Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
I want them to be my calling.
With hope in my heart, I turn off the bathroom light and look myself over one final time in the full-length bedroom mirror. I’ve never worn shorts like this. Thin, tight. They’re more like underwear, leaving the underside of my butt cheeks showing, the seam riding up like a wedgie. They should be more uncomfortable, but the pressure on all my intimate parts makes me pulse all over. The crop top I’ve been given is loose and hangs from one shoulder, cutting off an inch below my breasts. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to wear a bra, but I leave it off at the last second, feeling daring. Feeling alive and needed.
The only lit up part of the house is the dining room and I cross the yard, entering through the back door, gasping at the size of the table. It could seat a hundred people. Mrs. Red stands at a gleaming sideboard on one end of the dimly lit room, uncorking a bottle of wine. Candles flicker as I walk toward her and she greets me with a nervous smile.
“Normally I wouldn’t be doing this myself, but I’ve given the staff a night off.” She pours wine into three glasses, one by one. “For obvious reasons.” I’m about to respond when a door closes in the distance, the walls of the house seeming to rumble. “The man of the house is home,” she says, taking a giant gulp of red liquid. “Here goes nothing.”
I’m unprepared for the gravity of Mr. Red. His aura invades the dining room before he does, vacillating between gold and orange. Intelligent, fierce, charismatic. And oh so handsome. Mr. Red is older than the other men by more than a few years, his whole head covered in thick, gray hair. He’s not a man who has let his body age, though. This is a man who spends hours keeping himself fit. Everything about his energy tells me what I need to know about his personality. He brooks no disrespect, commands a room…and I know his secret.
I am his secret now.
When Mr. Red sees me, he slows to a stop, impatient fingers pausing in the process of loosening his tie. Obviously he does not expect to find a scantily clad young woman in his home and thus, he can’t keep his reaction entirely schooled. Sharp eyes lose their edge and he makes a jagged sound. “Who is this?”
For all her nerves, Mrs. Red now seems almost aloof, casually sipping her wine. “This is Astrid, dear. She’s staying for dinner…and for the night.” Mrs. Red gives me a meaningful look. “No chef tonight, so I’m going to go check on dinner. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You two get acquainted.”
On the way out of the room, Mrs. Red stops and whispers into her husband’s ear. He shows no reaction to whatever she says, but his disbelief reaches me where I stand. As his wife vanishes into the kitchen, his shock gives way to desire. So much of it that I have to press my thighs together. I expect him to approach me, to touch me, but he doesn’t. No, he simply takes his seat at the head of the table, gesturing to the setting to his left. “Sit.”
“Yes,” I respond on autopilot, every cell in my body thrilling to that single, bitten off command. His fists rest on the table as I sway toward my seat and fall into it like a bored teenager, although I’m the furthest thing from bored. I’m alive.
Mrs. Red reenters the room carrying a covered pot. She sets it down in the middle of the table and ladles what appears to be pumpkin soup into our bowls. “I thought something light tonight would be just the thing,” she breezes, taking her seat. “Everybody dig in.”
I reach for my spoon and stop, crossing my arms over my bare midriff. “I’m not hungry.”
I feel, rather than see, Mr. Red’s jaw flex. “Eat your dinner, young lady.”
Wetness rushes between my thighs and I shift in my seat, trying to keep myself from reacting in earnest. “I said, I’m not hungry.”
Across the table, Mrs. Red takes a spoonful of soup, her expression one of fascination. As if she can’t believe how quickly and easily this is happening. I can’t really believe it, either. This role has somehow settled over me like a second skin.
“Do you need to be fed like a child?” Mr. Red snaps, unbuttoning one of his sleeves and rolling it up to his elbow. “So be it. Get over here now.”
My legs are shaking so violently, I almost can’t stand up, but my eagerness to find out what’s coming forces me up and around the table. I stop in front of Mr. Red with an eye roll and give him my back. Without facing him, I know his eyes are blazing a hot path up my thighs and barely covered bottom. I bite back a whimper when he grips my hips and jerks me down into his lap.