Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
“You’re mine, too,” I whisper back, slowly drawing his mouth down to mine, kissing him with all of the promise in my heart while he withdraws himself and lays down beside me, his intensity focused on me the whole time.
We cling to each other as we descend into sleep.
I’m going to have to find another way to pay my father’s debt.
I won’t dupe this man. I love him.
9
Koen
“Ihave clothes at home,” Meg says in between bites of her omelet, her angelic hazel eyes sparkling back at me across the kitchen island. My beautiful, beautiful girl. “I don’t need new ones.”
Every time I think I’ve reached peak madness when it comes to this girl, it goes up another notch. I can almost feel a crank turning inside me, tautening the bow strings of my sanity at the mere suggestion that she has somewhere else to reside beside my bed. Under my roof. In my possession. “Meg, there is a major problem with the clothes you have at home,” I say, attempting to sound calm. Reasonable. Which I am not.
Her brows pull together. “What is the problem?”
“You’d have to go home to get them. And that’s not happening.”
Slowly, her fork lowers and my stomach ties itself in a knot. I swear to Christ, if she tries to leave, I will go fucking mental. “My siblings are at home, Koen. I take care of them.”
Stay calm. Stay calm. “I told you, they can come here.”
“You’re so ready to have this peacefulness shattered, are you?” she laughs.
“You’ve shattered my peace and given it to me at the same time.” Unable to stay away from her, I finish pouring my cup of coffee, then move around the island to stand in front of her, wanting to beat my chest like a brute over the fact that she’s wearing my T-shirt as a nightshirt. “I don’t know left from right anymore. I just know you’re not going home. This is your home now.”
She strokes the sides of my face with her fingertips, coaxing happiness through the panic. More happiness than I’ve felt in my entire life. With one tiny little touch, she wields magic. “If I left, I would only come back.”
“No.”
“I told you, Koen. I’m yours.”
“Then act like it,” I grunt, playfully nudging her forehead with mine.
Her face tilts up to mine, her tongue making the barest contact with the seam of my mouth. Ever so slightly, her thighs inch apart on the stool. “I thought I did a good job showing you earlier how completely I’m yours.”
Good fucking lord, she has my dick on a string. It stirs every time she breathes, let alone reminds me of our explosive chemistry in bed. The way she looked up at me with a mixture of realized power, encouragement, trust and obedience is addictive in itself, but there’s such an overflow of good fortune beyond that, I could never list everything that makes me want to fuck her repeatedly for eternity and beyond. Her flexible body, her instincts when it comes to my needs, my hunger. Her husky cries. Her pussy. I’m not joking when I say I’d pay a million dollars just to look at it while I beat off, let alone have the honor of fucking it. I’m sweating right now just picturing how my dick is going to look sliding into that little wet hole from the back.
FUCK.
Her body is a drug, yes, but even I am not emotionally blind enough to miss what happens to my heart and soul when she’s letting me make love to her.
I didn’t know it was possible to connect with another human being like that. It’s not possible for me. Not with anyone but Meg. My Meg. A collision of wild happiness and blistering lust I don’t think men experience often, if ever. Somehow, she is giving that experience to me. “What we did together, baby…” I have to pause, thanks to the emotion in my throat. “There are no adequate words.”
“Not even fucktastic?” she deadpans.
I laugh through the choked feeling. I laugh in my own kitchen for the very first time.
Does she know she’s a one in a million? Does the world know? I struggle between wanting everyone to witness her majesty and hide her away, so no one can ever see her. How is it that I’m the one who gets to keep this person? “Fucktastic. Let’s trademark it.”
Her nose wrinkles when she laughs, but it dissolves into a sigh. “I don’t want you to buy me new clothes. I’m not…accustomed to someone supporting me. I’ve always done the supporting.”
“And now you’ll be rewarded for your selflessness. It’s as simple as that.”
“It’s not. I like to earn my keep.” I’m ready to start shouting about my nine-figure bank account and multiple investment properties, but she gasps, bringing me up short. “I have an idea,” she says. “We should take your violin down to the bus station and perform for cash. I could dance for my cut. It’ll be fun.”