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)
“Why of course. Please have a seat and enjoy some complimentary lemon water in the meanwhile.” The woman’s face brightens into a wide smile, which makes sense as she works on commission, and my mother spends more money here than is humanly reasonable. Something about essential oils exclusive to this brand.
As she walks off, I scan the elongated store for the green hair that makes Killian easy to spot. Part of me dreads he might have tried running away, and I would have to discipline him when I find him, but no, he’s by a cabinet farther down, spritzing and smelling one sample after another. I can’t wait to bury my face in his hair when I fuck him and smell the shampoo of his choosing. He looked so hot at my feet, jerking off after giving me head, as if he couldn’t take another moment with full balls.
I can’t wait to bring him to that state of frenzy again.
I sip some of my water and walk toward him, planning to speak to him as if we’re strangers, exchanging flirtatious comments. I wish we had enough time for a few moments in some backroom, my fingers buried in his warm crack, but that has to wait, so instead I appreciate the delicious curve of his ass. I’ve not even had a chance to see it bare, because the shower on the plane was too small for two.
As I approach slowly, just enjoying the view, a shop assistant comes up to him from the other side so I stall to give him space.
“Sir, have you not sampled enough? I understand it can be hard to choose, but we can’t allow the wasting of our product, as it is very expensive. I hope you understand. I can help if you’d like to make a purchase though,” she says with a stiff smile.
Kill turns to her, deer in the headlights. “I… um…” he then clears his throat. “I’ll be choosing as long as I fucking want to!”
“Sir, I need to ask you to leave,” she says with a scowl.
“You heard the lady, Killian. She doesn’t want our business,” I say in a clipped tone and offer him my hand. I don’t bother looking at the woman who decided to go out of her way and insult my boy, but her manager is already on her way, flustered.
“Mr. Van der Horn, what seems to be the problem?”
“One of your staff decided to harass my husband.”
The woman in question goes pale, but her manager speaks. “Your… husband?” She looks between me and Killian as he slides his fingers into my grip. She soon regains her composure though. “I will speak to Sophia about it. I am so very sorry. Is there anything we can—”
I butt in, because I’m seething when I see Kill’s lips turn downward. I brought him here with a promise of luxury at his fingertips, and he gets harassed from the get-go. “That won’t cut it. This is his first time here, and he has every right to sample whatever he pleases, whether he fits Sophia’s vision of the perfect client or not. I will never stand for my family being insulted and treated as less than.”
Other customers watch us in silence, and I am fine with that. I pull Killian close and place both my hands on his shoulders. “I will never again cross your threshold, and my mother will hear about this situation too. Don’t bother completing her order!”
“Mr. Van der Horn, I am so—” the manager tries, but I just shake my head, and turn around, storming out of there with Killian.
I still can’t believe this has happened, and my mind conjures violent deaths for all the Jardin de Oud employees followed by the place burning down. Killian might have been a stranger yesterday, but I’m responsible for him now. He’s family. He’s my husband, and my head throbs with fury when I imagine how upset he must be. He might be used to bar scuffles, but words from bitches like Sophia can cut deeper than a knife.
He’s proven to be quite chatty, so his silence makes me uneasy. I don’t want the fire in him extinguished even if it means I’m the one getting burned sometimes.
“I’m so sorry about this,” I say, leading him toward a bench under an old tree. I hate that he’s now like a puppet letting me adjust him in whatever position I desire, but what just happened must have been quite a shock. “Did I not do enough? Shall I go back there? Break something?” I ask, crouching at his feet.
He snorts but won’t look into my eyes. “It’s fine.” He shrugs.
“It’s not. No one treats my husband that way.”
My heart skips a beat when the words catch his attention and he finally meets my gaze. “No one’s ever stood up for me, you know?” Maybe that’s why he’s so fast to bristle like a porcupine. But I can work with that. With gentle touch and soft words, I can make him believe me.