Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
My buzzer goes and I run through my apartment and grab the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Miss Warren? I’m here to collect you on Tyler Stone’s behalf.”
He sent a car? I didn’t agree to this shit. “Um, I wasn’t aware he was sending anyone.”
“It was a last-minute decision, ma’am. Are you ready?”
I look at my mismatched underwear and lack of stockings or shoes. Or dignity, really. “Give me a few minutes.”
I hang up at his, “Of course,” and run back to my bedroom. My phone vibrates next to me on the bed as I put the right panties on.
Don’t be late, Liv.
Fuck off.
I grin as the message sends.
Bring a scarf…
Bring a scarf? His words from yesterday fill my mind—about tying me up—and my heart thumps. Shit. I feel a dampness between my legs at the thought and grab my long raincoat from the closet. I tuck a scarf into the pocket and smile.
He wants to play, I’ll play.
Angus is curled on the sofa, asleep in a patch of weak sun, and a quick check of his bowl verifies that it’s full of food. Well, there’s a first.
I slip my feet into my new shoes and decide to take the elevator instead of the stairs. I mean, who wants to fall down the stairs in shoes as pretty as these? Not me.
When I step outside, a sleek, black car is waiting for me. The driver, who I presumably spoke to on the phone, gets out of the car and opens the back door for me.
“Miss Warren. My name is Allen. I’m Mr. Stone’s driver whenever he requires our services.”
“Please, call me Liv.” I smile.
“Liv.” He returns my smile and motions for me to get in.
I do, settling back into the plush, leather seat of the BMW. Even this car reeks of wealth—of privilege. Of more than I’m used to.
I mean, shit. I’ve only recently upgraded my 2001 Honda to a 2010 Audi. This car doesn’t feel like it’s ever been driven before.
Are you coming yet?
I swing my legs up onto the seat, cross them at the ankles, then snap a picture. I send it to him with a grin on my face.
Tease.
My grin widens. I tuck the phone into the pocket of my coat and sit upright again just as the car comes to a stop. Of course—I forgot that his apartment was so close to mine, even if they are miles apart in terms of value.
“Miss Warren.” Allen opens the car door, and just as I swing around to get out, I hear his voice.
“Thank you, Allen. I’ll take it from here.”
It’s smooth and sleek, his accent crawling over me. When I look up, it’s into his eyes. Tyler takes my hand and tugs me up. I flatten my free hand against his chest and meet his eyes.
“Hi.”
The car rumbles away behind us, and Tyler’s lips quirk. “Hi.” He pulls me into the building after him. My heels click against the marble floor as we walk, and he glances back at me more than once with heat in his eyes.
The elevator ride is suffocating. The walls seem to close in on us as we travel upward. Anticipation swirls of what’s to come. Excitement buzzes across my skin, affecting my whole body until I can feel my pulse thrumming at my neck.
The doors open slowly. Too slowly. It seems like an hour passes until they’re completely open, and I take a deep breath when we step out. My fingers tingle where they’re wrapped in Tyler’s, and I feel the loss immediately when we enter his apartment and he drops my hand.
He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up. “I’ll get you a drink,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers across my cheek.
No need. I wait until he’s disappeared into the kitchen and unbutton my raincoat. I hang it next to his on the peg and give my boobs a quick adjust in the cups of the camisole. I pause for a moment.
Do I wait here? Do I follow him? Ross never bothered with drinks. It was straight to the bedroom.
Okay, seriously? I’m standing in the apartment of a guy who demanded I bring a scarf so he can tie me up and I’m worrying about fuck-buddy etiquette. It doesn’t get much crazier than that.
Silencing my train of thought, I whip the scarf out of my mac pocket and curl one end of it around my hand. The soft material slips against my skin, and I briefly wonder how effective it’ll be at keeping my hands tied.
With that new, sexy thought in mind, I make my way to the kitchen and stop in the doorway. I lean against the doorframe and run my eyes over him. His gingham shirt is well-fitting, stretching across his shoulders and pulling in at his trim waist. The sleeves are rolled up and sitting just below his elbows, the material not generous enough to hide his biceps. I can even see the tightness of his ass beneath his Levi’s.