Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
With his bodywash that smelled like peppermint and bergamot, he washed every inch of me, starting at my feet and working up my thighs, being surprisingly gentle.
Before tonight, no one without a medical license had ever touched me where he did, or anywhere really.
I had never had a boyfriend, or a lover.
Before Marksen DuBois, I had never even had my first real kiss, unless you counted Cynthia Delecourt during a midnight game of truth or dare in the eighth grade, which I did.
He paid extra attention to my breasts, and when his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick my nipple, I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my lips.
He grinned up at me and winked.
I could feel the heat of a blush rise to my cheeks. It felt a little silly to blush about a gasp after everything we had just done.
When I was clean, he picked me up and set me on the bathroom counter.
“Stay,” he ordered with a warning glare, stepping over to the linen closet to grab two big white fluffy towels.
He ran the first one over his body then quickly secured it around his waist.
I ignored the pang of disappointment that part of him was now covered.
Then he came back to me with the other towel, and with the same attention to detail and gentleness as he had used when washing me, he dried me off.
“I can dry myself,” I huffed, suddenly feeling vulnerable and churlish. I tried to grab for a corner of the towel.
He yanked it out of my hand. “I couldn’t care less what you can do, princess. I only care about what I want to do.”
I jerked my chin to the side and blinked away the tears, forcing myself not to think about how this was the man who stole my first time.
Instead, I took the time to really look at the bathroom. The entire house had a slightly older-home vibe. It was warm and inviting. Even the kitchen. Not this room. The bathroom still smelled of fresh paint, and it was all cold metal and modern lines, without colors and details to match the feel of the rest of the house. It was functional and fashionable but didn’t seem to mesh with the house.
I wondered if that was on purpose or if Marksen had just been in the middle of remodeling and modernizing the home with more luxurious hardware when all of this happened.
Without a word, he picked me up again and brought me to a large bedroom toward the back of the house. It was beautiful, with hardwood floors and a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room.
“Stay here. I will be right back.”
He left the room, and I did as he said, mostly because I didn’t know what other option I had.
I was naked, on his bed.
I didn’t even have a towel.
I didn’t know where I was or how far it would be to find help.
Tears that started building in the corners of my eyes fell down my cheeks. I swiped angrily at them.
This wasn’t how I’d wanted my first time to be. I hadn’t been planning on waiting for marriage, not exactly. What I was waiting for was a man who wanted me for me, not for my father’s money. There were plenty of handsome young MBAs that were as ambitious as I was.
Most of them would respect the work that I did, and by extension, they would respect me, though most would marry me just for access to my father and brother. I didn’t want a man who wanted me for my money or my connections. There were several male models who would sell their souls to date me and use my connections to break into the industry. I even had one beautiful British man who asked me out at least once a week.
I had been turning him down gently. He was kind and intelligent, but too needy. He struck me as the type of man who would demand my entire world revolve around him. That just wasn’t going to happen.
Maybe it was my fault this was my first time.
Maybe I had read too many fairy tales and seen too many Hallmark romances, and my standards were too high.
Or maybe I wasn’t available enough.
I never made the time for men, and I liked to tell myself that if the right man came along, then I would. But I wasn’t sure about that anymore.
Though if I had known sex was like that…
I might have tried a little harder to make time.
Not to mention the more “traditionally suitable suitors” from my own class and social circles. The ones my father was no doubt planning as matches for me.
In that respect, Marksen would have been perfect.
Before he and my brother had their falling out.
And especially before he freaking kidnapped me.