Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Casey flushed, excitement sparking in his gaze. “Yes, Sir.”
Galan smiled, brushing his thumb over his boy’s cheek. “After tonight, everyone will know you’re mine.”
Belladonna Mansion
Jonah’s Room
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
5:00 a.m.
The alarm blared in his room at five a.m.
Jonah rolled onto his side with a groan—he never should’ve stayed up as long as he did. But he only got to explore the mansion after everyone else had gone to bed.
For a long moment, he just lay there in the stillness of the guest suite Thorn had given him, listening to the crashing waves outside.
He still couldn’t believe he lived here. A mansion. A haven.
His trainer had insisted it would be good for him, told him he’d find peace here—maybe even love.
Jonah still thought he was crazy for saying yes.
He pushed himself up, sat on the edge of the bed, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
The room was spacious, elegant, too good for him, but he was grateful, considering where he’d been three years ago.
His steady job at Rise Lift paid better than anything back in Illinois, enough that in another year or two, he might be able to afford his own house and to hire a private investigator. That was the thought that kept him moving.
That and…him.
He missed him like an ache that never dulled, like an amputated limb.
His chest tightened. He didn’t let himself think of Ross often, but late nights and early mornings were the hardest.
The loneliness seemed to echo in his hollowed heart louder at this hour, when a full day loomed ahead, knowing he had no one to come home to.
Jonah dressed in his gray work pants and navy shirt, tying his boots in a hurry. He did everything quietly, careful to leave before he ran into the other residents.
Thorn’s gentlemen were kind and sweet, but Jonah couldn’t even look them in the eye. They were confident, well-built, handsome in ways he could never imagine being.
Just standing in the same room as them made his body pulse with shame. He didn’t want their pity touches and polite smiles. He didn’t want them to see him at all.
Thorn begged him not to leave, said he was working on the right match for him, but Jonah couldn’t fathom it. Axel, Lincoln, any of them—no way. Men like that didn’t find men like him attractive.
He slipped down the back stairwell and out to his car, rain still spitting from last night’s storm.
His stomach growled, loud and insistent. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch.
The thought of cooking or eating in Belladonna’s vast kitchen made his throat close. If anyone saw him in there, of course, it would be while he was eating.
Where else would they find me, besides raiding the fridge?
He was going to have to face tonight at the masquerade ball.
Thorn said it was tradition—something to ease the new men into the house, especially ones who weren’t ready to show their faces…like him.
Jonah thought the mask might help, but he was beyond nervous about wearing the tuxedo waiting in his closet.
Thorn had sent him to his tailor, and Jonah supposed it fit as well as a suit could around his bulk.
Jonah’s empty stomach flipped when he imagined every seam straining, every man’s eye catching and lingering on his many curves. Just the thought of stepping into that ballroom would have him sweating all day.
He drove robotically down Virginia Beach Blvd until the glow of the Sunnyside diner sign, a few blocks from his job, came into view.
He got in line at the counter, keeping his head down and voice low.
“Egg white omelet, two orders of turkey sausage, and a skinny latte with—
Behind him, a sharp chuckle broke through his order and the clattering of plates.
It wasn’t loud enough to be an outburst. It was the kind of laugh laced with cruelty, even when muffled.
His ears burned as he curled in on himself. He didn’t dare turn around. He didn’t have to. He’d heard those laughs all his life: on playgrounds, locker rooms, restaurants, in factory breakrooms.
He risked a glance up to see the young waiter biting his lip as if he were struggling to hold in his own laugh.
Jonah blinked away tears as the waiter smiled and recited, “One skinny latte.”
Jonah wanted to tell him to forget it, that he didn’t need anything, that he just realized he was late for work and had to go. But instead, he just stood there, pretending none of the ridicule stung.
“…and an extra-large water,” the server continued mumbling.
His trainer’s voice was like a drill sergeant living in his head. “No sugar, Jonah, lean meats, no grease, lots of fresh fruit and vegetables.”
Behind him, someone snickered. “Yeah, right. You know you want that lumberjack breakfast.”
Jonah felt as if he’d suddenly come down with a fever.
He didn’t turn around, frozen in place.
He gripped the counter until his knuckles cracked.