Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Chapter Fifteen
December
"Is Sariah okay?" I ask, jumping to my feet as soon as Alaric walks in the front door.
"Yeah," he sighs, tossing his keys toward the credenza table. "She's fine, angel." He rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "She told the detective everything. I doubt we'll get any of the shit back that they stole, but it is what it is."
I cross the living room to him, pushing my way into his arms. "I'm sorry."
He presses his lips to my forehead. "She's afraid we're going to fire her."
"Poor Sariah," I whisper. I thought my family was screwed up, but I guess we all have our own crosses to bear and our own dysfunctional families. This time of year is supposed to bring out the best in people, but sometimes, it seems like it has the opposite effect.
"We aren't firing her," Alaric murmurs. "The thought never even crossed my mind."
"Good. She's an amazing designer."
"Yeah, she is." He runs his hand down my back to slip it under my shirt. "I've been thinking about something your stepfather said this morning."
I've been thinking about a lot of things he said this morning. I'm still not sure where to fit them or how I feel about them. But I think I'm...hopeful. Maybe that makes me naive. I don't know. But I want to believe that he meant what he said. I want to believe that he's proud of me and that I'm good enough for him exactly the way I am. Because I'm tired of trying to be something I'm not. All I want to be now is happy.
"I think we should start adding each individual designer's name to the labels on their designs," Alaric says.
I lift my head to look at him.
"Our line shouldn't get credit for the work any of you do. You should." He shrugs. "It's the right thing to do."
"They'll love it."
"They?"
"I'm not a designer, Alaric."
"This is me offering you the job if you want it, angel," he murmurs. "I've seen what you're capable of. I don't need two more weeks to decide. You may be a terrible intern, but you're a goddamn brilliant designer."
"What about Blaze?"
Alaric's brows pull down. "What about him?"
"Um, shouldn't he have a say?"
"He already did. He agrees. You're a terrible intern."
I elbow him in the ribs. "I think I'll wait for a better offer."
"You're itching for that spanking I owe you, aren't you?" he growls, his eyes flaring with heat. As soon as I get a little sassy, it's like a switch flips. He gets bossy and pushes back. I love it so much.
"You're all talk, no action so far, Alar–" I squeal as he scoops me up, tossing me over his shoulder.
His hand comes down on my right ass cheek in a hard smack.
I moan his name as the sting bleeds to pleasure.
He stomps across the living room with me, depositing me in a heap over the back of the couch. His hand tangles in my hair, craning my head back as he plasters his body to mine, pinning me against the sofa from behind.
"Let's see how you like the action now, hmm?" he growls against my lips, taking my mouth in a hot kiss. I think he steals my soul as he yanks my skirt up over my hips and then drags my panties down, roughly kicking my legs apart.
His free hand runs down my ass before disappearing beneath my legs.
"Alaric!" I shout, rising on my toes.
"Soaked already."
I am. Of course I am. I think I stay that way with him. Even though he's already been inside me twice in the last twenty-four hours, I want him again just as desperately as I did the first time. More, perhaps.
He releases my hair, gently pressing on my shoulder to bend me further over the sofa. "Ass in the air, angel," he growls.
As soon as I'm where he wants me, he brings his hand down against my left cheek in a stinging slap. I shout his name, bucking against the hand working between my legs. Oh, God. He's going to ruin me.
"Count," he says.
"O-one."
"Louder, December."
"One!"
He spanks my left cheek.
"Two!" I sob, writhing in torment. It feels so good. Oh, God. I'm never going to behave again. I'll spend every day finding ways to get him to keep doing this. I know I will.
The third smack makes me scream his name.
"Three," I wail, riding his hand.
He flips me over onto the couch. I land on my back on the cushions, staring up at the ceiling.
"Spread your legs," he growls, circling around to me. "Wider."
I spread my legs as wide as I can.
His hand comes down on my sex.
I jerk in shock.
"Don't pretend you don't like it, angel," he says, his eyes pools of obsidian desire. "I feel you getting wetter."
He smacks my sex again. And then again.