Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“But then I’d write shit like how sad I am, and why does no one like me? That was usually for my Dad to see. When I became a teenager, I got a lotta shit out of him with that tactic.”
“And you feel no shame, I gather.”
“Shame? What the hell is that? I treat everyone according to how they treat me, and I’ll be the first to admit that my first inclination is murder. Most people have to talk themselves into killing someone; I have to talk myself out of it. The thing is, they never know.”
“Totally understandable. So, maybe you can start keeping a journal and leaving it around for me to find; that way, I’d know what to expect from one day to the next.”
“No thanks! I do not need my feelings about you written into posterity.”
“What are you trying to say?” He sounded salty.
“You know exactly what I’m saying. But don’t worry, you’ll know if I plan to kill you.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I’ll drop little hints here and there, and I’m sure you’ll be able to see it in my face since you know me so well and all.”
I smirked at him and looked out the window. He grabbed me and tried to smother me with his tongue. “Don’t start anything back here that you can’t finish.” He acted as if he’d just remembered the driver.
“Shit! How hungry are you?”
He has a quaint and absolutely gorgeous pied a terre in the seventh arrondissement with a full staff that could whip up a sandwich or some crepes with no problem. “Let’s go home.”
“We’re back!” Goodness, it was good to be home. I left Garrett at the door of our new home and went inside. I used to visit these walls every summer at least once a week from the age of nine until I left for college.
This old antebellum mansion that had been once owned by a very prestigious railroad magnet and had been in his family for generations had been left pretty much the way it was back in the nineteenth century.
They don’t build houses like this these days, that’s for sure. The walls had been done while we were away and Garrett had had the furnishing reupholstered with the same fabric and print. I’m sure it had cost him a mint.
I didn’t even know that he had done all this until we were on the plane on our way here. His valet, yes, he has one, brought in our bags, but then I heard more than one voice in the corridor, and I turned to see a line of people standing there in uniform.
“Oh, hello!” I held out my hand to shake the hand of the man standing closest to me. I went down the line greeting the men and women, who, I would soon find out, were the household staff.
There was a butler, a chief housekeeper, a couple maids, no joke, a couple drivers, groundskeepers, head gardener… My head started pounding by the sixth or seventh person in line. I kept looking over at him with a ‘Are you fucking serious’ look on my face.
By the time we made it upstairs to the master suite, which has always been my favorite room in the house, with its silk walls, literally, walls covered in damask silk, high ceilings, and a large trundle canopy bed, I was in total awe.
Garrett had had the furniture cleaned and shined to within an inch of its life and the walls here had been reupholstered as well. I kept turning around in circles with a cheesy grin on my face. “I can’t believe you bought it. Thank you.”
“It’s yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s in your name. There are some things we have to keep up with since it’s a historical site, but it’s yours.”
“Well, I know you bought it back.”
“No, Alyssa, that’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying that the deed is in your name.”
My mouth dropped to my chest. “No way.” My heart was beating like crazy in my chest. I’m not sure what it was about this purchase after all the others, but the fact that he had acquired something I had been in love with since my childhood, something that, by all rights, should not have been for sale, says so much about what he feels for me.
I ran and threw my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. I find myself being slutty these days so that something as simple as a kiss can get me going. Like now. You’d think the hours we spent wrapped around each other on the plane didn’t happen because I wanted him again.
I feel like I always want him, not because of anything he’d bought or given but because of the way his caring for me makes me feel. I don’t want to be selfish with him, to just take without giving. And at moments like this, when I’m getting wet between the thighs and my heart is knocking against my chest, when the feel of his arms as they come around me makes me think of forever with him.