Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
She’d slapped the captain right in the face in the middle of one of his dinner parties. Only for him to catch her hand and kiss her palm. Patting her on the rump, and he sent her back to Table #2.
When offerings began to show up outside her door, just like they did for the other women, Eugenia took the box of treasures and dumped it on the deck where that night’s guests might see. Chapstick—something she confided to the other girls was a luxury she missed from before the bombs—a pretty green sweater, because air conditioning was divine but perfect when one had a cardigan. Hard candy, which she’d never mentioned nor did she care for. Perfume.
Eugenia had always hated perfume. But she had loved scented candles.
And one of those was in there too. It smelled of apples and crisp fall air. A three-wick beauty from a big chain store that had been popular for their soaps and bubble bath before they were blown off the map and the world had caught on fire.
That irreplaceable candle cracked against the deck; the glass-encased scented wax fractured just like her insides.
The last thing to flutter out of that box, unseen under all the crap a fool had thought to buy her with: bruised wildflower petals some dope had carried in his pockets from God knew where to make this extra fancy.
Petals she crushed under her shoe as she glared at the gawking men waiting for their dinner and fuck time. And if that did not make her point strong enough, she spit on the pile of debris.
And still, the captain didn’t strike her.
Though he did drag her away, a grip of steel about her nape. Led her to her tiny room and forced her to her knees.
At eye-level with his crotch, she snarled, “I swear to God I will bite it off if you whip it out!”
Was that actually heat in his face? Had she made him mad? Perfect.
“I don’t want to fuck your mouth. I have Chloe to do that with a smile. Besides, I doubt you’d even know what to do with it.”
His rotating, scheduled harem assignments meant nothing to her. The fact that next week she was on the board to service the captain in his private quarters was the stupidest gauntlet the man might have thrown down. “I’ve sucked cock, you prick. I can deepthroat like a goddamn champion. Just because I was a virgin, did you assume I’d never had a serious relationship? I was never a nun, though I keep waiting for you to whip up that outfit for me.”
“For Christ’s sake, Eugenia!”
“Stop leaving things in my room.” There it was. Said straight out. “You can’t buy me with textbooks and notepads. I don’t want your fucking reading lamp.”
Releasing her nape to take hold of her hair, the captain yanked until her back bowed and she struggled to hold his eyes. “I don’t need to buy you. I already own you.”
“What made you like this? It’s only been six years, and you must have been normal once. I’m not buying the lazy cowboy game you’re running! The murdering slaver who fails to partake with the men.”
His hand left her curls, palm trailing to cup her cheeks so his thumb might roughly trace her lips. Pulling them in a way that was overly suggestive. “Sorry to disappoint, but I was always this way.”
“Psychotic? There is medication for that, you know. I’m sure your raiding parties might still be able to find some. I’ll make you a list and proper dosage. Better yet, grow some weed and roll a joint.”
“You are something tonight, sugar. And this isn’t just about the box a man slaved to prepare for you.”
She hated when he found her amusing. Hated when he smiled. That fucking southern good ol’ boy accent she hated most. “I’m not servicing you next week.”
“But you just confessed that you possess the rare deepthroat skill.”
“I’m not joking, Captain.”
“I have told you twenty times, my name is Aaron.”
“It’s a stupid name.”
“So is Eugenia.”
“On that, we can agree.” Knees aching, somehow having forgotten he still cupped her cheek, she pushed off his hand and climbed to her feet. “Take me off your schedule, or the acting out you’ve seen will be nothing compared to what I’ll unleash. You should be shaking in your polished boots.”
“Ten-thousand tickets a night for a game of chess and a foot rub.”
“No.”
“Fifty-thousand.” He wasn’t joking.
Which was ludicrous!
Gesturing wildly, because this was too crazy to hear, she shouted, “Have you actually lost your mind? You put me in your room and I find one sharp object, you’re dead.”
That earned a serial-killer smile. “Seventy-thousand.”
“I don’t understand how a man as clever as you has failed to realize that I am not interested in your company. Take those seventy-thousand hypothetical tickets and shove them up your ass. I’d rather fuck every man downstairs than touch your feet with my magic hands.”