Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Dalton strokes my sticky back, spreading cum all over. “What? But I want the wedding… Your mom said she’s getting us an amazing venue, we’ve already talked to a florist, and we have cake sampling next week.”
I’m surprised at how disappointed he sounds. It can’t be about cake, since I gave him a pre-paid card with an allowance, so he can buy whatever cake he wants.
“Why?”
He backs off a little to look into my eyes. “Why what? Why I want a party where everyone gets to witness our commitment?"
Our what?
I’m so baffled I only answer after a few heartbeats pass. “We’re not a real couple.”
Dalton frowns as if this is news to him. Did he forget what circumstances we met under less than three weeks ago? “What else would we be? Eating your ass didn’t feel imaginary to me.”
I snort and shake my head in disbelief, because he surely can’t be serious. “You don’t need to know someone’s name to eat their ass. We literally met on Christmas Eve, and you’re alive because I decided your dick was too good to let you die.”
Dalton pulls away and tucks his cock back in. I think he wants to signal he’s closed for business, but we both know we’ll fuck again tomorrow. I don’t know if he’s that easy, or that horny, but it works in my favor anyway.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his fingers twitch. I’m not afraid of him, but I’m ready if he’s about to hit me. He grabs his phone instead. “We’re going to the fucking tailor, or I’m gonna tell your mom!”
“Excuse me? What?” I ask, holding on to the counter as I stare at this thirty-year-old man attempting to threaten me with something so silly. “Did you just say you’ll snitch on me?”
And the worst thing is I do love my mother and I don’t want her crying again about any of the drama he might cause. Dalton’s been running some wedding errands for her, and while they’ve grown a bit too cozy for my liking, at least it means she’s not trying to stand in my way. If he tells her any of this bullshit, she might flip and I’ll have a serious problem on my hands.
Dalton crosses his arms over his chest. “Fuck yes I did. If you don’t even think any of this between us is real, then the least I want is a wedding. Let’s go,” he snaps at me and turns around as if he’s the boss around here.
Anger buzzes in my chest, and I grab his wrist, forcing him to turn back. “You wouldn’t do that. She’d start to cry, and you’re too soft for that!”
Cheeks red, he’s in my face within a second and presses his forehead to mine as though we’re two boxers about to spar. “Try me.” The energy between us is both hot and frustrating. I’m rarely challenged like this, but I’m naked, my ass is sore, and we apparently have a tailoring appointment in half an hour.
This isn’t the right time to have this pointless discussion, nor the hill I’m willing to die on. We will both have to clench our teeth and wait until we’re back to continue… whatever this is.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes,” I tell him and turn on my heel, before marching out butt-naked, because I have nothing to be self-conscious about.
I bought his life, and he will fall in line.
Chapter 19
Corvus
The tailor Mother has booked us with is only a couple of subway stations away, and we manage to arrive on time. I’m confused by the silence hanging over Dalton and myself like a cloud of smoke. I don’t know what fantasyland he lives in, but the truth needed to be told. And why would he be upset in the first place?
He’ll get a new chance at life, freedom from debt, my protection, money to spend on whatever he likes, and room and board in a beautiful, spacious home, as well as access to Van der Horn connections. He seems to be attracted to me too, so I would consider the availability of my body yet another perk. How come is he this upset?
I really need to calm down and think, so I reach into the pocket of my coat, retrieving the antique silver cigarette case I carry my smoking supplies in. Some of the tenements are obscured by scaffolding, like teeth stuck in braces, but fortunately not the one we’re heading for. The front of the shop has that vintage look that promises quality comparable to how things were done in the good old days. Behind large panes of glass are faceless wooden men wearing suits in both conservative and modern styles, but if I’m to survive the next hour, I need some nicotine in my system.