Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 10
Ramses
My stepdaughter. Now my wife. So perfect.
I’m keeping her forever. For real. This is happening.
That realization makes my chest swell.
After she took my cock in her ass like a champ, I carried her to the third bedroom I’d prepared, the room filled with balloons and flowers, and chocolates by her bedside. The closet filled with the thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes I bought for her—when I allow her to wear them again that is.
Right now, I’m pacing in the living room, where my voice won’t wake her. But when I get back, when she wakes, I’ll run her another bath and take time washing every inch of skin, but right now there are things to put in place.
When she sleeps, she makes these little chirping noises like a fucking chipmunk. It’s so fucking adorable. I lie there, watching and listening, admiring her tits and ass, the shape of her battle-worn little cunt, the curve of her hips.
It’s getting harder for me to remember I took her for a reason. Sticking to my game plan with Bijou is fucking hard. Binding her to me was necessary to keep her from talking but feeling what I feel for her was optional.
And it looks like I’m all in on that option.
I made her eat and drink, again, because despite what she and her mother might say I’m not a monster. Bijou has been through a lot and had a lot of first times. Then, she needed rest.
But a husband’s work is never done, and some things need to be set up.
“Are things ready?” I glance up as I speak into the phone, listening for her voice. If she wants something, anything, I’ll get it for her, but I didn’t want to disturb her while I took care of business.
“It’s done, boss. But don’t you think…” Joey hesitates. My men know not to question my orders and the fact that he’s even contemplating it makes me squeeze the phone harder.
I turn, not even wanting to speak these words in Bijou’s direction. “I think this is my business, and I’ll decide how much is enough when it comes to my wife.”
“Sure, sure. But it’s just… Do we really want this kind of beef with her father? When he finds she’s gone… like, gone gone…”
“Her father,” I say through gritted teeth, “is a piece of shit who needs to learn his place. And that place is crawling on his knees through piss and broken glass. Are you forgetting what he did?”
“No… I mean, that was a long time ago.”
“I have things to do, and your fucking voice is the last one I want to be listening to right now. Just make sure everything is in place. The grand finale is coming up, and I don’t want anything to spoil the surprise. We clear?”
“Yeah, I got it. Sorry, boss, I’m—”
I end the call, seething at the question in his voice. If this was any other day, I’d have Joey dragged into a warehouse and taught the error of his ways, but right now all I want is to be back inside my bride or at least next to her.
Forcing my heart to settle, I throw the phone onto the glass coffee table and turn, stretching my arms high, my dick hanging half hard down my leg, feeling calmer as I head back out and down the hall to our room, knowing she’s there.
I hate myself for even walking away for a minute. I’m addicted to her already.
My pulse thrums in my veins as I ease the door open and slip inside, but something isn’t right.
It’s too quiet.
There’s an emptiness that envelops me and darkness coats my soul.
Something’s wrong. I flick the switch and curse at the rumpled bedding. There’s no light or sounds from the bathroom, either. Fuck. I never should have taken my eyes off the door, not even for a second.
She’s my weakness. I faltered and now, she’s gone.
I turn on a dime, heading back out into the corridor. She didn’t get past me. So, I head the other way, barreling down the hall.
When I turn the corner at the end, there’s a flash of white and the sound of her bare feet slapping on the floor.
She’s wearing the dress she had on when I took her. It’s cute, but it’s dirty, and that angers me almost as much as seeing her running from me.
When she was my dirty stepdaughter, the mud and grime were appropriate.
My wife should not be wearing that.
“Stop!” I shout, and she glances back, but she has a head start, and she reaches the elevator first, slamming her hand against the call button.
“Leave me alone!” she screams. “Get away from me. Help me, please, you have to help me!”
She flings the words at a couple of my maids coming up the stairs, their arms filled with clean linens and supplies they were instructed to leave in the back closet where they would not disturb us.