Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Then I came.
He slid down in bed, pulled me off his dick, planted me on his face, and he ate me through my orgasm, built and unleashed another one, and when I heard him groan up my pussy, I knew he’d taken care of himself with his hand.
A quick squeeze of my thigh giving me the message, and I expended energy I did not have to swing off him, collapse on my back, settling at his side.
“You eat me out while you jack off, you position me the other way so I can watch,” I bitched wheezily (what could I say? That was hot. I was still recovering).
“Darling, you’ll be where I put you,” he replied.
I turned my head to look at him, uncertain I wanted to countermand his order because I always liked where he put me, like I did just now.
I still would have liked to watch.
I didn’t get the chance to make up my mind.
He leaned into me, touched his lips to mine and rolled out of bed to head to the bathroom.
After he cleaned up and came back, he didn’t come back to me.
He put on his boxer briefs, then his trousers, and shrugged on his shirt but didn’t button it.
Only then did he come to me.
Another lean in, another lip touch, and when he pulled back, he said, “Stay there. I’ll return.”
With that, he walked out.
I didn’t stay there.
We fucked upon waking.
Or we fucked upon Battle waking me.
This meant I got out of bed and took care of business, including brushing my teeth.
I went back to bed and considered hitting the smart screen to order a pot of coffee.
By the time he got back, Snowball and Gingerface were hanging with me.
Bartholomew wasn’t, but that was probably because he was having breakfast.
When Battle returned, Baby Blue was prancing behind him.
But I was staring at him.
He was still in the same clothes.
And he had a thin, long, darkest dark-blue velvet jewelry box with him.
As I stared at that box, Battle stretched his long body out beside me in bed, still wearing his trousers, open shirt, bare feet…yum.
And he handed me the box.
“Battle,” I whispered, now only having eyes for him.
He reached out and flipped the box open.
I forced my gaze to what was inside.
Nestled in a bed of robin’s-egg-blue satin was a diamond tennis bracelet, set in white gold.
The diamonds weren’t ostentatiously huge, it was a classy piece, albeit it could never be described as lowkey, because even if the diamonds weren’t large, it was a tennis bracelet, so there were a lot of them.
But…fucking hell.
“Baby,” I said.
“I’ve noticed you don’t have enough jewelry,” he stated.
Annnnnd…
Yes.
A tear slid down my cheek.
“Your diamond earrings are set in white gold too,” he remarked.
Of course he noticed.
Of course.
He slipped a thumb over the trail of my tear. “Don’t cry, Vivienne.”
“My mom bought me those earrings.”
His face gentled, and he cupped my jaw. “Sweetheart.”
“Now I can have her at my ears and you at my wrist.”
He took that wrist and kissed the skin on the inside, then he moved his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me to his mouth.
We kissed, wet and sweet, before he ended it, and I asked, “Will you put it on?”
He didn’t reply, except to take the box from me, pull the bracelet from its bed of satin, casually toss the box on my nightstand, and when I offered my wrist, he bested the fiddly clasp with a few flicks of his thumb and there it was.
Flashing brilliant, rich and meaningful.
Battle on my wrist.
“I take it you like it,” he murmured.
I shifted my gaze from the bracelet to him. “It’s beautiful.”
“I suppose we’re making progress that you didn’t throw it in my face,” he quipped.
I swatted him.
Then I kissed him.
He rolled on top of me.
And he kissed me.
Tennis Bracelet Day, as it would henceforth be known for all eternity, was Friday morning.
It was now Saturday afternoon.
Battle and I had worked yesterday.
This morning, we had sex (again, my room), got showered, dressed and went down to have breakfast with the girls.
After that, we went riding, and Tempie came with us.
Battle was impressed with how much more comfortable I was on Noelle, but I left my ride to continuing to get used to a canter while they took off at a run.
Watching them race through the field, I doubled down on my intent to learn how to ride better so I could someday do that with them.
Truth, Tempie was totally the shit (she was wearing black riding breeches and boots, with a crisp white blouse (another mental note: buy riding breeches—not only were they the shit, it seemed like they gave your legs more freedom, even than jeans, which could be restricting), and her horse, Calpurnia, was an unusual, lustrous silver black).
But Lord…
In faded jeans and an olive-green button down, Battle bent forward, racing his sister on the back of his blood bay?