Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Definitely,” Marley says as she thinks. “I’m going to google this.”
“Dress sense doesn’t come up on Google, Marley.”
“No, but stylists do.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“I can’t afford a stylist.”
“What you can’t afford is to look like a bag of shit. This is his announcement to the world that you and he are together. It’s an important event, and everyone is going to be looking at you. Don’t worry; we’ll give her a strict budget to work with.”
I stare at her as I process her advice. “Do you think? Isn’t getting a stylist a bit over the top?”
“Claire, everyone in that ballroom is going to use a stylist, and besides, this is New York. Nothing is over the top. I got this. Leave it to me.”
I pull onto my street and see the black Aston Martin parked in my driveway, and I bite my lip to stifle my smile.
He beat me home.
Tristan Miles is at my house . . . with my kids.
Wonders never cease.
I give a subtle shake of my head in disbelief as I go over the last few months. What a whirlwind.
I’ve gone from hating him to tolerating him to sleeping with him to loving him.
I pull into the driveway and park my car alongside his . . . and I do love him.
Regardless of what happens in the future, I love Tristan. I can happily admit it now.
I walk in through the front door to the sound of oohs and aahs.
“Oh my God, Mom. Look at this,” Harry cries in excitement.
I turn the corner to see them all hunched over the dining table, a huge box front and center before them.
“Hello,” I call.
“Mom, look what Tristan got us,” Harry screams.
I haven’t seen him this excited in forever. “What?” I ask as my eyes flick to the gigantic box.
“The rocket ship model.” He gasps.
My mouth falls open. “The what?”
Harry reads the back of the box. “Holy hell, look at this,” he cries as he points to something on the back of the box.
I blink as I try to keep up with what is going on here. “Tris, that model is stupidly expensive.”
Tristan’s eyes rise to meet mine, and he gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Anderson.”
I smile as my stomach flips . . . I know that tone, and I know that nickname.
“What have you done?” I ask.
“I bought Wiz a present.” He shrugs casually. “He won the bet fair and square and then didn’t get to eat cockroaches. It was only right that I pay up.”
I stare at him.
“And it’s for the other boys as well. We’re all going to do it together.”
The boys all smile broadly as they lean over the box and read it out loud.
“Take it out of the box and lay it all out in the colored numbers. Keep the pieces in their individual bags, though. I’m going to change my clothes,” Tristan says as he walks out into the living room.
The boys begin to chatter in excitement as they begin to open the box. “Get the scissors,” Harry directs.
I see something from the corner of my eye, and I turn to see Tristan giving me a come-here curl of his finger. I glance back to the boys to see that they are completely distracted, and I give him a subtle nod.
He disappears up the stairs to my bedroom, and I wait for a few moments. “I’m going to get the washing off the line,” I say, and then I go out the back door and walk around the front and come in the front door and sneak up the stairs.
I walk into my bedroom, and he pounces on me like a tiger. He flicks the lock on the door and pins me to the wall.
“Anderson,” he whispers darkly. His lips take mine.
I smile. “Hi.”
He grinds himself up against me, and I can feel that he’s hard. He holds my face as he kisses me deeply.
“You seem very pleased to see me.” I smile.
“Needy,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Needy for what?” I breathe.
He bites my neck. “I need to be fucked, Anderson . . . and as my designated fuckee, you need to find a way to make that happen. Tonight.”
I smile as his hand goes to my behind, and he drags my body over his. His teeth graze my neck, and I smile up at the ceiling. He’s not joking; he really does need to be fucked. I can feel the need oozing out of him.
“How am I going to do that?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Get creative.” He pushes me back against the wall hard, and my body weakens under his power.
“On the couch tonight—or in the laundry.” He kisses me again. “Fuck me in my car out on the street, for all I care. I just need you to fuck me.”