Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong?”
He drags his hand down his face. “I’ve got to…”
“What?” He looks around the room like a scared animal. “Sebastian?”
He tears a towel from the hanger and wraps it around his waist. “Condom,” he says before he rushes from the room.
Huh? I turn the shower off, and my eyes widen. Oh shit, we forgot a condom.
Oh…he’s getting a condom, I turn the shower back on and get in under the hot water, waiting for him to get back in. I put my head under the water and smile up at the ceiling as the steaming hot water runs over my face. I can’t believe this night.
Sebastian comes back into the bathroom, now fully dressed.
“I’ve got to go,” he says.
“What?”
His eyes hold mine, but he says nothing.
“What are you doing?” I frown. “We have all night together.”
He opens his mouth to say something and then stops himself. “I’ll see you later.” Without another word, he rushes out of the room.
I turn off the shower and run after him, grabbing a towel from the rack.
“What? Why?” I call out.
“I have to go.” He storms toward the front door.
“Where?”
“Home.”
My face falls as I connect the dots. “Are you kidding me?” I snap.
He stops.
“Are you fucking married?”
He stops and spins back toward me. “What?”
“You’re married!” I cry. “You do have a wife and family, don’t you? That’s why you come here. That’s why you have to leave?”
He screws his face up, clearly disgusted. “What?”
I get a vision of a wife at home waiting for him, and three little kids tucked up safely in their beds waiting for Daddy.
I get a lump in my throat because, hell, I do feel like a whore now. The lowest form of low.
“Are you married?” I whisper.
“No.”
“Is there someone waiting for you at home?”
“That’s none of your business.”
My eyes well with tears.
He drags his hand through his hair. “I’m single,” he finally says. “Not that it matters.”
He turns, and without another word, he leaves.
Regret swims around in my stomach.
I walk to the door and rest my forehead on the back of it.
What the hell just happened?
4
April
I turn and look around the now silent apartment, taking in all its luxurious splendor. My eyes drift to the two half-empty glasses of alcohol on the counter.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “What the hell was that?”
I drag my hand down my face and trudge back up the hall. I look back toward the front door.
Maybe he’ll come back?
I roll my eyes at myself.
Yeah, sure he will.
I get back in the shower and put my head under the steaming hot water.
My body is still thumping. I can feel a pulse in my sex. I wash myself, and it stings from the stretch of having him inside me. His body worked mine over well—too well.
How did that all go so wrong?
I finish up in the shower and dry myself. I put on the black velvet robe that’s hanging on the back of the walk-in wardrobe door, and I walk back out to the living area. A sense of regret sits in my chest.
Damn it… I’m pissed at myself.
Why would I sleep with him when I promised myself I wouldn’t? That is not who I am.
Mind you, he was the last person on Earth I thought would come to a place like this.
I pour myself another glass of champagne, and I peer inside the fridge to find a huge serving of chocolate covered strawberries sitting on a silver platter. I take them out and walk into the living room, placing them on the coffee table in front of me. I pick up the remote and turn the television on.
I drop down and curl my legs up beneath me.
Sipping on my champagne, I stare into space, his words coming back to me.
I’m single. Not that it matters.
I eat a strawberry and the wonderful flavor bursts through my mouth.
Answer the question, Cartier. Do you want my cock… or will I go and get someone else who does? Any wet pussy will do.
God.
I thought we were role playing… but were we?
I close my eyes and drain my glass, only to refill it immediately. I want to forget tonight ever happened.
Five thousand pounds never felt so cheap.
“Don’t be lazy. Your essay details are in the assignment sheet that was emailed to you last week,” the lecturer says from his place on the stage. “Remember: this is thirty percent of your total mark. Switch on, people.”
The class gives an audible groan.
The bell rings through the speaker, notifying us of the end of the class, and we begin to pack up our desks.
“If you are having problems,” the lecturer calls, “I’m holding a study group after class next Thursday night in the library to help you prepare.”
I put my laptop into my bag. I really should go to that. I have no idea how to navigate this essay. I looked at it briefly last week, and it confused the hell out of me.