Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Not a good-morning kiss, the simple kind that was a tap between mouths. But the kind of kiss that happened after dinner, in a dark bedroom with lit candles, where clothes dropped to the floor and heels were kicked across the room. It was that kind of kiss, and it was hungry and fiery.
She yanked the sheets down then straddled my hips, her sex resting right on my hard cock. It all happened so fast. She slid down my length and made me bury myself in her as deeply as last night.
We both gave involuntary moans.
Then she dug her fingers into my shoulders like they were reins and rode me like a stallion.
With summer officially over, Camille didn’t have the same hobbies she did before. Her time was usually spent in the pool or lounging in the sun beside it. Without that, she had nothing to occupy her time, so she started a new habit of sitting in my study. She usually had a book, so she kept to herself and didn’t distract me from work. But I found it peculiar that she wanted to be in the room even though she couldn’t interact with me. I had a grand fireplace in the study, so perhaps that was what attracted her fascination.
I sat at my desk and looked at her feet as they were propped on the armrest, her toes painted a shiny black color. She wore sweatpants that cinched around her ankles and a baggy sweater that drooped down one shoulder. I found her irresistible in lingerie, but I found her beautiful like this.
I should be looking at my laptop, but I found myself glancing up repeatedly.
Fucking distracting.
The doorbell rang.
I didn’t expect company, so my eyes immediately shifted to the open doors that led to the hallway. Hugo’s footsteps were heard before he appeared in my line of sight, walking past the threshold in his butler’s tuxedo and dress shoes. Seconds later, I heard the door open, but the words were swallowed by the distance.
There wasn’t a price on my head yet because no one knew I was Grave’s ally, but that didn’t mean a bunch of men didn’t want me dead. The shotgun was strapped underneath my desk, and there was an automatic rifle underneath the couch Camille lay on. My eyes remained ahead, waiting for Hugo to enter and tell me who it was.
He entered a moment later, casting a barely concealed scowl at Camille as he passed. “It’s your father, Mr. Beaufort. Shall I usher him in or send him away?”
My father? “What does he want?”
“Didn’t say.”
“Did you ask?”
“I always ask, Mr. Beaufort.”
I shut my laptop and sat back in my chair.
Camille was upright now, watching our conversation.
“And he ignored your question?” I asked.
“He said that was between you and him, not him and your butler.”
That sounded just like my father. “Send him in.”
“Right away, Mr. Beaufort.” He departed and returned to the front door.
Camille rose from the couch and approached me at the desk. “I’ll give you some privacy.” She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, excused the way I ignored her affection. She turned to walk out, book in hand.
My father appeared in the doorway, dressed in a sports coat with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. His eyes immediately turned to Camille as he passed, taking her in during the brief second they were in the same room together. His head turned slightly to get another glimpse of her before she was gone.
“Would you stop staring?” I knew my father’s stare wasn’t sinister, but it was still invasive.
He straightened his coat before he took a seat. “That’s her?”
“Yes.”
He gave a blank stare. “The source of all your contention with your brother?”
“Yes.”
He gave a slight shrug, as if unimpressed.
“She doesn’t walk around in a mini dress and heels all the time. She lives here.”
He crossed one ankle on the opposite knee, getting comfortable in the chair as if he intended to stay awhile. “She looks more like a wife than a whore.”
“She’s not a whore. Say that again, and I’ll unstrap the shotgun under my desk and shoot your face off.”
The corner of his mouth rose in a smile. “Now I see.”
“See what?”
“Your fascination with her.”
“Meaning?”
He continued to wear his smirk and never gave an answer. “Bring her in here. I’d like to meet her.”
“Why?”
“I’m your father. And this seems like an important relationship for you.”
“We had dinner one time,” I snapped. “Let’s pump the brakes on the father-son shit.”
“I’m your father, whether you recognize the relationship or not. I’d like to meet the woman of the house.”
I stared at him hard, frustrated that he’d dropped in without warning, and more frustrated he was making requests he wasn’t entitled to make. Like a mirror, the same pair of eyes stared back at me, marred by decades of loss and heartache I hadn’t experienced just yet. After a pointless staring contest, I called for Hugo. “Hugo?”