Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I can’t help myself, I slide my fingers over his forearm, but he is not trying to keep me at a distance and brings my hand to his lips. I stare at him, enchanted as he trails kisses over its back, and finally bites into the flesh of my palm.
A reminder that he’s not the gentle soul his long eyelashes and beauty spots would have me believe.
Only then I remember. “My cat. He’s called Whiskers, and I’m not making it up to call the cops or something. You need to let me arrange a cat sitter.”
“Already taken care of, baby,” Damen says, stretching as he searches for something on his phone. Moments later, I’m facing a picture of Whiskers and the unmistakable tower of boxes stacked in the corner of my tiny studio.
Damen slides his thumb over the screen to show me a guy with a scar on his face holding my fluffy son. Traitor looks like he’s having the time of his life.
“And this is…?” I ask, dumbfounded. I don’t know if I should be flattered that he thought of everything, or terrified that he had someone break into my home.
“Oh, that’s my cousin. He’s staying in New York over the holidays so I gave him your keys. He was thrilled, since he travels too much to have pets of his own.”
I don’t bother asking what he does for a job, because I’m too afraid the answer would be ‘assassin’. But I do wonder if this means my cat is a hostage.
“Thanks,” I say in the end, because I guess it was thoughtful.
But Damen isn’t yet done with me and pulls me close, grabbing what looks like a full-sized restaurant menu. “Right, let's get some food in us before we land. We’ll need the energy for a few hours of shopping.”
It seems I have no choice but to interact with someone who saw me suck dick after all. When I see what’s on the menu, I no longer give a shit.
Chapter 4
Damen
I usually travel by private jet twice a month, but it’s a treat to see Kill’s reactions to everything I’ve had at my disposal since childhood. My cousin told me in detail how small and cramped my fake husband’s place is. Offering him a heavenly Christmas vacation with all-inclusive food, travel, shopping and dick-on-demand is the least I can do.
I started strong by getting rid of a menace who attempted to crash into his life uninvited, then offered him a generous helping of protein, followed by a big breakfast and shower in the on-board bathroom.
One of my cars was waiting for us, and we soon left the airport, heading straight for an area dense with luxurious boutiques, medical spas, and other facilities I hope to make my new partner familiar with. All this before noon.
I’m so impressed with him. I expected a full-on meltdown after he woke up on board, and he didn’t even cry. Of course it could be just his attempt to appease me, so I most definitely need to keep an eye on him, but maybe he’s a better fit for this trip than I could have imagined?
When I steal another glance at him, I notice the chipped black nail polish and make a note that I need to book us in for manicures. I wonder if he’s ever had one done by a professional, and it makes me giddy that I might get to treat him to something new. If he chooses to, he can stay in the ripped jeans and leather jacket combo, but he needs spare clothes, and I will try to entice him to check out the luxury brands that carry an upmarket version of his style. He should find something appropriate at Vivienne Westwood or Alexander McQueen shops.
“Excited?” I ask, driving down a wide street with gloriously over-the-top store fronts. Silver and midnight blue seem to be the agreed-upon decoration colors this year, so trees bedazzled with ornaments and tiny lights stand watch on both sides as I make my way to the visitor center.
“To spend your money? Always.” Killian winks at me, and I have to admit I love his cocky attitude. He’s funny, horny, and hot. What’s not to like? With that toxic green hair and nose ring, he ticks all my boxes. When he looks around with his hands stuffed into his pockets, I notice he needs gloves as well. We have so much to buy and so little time.
A valet is waiting for our scheduled arrival under a blue-and-silver canopy, and I pass him the keys before reaching out for Kill’s hand. My boy hesitates for only a moment but holds my hand, and I slide our entwined fingers down the pocket of my coat.
“You need clothes, underwear, jewelry, perfume… am I missing something? Snow boots?” I ask, leading the way past the visitor center and through an alleyway that soon spits us out into a pedestrian-only area built to imitate a small town in Vermont. The Christmas decorations here are even more opulent, and each shop front dazzles with themed products vying for our attention.