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)
The little white summer dress crests the backs of her thighs, showing off the curve of her ass and a peek of her pink slit as the barely-there thong rides up her crack.
Fuck, she had to wear white?
It’s a sign from God. Or the devil. But it’s a fucking sign.
I’m going to fuck that teasing little gash and that ass. She’ll suck my cock until she vomits as I shove it down her sweet little throat. I’ll own all her holes and even if she cries, I won’t stop.
It’s going to be beautiful.
Her tight little virgin cunt will milk the cum from my balls, pushing her over the edge until she’s bred with my child and no one will ever dare take her from me.
I make the sign of the cross as I put the car in drive and ease toward the tall security gates, clicking the remote as I approach waiting for them to swing open.
I park toward the back of the house by the service entrance and step out, taking a deep breath.
The weather in Tahoe is perfect for a kidnapping. Sunny, with a warm breeze that will carry her screams just far enough, but not so far that anyone will take notice.
The house sits back a good quarter mile from the private road, but since I own the security company getting in is nothing. I even had them disarm the notifications inside the house this morning that might tip her off someone was approaching or the gates were opening.
I want my sweet baby bride to be surprised.
CHAPTER 2
Ramses
I slip my hand inside the front of my suit jacket and slide out the Ruger from the holster as I step down the slate pathway towards the back door and punch in my code.
The back entry is veiled with a pergola covered in blooming pink bougainvillea and I break off a sprig of the pink flower and slip it into the lapel of my jacket.
The house is surrounded by over a hundred acres. Some landscaped, some with tall trees and shrubs for privacy.
The door clicks open and a whoosh of the cooler, air-conditioned air filters over my face. I weave my way through the stucco walls of the back hallway, across the terrazzo tiled kitchen, moving toward the sunroom, where the tracking app on my phone shows a blinking red dot.
Her and those fucking plants.
My footsteps are silent as the sound of Beyonce singing Put a Ring on It drifts through the hall, mixing with Bijou’s off-key voice belting out the words without inhibition.
I take her choice of music as another sign. This is going to be fun.
So fun, I almost smile.
I grab a silent seat in one of the leather chairs flanking the fireplace in the living room adjacent to the glass walled solarium and watch her fussing over an enormous blooming orchid.
Her unzipped Minions backpack is on the floor next to a sleek walnut writing desk to her left, with a glass of iced-down Diet Coke sweating as it surely makes a ring on the wood surface—although there are a stack of coasters right fucking there, Bijou.
There’s an empty pack of those horrible Hot Cheetos sitting next to the drink and I chuckle knowing the tips of her fingers are stained with the reddish-orange powder of her favorite snack.
Also on the table, a copy of Introduction to Law: Legal Reasoning and Torts sits next to her open notebook and pride warms my chest.
She’s been top of her class since she started prelaw. Hell, she’s been top of her class since she started nursery school.
I wonder if one day, my wife will be my consigliere as well.
Maybe.
I don’t care if she just spends my money all day every day, but if she wants to work around making babies for me, I’ll allow it.
I rest my hand on the arm of the chair, the gun secure in my grip as I tap it on my thigh, watching her ample curves move under the fabric of her dress noting her lack of a bra and counting my blessings.
My mouth waters as she fusses in the greenhouse, belting out the next verse of the Beyonce song.
When she finally spins taking me in, her eyes widen, her mouth agape, the words of the song lost on her glossy pink lips.
She doesn't try to run. She stands rooted in place before a flicker of a smile lights on her lips.
I reach into my front blazer pocket and withdraw the little white business card, flinging it her way like a paper Frisbee. It lands on the slate floor in front of her feet. Her bare toes painted yellow and pink in a pair of dollar-store flip-flops.
She loves that fucking store.
I took her there soon after marrying her mother because she wanted to see all the things you could buy for a dollar. She was so fucking excited. She kicked off her thousand-dollar Dior Slides right there in the aisle and exchanged them for a pair of bright yellow foam flip-flops just like the ones she’s wearing now.