Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Step. Step. Step.
“My dad.”
The air stuttered in my lungs. “I thought he wasn’t coming back until later.”
“Me too. Hence why it was so surprising to find him in my office today.”
“And?”
Step. Step. Step.
“It was an interesting conversation.”
“One that I hope you remembered our conversation last night for,” I managed from my clenched jaw.
Her slow steps turned into a confident strut until she stood in front of where I lounged in the chair she sucked me off in last week.
“Hmm…” She looked up thoughtfully and tapped her chin. “I guess you can say that.”
“How else would you say it?”
She peered down her perfectly straight nose at me and smiled, blinking wide doe eyes, glinting with mirth. “Maybe I should let you show up tomorrow and find out for yourself.”
“Aspen…” I warned.
“That is…if you have an office there anymore.”
Bands of frustration, anger, and hints of defeat wound around my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. “What did you do?”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say Daddy might not have been as happy with what I said as you might have hoped.”
I couldn’t figure out the truth behind her evasive answers and guileless smile. The longer she dragged her little game out, the more my ire grew. The warmth from before was gone, replaced by a raging fire that demanded answers. “What. Did. You. Say. To. Him?”
Her smile dropped, leaving behind a victorious stare that snapped my control.
“Like I said, I—”
I sat up and snatched her arm, jerking her down on my lap, earning another surprised yelp. One arm banded around her hips while the other pinned her arms to hold her in place. “I’m done playing games, Aspen. Now tell me.”
All at once, she stopped fighting my hold and sighed in disgust before raising her annoyed gaze to mine. “That we’re happily engaged.”
The words fought through coiled muscles and racing adrenaline before they finally sank in and made sense. Despite the relief they provided, it wasn’t enough to release the tension she’d twisted through me. “Such a fucking brat. I should bend you over right here,” I started. But then…another idea struck. I knew the perfect way to burn through the remaining pressure around my chest. Slowly, I leaned in and dragged my nose up her neck to nip at her ear. “Or better yet. I could make you kneel right here and stuff my cock down this pretty throat until you choke on it. Then have you begging for more.”
She gasped softly, and her eyes slid closed. I held my breath, waiting for her to give in.
“I’d rather not.”
The fantasy of fucking her mouth vanished beneath her bored tone, but I didn’t pull back. Not yet. “I could order you.”
She sat up and muttered the one word guaranteed to make me stop. “Red.”
Immediately, my hands fell to the arms of the chair, and I sat back.
Instead of pulling away as I expected, she remained perched on my legs, folding her hands primly over her lap with a small smile. “Good to know that works.”
Her nonchalance irked the dominant in me. “Of course it works,” I ground out. “It’s not a word I take lightly. So, please don’t use it as a joke.”
She studied me, taking in my pinched brows, and her smile dropped. I kept hold of the arms of the chair and let her look—let her take in my sincerity. “I’m not,” she said finally, dropping her gaze and standing with a heavy sigh.
I missed the heat and weight of her against me. And when she ran her hands through her hair, I struggled not to pull her back and soothe the lines pulling at her forehead.
“I’m tired,” she confessed. “And as easily as you thought the conversation with my father would go, it didn’t. I don’t lie to him, and it feels wrong to do it now. Add in all the final prep for the gala this weekend, and I’m just fucking tired.”
Her shoulders dropped as if the lie and her to-do list were physical weights pulling her down. Again, I fought the urge to tug her to me, but that wasn’t our relationship. I offered her relief through release, and she shut down the idea of playing tonight. Yet, my chest pinched at the thought of sending her off like this. A sharp pang that came too close to resembling the desire to be more for her—the desire to have a relationship I used to crave. One where my wife would lean on me. One where I was her anchor, and I would do anything to help her through whatever storm plagued her.
This feeling is not the same as it used to be, I assured myself. It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t.
No matter how much I tried to shove the ache aside, it wouldn’t fade. Frustrated with my lack of control over my own body, I decided on a different tactic. One that would appease this useless need to offer comfort and stay within the boundaries of our relationship. One that would possibly mend the gap created by our argument last night. One that would give her an example of what I meant when I’d asked for a real marriage. Not one of love, but one that included a partnership. And partners were allowed to offer at least a little comfort. It didn’t mean anything beyond making her more comfortable, which would make my life easier.