Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“If you want to pretend that was one-sided, maybe I’ll carry you to the bedroom, lay you on your back, open those thick, perfect legs, and feast on your eager pussy. Feast until you cream all over my mouth.”
His words tickle my sex, my clit aching, my womb—oh, there’s that crazy thought again—telling me to be quiet and take him up on the offer. He softly strokes his hand along my face, causing me to shudder as warm sensations spread up and down my body.
“No? Didn’t think so.”
“Fine.” I turn my face away. “You got me. I wanted it.”
Want it, present tense, but I won’t make that distinction for him.
“But that doesn’t mean you can keep me in the dark. Just because I want to know why you showed up at the house before we met doesn’t mean I’m some gold digger.”
He looks at me for a moment, then clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “I’ll send a driver for you tomorrow. They’ll take you to work and home.”
“I already told you. I’m finding my own place.”
“No, you’re not,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re living here until I deal with this rubbish.”
I almost beam when he says rubbish in his suave British accent, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. My ass is sore from his spanking, and yet tickling and teasing as though wanting more. How can I exist in this place of wanting him and being so angry I could scream?
“So you’re going to hold me hostage.”
“I’m keeping you safe, Amelia.”
“From what?”
He stares.
“If you won’t answer me, please, just leave.”
We hold eye contact for what feels like a long time, staring at each other, into each other. I have to keep reminding myself that this man is a complete stranger. I don’t know him, and he’s doing everything in his power to keep it that way.
“Well?” I snap.
He looks down, something almost soft entering his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to leave things this way.”
“That’s on you. We wouldn’t have to if you’d do me the courtesy of telling the truth. Have you thought this through? What if I tell my parents or one of my friends back home that you’ve kidnapped me?”
He smirks. “Kidnapped… what a word.”
“Well, what would you call it?”
“Rescued, Amelia. That’s what.”
“Or I could tell my supervisor at Realization Global. If you really want to make sure I’m ‘safe,’” I put the word in air quotes, “you’ll have to lock me up here.”
“No, because I can read you.”
“You can’t.”
He grins. “I can. You’re acting all tough and cheeky, but the truth is, you want to be here. The truth is, you trust me.”
“I don’t know you.”
He takes me by the shoulders and leans down. I tell myself to turn my face again so that his lips make contact with my cheek, not my mouth, but the desire for intimacy is too strong. It’s not even a desire, more like a compulsion, an instinct I can’t quite explain. He kisses me with surprising gentleness, then breaks it off, staring directly into my eyes.
“Tell me there isn’t a connection here. Tell me you can’t feel it. Tell me I’m mad.”
“Angry?”
He grins. “Mad, British mad. Insane.”
“Maybe there is something here,” I whisper, “but how can it grow if you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
For a second, I think his resolve might break, but then he steps back and turns away.
“I know you’ll do the right thing. If you think about doing something silly, like using that ridiculous kidnapping word again, just ask yourself, Does Thomas want the best for me?”
With that, he leaves, his shoulders broad, his taut back muscles pressing through his running T-shirt. When I hear the door close, I drop onto the couch and clasp my hands together as though praying. He didn’t take my cell phone, so I could easily call somebody, Emma or Mom or Dad. I should call somebody, but when he said I trusted him, miraculously, absurdly, he was right. It’s insane, British mad, that I would feel anything about this man other than suspicion. Somehow, though, I know he wants the best for me.
I lie on the couch, close my eyes, and relive my first orgasm. It was so much more intense than I ever dreamed, his hands stroking obsessively, the pleasure pulsing. Even the stinging of my rear end adds to the memory. I never knew I’d like to be spanked, but heck, it’s not like I’ve got any frame of reference.
After a while, I go to my suitcase and take out my art supplies. Sitting at the small table next to the large window overlooking the city of London, I sketch a wolf, far bigger than any real wolf. He’s got wild silver fur and volcanic fierceness in his eyes, savage claws, and sharp teeth. Next to it, I write Thomas. That’s how I see him, my giant protective wolf, my man.