Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
He parks at a dead end and pushes his seat back. My eyebrows raise, amused, but I don’t resist when he pulls me across the center console and into his lap. I straddle him and lean forward.
“I don’t think I’ve ever kissed a drug dealer before,” I whisper, nibbling on his lower lip.
His hands grab my ass. “Then I bet you haven’t fucked one in a car before either.”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Another checkbox.” He kisses my neck. “Or don’t you remember?”
I absolutely remember. But it’s more fun to pretend like I don’t.
He gets my jeans off and teases my pussy, slow and sensual, as he whispers dirty words in my ears. The windows fog over like in a bad movie, and it’s the middle of the freaking day, which makes me nervous as hell. Anyone could walk past—though I doubt they would, considering the neighborhood we’re in. Still, it’s objectively crazy.
And I take his dick between my legs like it’s the only thing in this whole world I really want.
Because it’s true. As I ride him, the car shaking, I realize how the past week has been like a long, slow creep toward this inevitable point.
I love when he calls me his wife. I love when he gets all jealous and possessive. I love being with him, laughing with him, letting him fuck me, taking his dick in my mouth, teasing and playing and being people together.
I love being with him.
He’s my husband, and I like it.
Which is objectively crazy. I came into this arrangement thinking I’d despise him, get through a couple of years, and make off with a nice payday in the end.
Instead, I’m taking his bare cock in his car while he calls me his dirty, filthy, soaking wet, greedy, needy, gorgeous little slut.
And I goddamn love it.
We come together. He’s dripping down my thigh as I lean forward, breathing hard. I feel him still pulsing between my legs.
“I believe that was two items checked off,” he whispers. “Car sex and public sex.”
“At this point, I don’t even know what’s left.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I know.” He runs his fingers through my hair.
“Can I ask you something?” I pull back. His cock’s still inside of me and I manage to slip my way up and over onto my seat.
He watches, amused as I pull on my clothes. “Considering you’re filled with my seed right now—”
I nearly gag. “Please don’t ever call it that again.”
“Go ahead, baby, ask what you want to ask.” He’s grinning, amused, but I really do hate that word.
“Your grandfather mentioned Collette again last night.” I’m not looking at him as I adjust my panties before buttoning my jeans. “You told me you and she never got along.”
“We didn’t,” he says.
“That’s not what your grandfather told me.”
I glance up and Julien’s studying me. I chew my lip, feeling stupid and vulnerable. I’ve been trying hard to forget about what the old man said, but it’s been bothering me.
I don’t want to be jealous, but I freaking am.
“Grandpère will say anything he can to drive us apart. Don’t let him do it.”
“I’m not, honestly, I’m really not—but you and Collette knew each other pretty well, right? And I mean, you’re both French, she can speak your language—”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Please, Brianne.”
“No, I know, you told me you don’t like her already, but I’m just saying—”
“No, you aren’t saying anything. You’re letting Grandpère speak for you right now.”
Anger swells in my stomach. “Okay, that’s not true at all, and the way you’re getting all weird and defensive isn’t helping me.”
He grips the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. Slowly, he blows it out again. “Collette is nothing to me. She was nothing to me back in Marseille and that won’t ever change. Don’t let Grandpère make you think otherwise.”
I let that sink in. I know he’s right and I do believe him—but there was something about the way his grandfather said it.
Like I was a silly, stupid girl for thinking a man like Julien could ever care about a girl like me.
I know it’s my father’s voice saying it too. Useless. Worthless. All those ugly names he used to call me.
It’s years of abuse and insecurity swelling up inside.
And I wish I could make it go away, but I’m too weak and broken.
Julien’s phone rings. He looks at me for a long moment before answering in French. He has a quick conversation before hanging up. “Good news,” he says, turning the car back on and putting it into drive. “Kim’s been transferred. She’s back at the mansion now.”
I should feel more excited, but our conversation from a second ago is still lingering. “That’s great. Really great.”
“I’ll take you back so you can spend some time with her.”
“Right. Okay.”
I should say more. I should tell him that I believe him, that I trust him, that I don’t believe his grandfather over him.