Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 251(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 251(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
“Did you enjoy it?” I question in a whisper at the shell of her ear.
Her response is a hum, a sated one cloaked in sated fatigue. My cock twitches at the memory.
“You’ll tell me if it hurts,” I whisper, bringing my hand to her hip as she presses her ass against me.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs. She’s quick to take my hand back, slipping her fingers through mine. Her eyes stay closed. She’s well and thoroughly fucked, and after the night we’ve had, sleep should come easy.
All I can think is that I didn’t ask to fall for her. It wasn’t a part of any plan.
Every detail in the beginning was something I had planned. But she was unexpected, and this is entirely unexpected. Falling for her feels like it changes everything. I don’t know what exactly changed, but everything feels different.
“I’ll dream of you,” she says.
“As you should,” is what I reply. I bite my tongue before I let slip, I’ll dream of you too.
If you’re reading this, put your phone down and listen to your father.
My mother’s text shows on the screen as I pick up my BlackBerry. I can’t help but huff out a humorless laugh before setting it back down and tending to the pan on the stove.
The smell of bacon fills the kitchen as I flip the pancake one last time before slipping it off the skillet and onto the pile of six on the plate.
The fresh fruit was already sliced and prepared. All I had to do was pour the mix of cantaloupe, berries, and watermelon into the small bowl.
I’m not a chef by any means, but I can manage a simple breakfast.
The stack of pancakes joins the table next to the syrup and butter. Deeming it acceptable, I glance behind me toward the stairs deciding to wait until Suzette is up so she can join me. My BlackBerry buzzes again and I’m not certain if it’s my father, telling me I need to take the weekend off, or my mother, agreeing with him. It could also be a work email, calendar notification or someone else who needs something from me.
With a black coffee in hand, I stalk to the adjacent living room and peer out of the windows overlooking the early morning in the city. It’s already bustling beneath us.
This city never sleeps and, if you want to keep up with it, you can’t either. The only thing that stops me from heading to my office is the knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call out, knowing exactly who it is.
“Mr. Bradford,” Noah greets me, carrying a variety of large department store bags in different colors, half of them with tissue paper peeking out. “This should do, I hope.”
“Have you got everything?” I question, very much focused on the details beneath Suzette’s clothing.
The older man nods, professional but with a knowing look as he sets the bags down. “Ann selected the delicates.” His sport coat and dark jeans are evidence that he has plans, more than likely with his wife.
“I appreciate it. Please let her know I am grateful.”
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I’ll be off then,” he says and waves a short goodbye before glancing around the room, I imagine to spot the lady these clothes are intended for.
Much to my gratitude, the front door closes before Suzette quietly makes her way into the room. Her bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor give her away. With her hair a messy halo, and dressed only in one of my undershirts, she could not possibly look more fuckable.
My grip on the mug in my hands tightens as I suppress a groan.
“Good morning,” she offers, brushing her hair from her face. As her arms fold in front of her she gets reacquainted with my penthouse, glancing around before stopping in front of the set table.
“Good morning. Your clothes arrived.” I motion toward the bags with the mug. “Coffee’s on as well. Should I make you a cup?”
With surprise lightening her gaze, it dances between the bags and myself. “I’m sorry, did you say clothes arrived?”
“I think you could use some caffeine,” I state rather than answering her. As I make my way to the kitchen, the tissue paper crinkles behind me.
“You ordered these for me?”
I pour her a cup, listening to the sounds of her opening each bag. “You needed something to wear home. Cream and sugar?”
“Please.” Tentatively, I take in her posture. She’s not unfamiliar with wealth, but I imagine it can be difficult for a woman like Suzette to readily accept.
“I should pay you back,” she murmurs. I imagine she’s attempting to tally the total.
“It’s a gift.”
“You didn’t have to,” she tells me, still holding a crimson silk shift dress with both of her hands.
“You keep saying that and I’ll keep reminding you, it’s because I want to.” Setting her coffee on the table, I add, “Besides, I will very much enjoy seeing you in that dress.” It’s that deep red shade she seems to love so much. “I just hope it fits you.”