Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I don’t move. She’s breathing hard. I’m betting she just said more than she planned to, but she doesn’t try to walk it back. The silence stretches and I let her stew before I sink down beside her and stare at the ceiling.
“I know I don’t own you,” I say very quietly. “You aren’t a thing to be owned. You’re a woman. You’re a person. I’ve watched you for a very long time now, Casey, and I know better than anyone else in this world how exceptional you are. I know you’re only with me because circumstances demanded it. I used them to make you mine. But every day I’m with you, I’m going to make you understand how much better your life is when I’m by your side.”
It’s the most honest and vulnerable I’ve ever been with another person. It hurts, saying those words out loud, but they’re the truth. And Casey deserves that much at least.
She lets out a long sigh. “You’re such a bastard.”
“Boss Bastard, if I’m not mistaken.” I move toward her. She shifts until her back’s to me, but this time she lets me wrap my arms around her and pull her close. “I loved that nickname.”
“Why would you love it?”
“Meant you were thinking about me.”
She groans. “You’re such a total psychopath.”
“Only for you.”
We drift into silence again. I hold her against my body as her breathing steadies and her legs twitch into sleep.
I follow her down into dreams. But as my mind spirals and starts to unravel, right before I cross the line between awake and asleep, a thought occurs to me.
Only for her.
I’m only for her now.
Chapter 29
Casey
It’s kind of a fucked-up situation.
For a week, I wake up in Declan’s bed with Declan’s muscular and perfect arms wrapped around my body and Declan’s thick and very impressive dick pressed against my ass and very much hard. And for a week, I let him fuck me wherever, whenever, and however he wants.
It’s total madness.
I’m still pissed at him. At least, I keep telling myself that. Even when I’m on my hands and knees on top of his desk letting him eat me out from behind, even when I’m orgasming with his dick in my mouth and his fingers between my legs, even when I’m getting filled to the brim in the back of a soundproof town car, I keep thinking, man, I’m so mad at this guy.
But that voice gets quieter and quieter, until I realize something.
He makes me laugh way more than he makes me angry.
Which seems kind of normal, right?
It wasn’t like that before though. Back when he was Boss Bastard, nothing he did was funny.
And a lot of it drove me totally crazy.
Now the dynamic’s changing. He’s caring… devoted… he listens to what I have to say…
It’s like I broke something in him.
He’s still a demanding asshole. He still expects perfection from the both of us and he punishes me when I fail to live up to his standards.
But his punishments are more fun these days.
And he’s much more loving with his aftercare.
On the sixth day of our new life together, he takes me into a Bronx neighborhood I’m not familiar with. We park outside of an old, rundown-looking Irish bar with faded Celtic crosses on the front and a chipped red door.
“Is this one of yours?” I ask, stepping out of the BMW and adjusting my notebook.
He frowns at the facade. “Not mine.”
I follow him inside and he doesn’t bother elaborating.
The interior is as worn as the front. The booth tables are scratched and marked. The booths are held together with tape. An old man tends the bar and nods as we enter. Two Whelan associates are seated in the far corner. One is Donnell and the other I don’t recognize.
Declan approaches them and shakes hands with the stranger first. “Glad you came, Finbar,” he says.
Finbar grunts awkwardly and glances at Donnell before answering. “Well, it wasn’t my idea, I’ll tell you that.”
“You’re here. That’s all I care about.” Declan nods to Donnell. “Should we get started?”
The men sit in the booth. I go to the bar and ask for three good whiskies while they go through the formalities. That gives me a chance to study Finbar.
I don’t know anything about him, but he instantly gives me a bad feeling. He’s thin and shifty, always moving like he can’t sit still. His clothes are too big, and his hair’s shaved on the sides with it shaggy on top. It’s that goofy broccoli cut that’s so popular these days. Except he’s not young. I’d guess he’s in his forties at least. There’s something off about his vibe, and I just can’t put my finger on it.
I return to the table with the drinks. Declan puts a hand on my thigh possessively when I sit beside him like he always does. I’ve learned to ignore it and force myself to at least seem professional. When I open the notebook, Declan shakes his head quickly. “No writing this time,” he murmurs, and I quickly snap it shut.