the side of the bed. I just lay there, panting from my screams while I tried to decompress.
Reid had embarrassed me. He had made me feel things I had never felt before. Even before he took me into that room, I had been angry.
Yes, that emotion I was familiar with and could label, but there was more, there was something else.
Seen. I felt seen.
With my father and brother busy with work and my sister now married and busy with her own business, I often thought it would be days before anyone even noticed if I were missing.
And yet, Reid had noticed.
No.
Don’t do this. Don’t romanticize this.
He was paid to notice.
And he was mad because I had disobeyed an order that made his job difficult.
I kicked at the pillow until it fell to the floor. That wasn’t entirely fair.
Back at rehearsal, it was obvious he was mad because, at least according to him, I’d put myself in danger, not because I’d made his job difficult.
Then there was what had happened in the classroom.
I leaned to the side and rubbed my ass. Casting a glance at the closed and locked bedroom door, I inched up my skirt and placed my hand over my skin, wondering if it would still feel warm.
Curious, I rose and crossed to my dressing room. Standing before the full-length mirror, I peeked over my shoulder to stare at my bare ass.
I frowned. There was nothing to look at but my pale skin.
Despite the pain of his spanking, there was no lingering mark or redness.
I should be happy. And yet… I was oddly disappointed.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I shouldn’t be disappointed that my brute of an unwanted bodyguard hadn’t left marks on my body.
Turning, I slumped down onto the emerald green with gold piping chaise.
The way he’d manhandled me, the way he’d snapped my underwear from my body. I covered my face at the reminder. Why did he still have my underwear? What was he going to do with it?
Images of him hovering over me, with my lace panties in one of his hands and his other hand on me flashed through my brain. The way he’d touched me, not only in reward but even the punishment.
How he was solely focused on me.
Every time he touched me, I hated it… and liked it.
What did that say about me?
What did it mean that I liked it when a man, specifically this man, grabbed me without thought, exposed my most sensitive flesh, and then had the audacity to touch me in anger?