Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Our anniversary had gone so wrong. So bloody wrong. It wasn’t what I’d wanted to happen at all. I didn’t know why I’d expected Katherine to react differently. We’d been at odds long before we got married. And we’d both made it worse over the last year.
I ground my teeth together and checked my Rolex for the third time. She was late. We were supposed to already be on the way to my father’s annual Christmas dinner. My father hated when anyone was late. I’d hear about it.
Damn it, Katherine!
The whole thing gave me a headache. It wasn’t as if we could just start over. She’d made that perfectly clear, and then I’d nailed the coffin shut when I pushed her away in the hot tub. I hadn’t wanted to play her fucking games, but I sure as hell had wanted to fuck her. I knew she’d wanted me to fuck her. Still, I couldn’t let her toy with me like she did everyone else.
Maybe it was control. Maybe it was the only way I could have Katherine, without pretense or bullshit between us. I just knew that my cock had stayed hard at the thought of her in lingerie in my hot tub until I jacked off to that image. My cock twitched again, just thinking about it.
This was my curse: I always wanted Katherine Van Pelt.
I wanted to stuff my cock down her throat everu time she mouthed off to me.
I wanted to teach her manners with my hand to her pert ass the next time she tried to play games with me.
I wanted to fuck her so hard that she couldn’t walk to prove that she couldn’t walk all over me.
But I reined it in. Always restrained myself. Never let her see the truth of how much I wanted to take the little perfect princess and break her. Because if she knew, she’d use it, use me. And above all, I could never let that happen. I had to maintain control.
These little indiscretions were enough to grate on my nerves as it was. Late twice in one week was enough to make me want to tie her to the bed until she begged for forgiveness. I’d never heard Katherine Van Pelt beg for anything. But a guy had to have goals, right?
The elevator doors slid open, and Katherine strode into my apartment. She looked like a knockout in a blood-red dress that hit just above her knees and a black fur-lined coat unbuttoned at her waist. Her lush, dark hair was piled high in an intricate design. I wondered how long it would take for me to rip every pin out of it. Her ruby-red lips were pursed, and she arched an eyebrow in my direction.
“Are you ready to go or what?” she asked, slipping her phone back into her leopard-print purse.
“Ready to go?” I asked dryly. “You’re the one who’s late.”
“I was busy.”
My anger unfurled within me. “Busy?” I seethed. “Doing what? You knew precisely when dinner was. Same time ever year.”
She shrugged. “Why does it matter? Let’s go.”
I stepped up to her, nearly touching her. “It matters.”
“Whatever.” She turned away from me. Without thinking, my hand darted out and snagged on her elbow. “What?”
“Where were you?”
“I was working,” she said. Her eyes drifted to my hand. “Let me go.”
“Work?”
She wrenched her arm out of my grip. “You know, taking pretty pictures and responding to followers,” she said, her eyes slaying me. “Isn’t that all you think I do anyway?”
“Fine,” I ground out.
She never took anything seriously. It was all a joke. I knew that this socialite business was important to her. I shouldn’t minimize it, but I knew how much more she was capable of. With that look alone, I knew that she could conquer the world. With an ounce of ambition, she could do literally anything she wanted. Why was she spending her time posting selfies? Especially when it only brought in about a million dollars a year? I knew she could go through a million dollars a year on clothing alone. My black card was smoking from her expenses.
We headed down to my limo and drove north through the Upper East Side. My family had lived in the same penthouse since the ‘40s when my great-grandfather returned from World War II. We’d slowly bought up all the other apartments that faced the park and torn down walls to make it larger and larger. Renovations were constantly ongoing. My childhood had been full of project after project within the Percy family home. I’d hated it. Not least of all because I had asthma and breathing in fumes and sawdust had made my childhood miserable. As soon as I could get my own place, I’d done it. I’d moved out of this hellhole and into the penthouse on top of Percy Tower at the ripe age of fourteen. Miraculously, my health issues all but evaporated overnight. All those years of my father calling me weak and trying to beat health back into me had been for nothing. Not that he’d ever once acknowledged that it was partly his doing.