Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“That’s true, but maybe I want something different now. Maybe I’ve changed,” I say in a deep growl.
She bites her lip, the motion involuntary.
I squeeze her wrist, just hard enough. “Don’t look so scared, Kayleigh. It’s not going to happen overnight, and besides I own you, sweetheart. And I’m not done with you yet.”
She shivers, her other hand clenching tight around the fork. “How long?”
I tilt my head. “How long what?”
She swallows. “How long until you get bored? Until you send me away so that you can move forward with the dream of your big house, with a garden and kids?”
Ah, so she has no idea that I’m thinking of sharing the aforementioned house and kids with her. And why would she? I’ve given nothing to let on that my mind has been spinning in circles recently, thinking of nothing else but my pretty blonde stepsister. That I can’t think of anything but Kayleigh, in fact, even with the IPO coming up.
I let my gaze drift over the gorgeous girl, the bare skin, the way the dress does nothing to hide the roundness of her hips, the slope of her shoulders, the spill of hair down her back. “Well, a million dollars on a personal assistant’s salary takes a long time to pay off,” I say in a silky tone. “But really, this arrangement isn’t over until I say it’s over.”
She flushes deeper, the pink fetching. I imagine kissing her at the hollow of her throat, where her pulse flutters, and then removing her dress and kissing her all over. But Kayleigh’s trying to stay calm. She sets her fork down, hands folded, and stares at the counter.
I release her wrist, but let my fingers drag down her arm, slow and soft. “You belong to me,” I say, and the words come out like a prayer. “Which means I get to do whatever I want.”
She looks up, eyes wide and innocently blue. “But what do you want, Trevor?”
I smile, slow and patient. “A lot of things. We could have a lot of fun together, Kay. But tonight, I think I want to take pictures of you.”
She jerks back, the motion so abrupt she almost knocks her stool over. “What kind of pictures?”
“The kind you sent me,” I say, voice low and dangerous. “But better. Professional. Ever since I got that unexpected gift in my Inbox, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. I’ve jerked off to those photos multiple times, Kay. They were the best present ever.”
Her mouth works, but no sound comes out.
I stand, walk around the island, and take her by the hand. Her fingers are cold, but her palm is sweating.
“Come on, sweetheart. Did you take that Epsom salt bath like I recommended?”
She nods, eyes wide, and I chuckle before leading her down the hallway, past the master bedroom, to the heavy, unmarked door at the end. She’s never been in here. I can feel her heart hammering through the bones of her hand.
I key in the code, then push open the door. The room is all glass and steel, with a huge, curved white wall and a scattering of softboxes and lighting rigs. There are backdrops in every color, a small dressing area with a curtain, and a full vanity with ring lights. In the center is a tripod, its lens aimed dead center at a single white stool.
She lets out a tiny gasp, the sound almost lost in the hush of the room.
I drop her hand and move to the camera, flipping switches, checking settings. “Take off your dress,” I say, not looking at her.
She hesitates, then unties the sash, lets it fall to the floor. She’s nude underneath, not even a bra. Her body is all curves and flush, the nipples pink and already hard, the pale skin alive in the harsh light.
“Beautiful,” I growl. “Now sit on the stool,” I command, and she does, legs pressed tight together, arms crossed over her chest.
I adjust the lens, focus, and fire a test shot. The flash is cold and brutal, but her skin glows in it.
I start with the easy poses: sitting, standing, hands on knees, hands at her sides. She tries to hide herself at first, but I don’t let her. I move her arms, open her legs, showing off that pretty pink, and tilt her chin until she’s looking right into the barrel of the lens. The more I work, the more she relaxes, her blush turning from fear to something like pride.
I snap a hundred pictures in ten minutes. Her hair slips loose from the knot and falls around her face. She starts to forget I’m there, the poses growing looser, more animal. I catch her with her mouth parted, eyes closed, the wet pink of her tongue showing just a little as she cups those huge tits.