Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I drop her to her feet, and she moves the hair away from her face. “Why haven’t you unpacked?” I ask her, walking to the suitcase.
“I did,” she tells me. “I hung up what needed to be hung.”
“But what about this stuff?” I point at the luggage, and she shrugs.
“I was going to put it in the guest room, but I didn’t know if I had to clear out drawers.” She sits on the bed.
“Guest room?” I ask confused. “What?”
“I can just leave them in there.” She points at the luggage, and I hate it. I walk over to my dresser and open a drawer, grabbing everything out.
“There is a drawer,” I say, carrying all my clothes with me into my walk-in closet and dumping them on the floor. I walk back out and do the same thing with three other drawers. “Is that enough space?”
“Are you crazy?” she shrieks. “Now I have to fold all your clothes. You could have just asked me to share it with you.”
“Put your clothes in the drawers,” I tell her. I’m almost tempted to just grab everything from her luggage and shove it in there.
She gets off the bed now, coming to me. “I thought you were going to make it up to me?” Pulling her shirt over her head, she’s standing there in just a bra. “I believe you said—”
“I know what I said.” My hand reaches out and pulls her to me, my tongue slipping in with hers. My body releases the tension I felt when I saw her crying, when I saw her trying to leave.
“I missed you,” I tell her, kissing her neck and then trailing kisses all the way down to the swell of her breast. Seeing my little red mark peeking out of the white bra, I touch it with my finger. “I don’t know what it is,” I tell her. “Seeing my mark on you.”
“We have to talk about that,” she says, and I look up at her. “You can’t just leave them everywhere you please.” My eyebrow shoots up looking at her. “I work in fashion, so it’s going to be hard not wearing an outfit because I’m branded.”
“What kind of fucking outfit are you wearing that they see my marks on you?” I ask her. “Who cares?”
“I care,” she tells me. “How about a compromise?”
I lean down and suck in another part of her flesh, leaving it red. “I’m listening,” I tell her, going to the other breast and leaving the same mark.
“One a week,” she says, her voice going low when I move the cup of her bra off and her nipple pops out and into my mouth. “One a week.” She trails off, and then I feel her hands in my pants cupping my cock. There is no talking after that, but when I finally finish with her, she has more red marks, and I’m not even sorry about it.
We finally pull ourselves out of bed when it’s dark out, but only because the dogs have to eat. I watch her put her stuff away while I order food for us on my iPad. “I’m going to go feed the dogs,” I tell her, walking to my closet and grabbing a pair of shorts. When I come out of the closet, she is bent over, grabbing her stuff. “Now that is a sight,” I tell her, and she looks over at me, her hair failing down. I see the glitter in her eye as she opens her legs a tad more. “I need to eat, then I’m taking you just like that.”
“Promises, promises.” She laughs when I walk out the door but not before biting her ass cheek.
“Let’s get you some food,” I tell the dogs that are lying on the couch. I pick up my phone and see that I’ve missed a couple of texts from my mother.
Mom: Spoke with your sister.
Mom: I hope she listens.
Then there is one from my sister.
Candace: We have to discuss the rest of the season. I’m not going to do it at your house if she’s there.
I shake my head and answer back.
Me: So does this mean you quit?
I am not going to let her act like a spoiled brat.
She doesn’t take long to answer.
Candace: I guess you are the one who has to decide that.
Me: Candace, tomorrow at my house at eleven. If you aren’t here, that means you aren’t interested in working.
I turn off the phone and make my way to the garage. The lights are on in the living room now, and she has turned on the television. “We need to go over a couple of things,” she says, coming into the living room from the kitchen. I see her wearing shorts and one of my shirts.
“What’s that, beautiful?” I ask her, turning the channel and stopping on the New York game.