Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“I can’t wait for us to be home. You leave everything to me, Kicker. Leave it all to me.”
10
Emily
I’m still sore when we’re eating breakfast together. I swear I can still feel Roman’s cock inside me. My body is marked with his bruises.
Every twinge of pain makes me grin with the knowledge that I finally got what I wanted.
“Baby…”
I smile at him, licking my lips provocatively. “Yes, cowboy?”
“You know I love that wedding outfit, but we’re eating breakfast.”
I glance down and shrug. The corset is gorgeous, with its white chiffon skirting cut right up in front. A little disheveled right now, but still perfect. “You think I’m just going to wear this for one day? I want everyone to know I’m married to you, Roman Marshall. I might wear this every day for the rest of my life.”
He chuckles. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy in love, sure.”
I dip a corner of toast into my egg yolk and lift it to my mouth, the yellow liquid threatening to drip down inside my corset the whole way from the table to my mouth. It doesn’t, though. I bite off the corner, then find Roman watching me with a pained look on his face. “What?”
“I can’t believe I’m jealous of a slice of toast and egg.”
The laugh shakes my whole chest as I realize what he means, and I bob my eyebrows. “I had to wait so long, Saint Roman, I’m sure you can give me a half hour while I eat breakfast before you fill me up again.”
Roman grunts. “Never should have listened to your fucking dad.”
“What’s that?”
He waves it off. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me. What does my dad have to do with the morning after my wedding night?”
Roman shakes his head. “It’s not really on him. Just a few things he said that made me take notice.”
“You wouldn’t knock me up before we were married because of my dad?”
Roman shrugs. “No. Because of me. I needed to know that I was right for you. That I could give you the life you deserve. You can do whatever you put your mind to. You’re smart, Emily, and talented. You want to race, I’ll fucking sponsor you myself.”
I smirk. “You do realize I’m a millionaire, right? I don’t exactly need someone to take care of me.”
“Not financially, maybe. But I wouldn’t live off Allister’s money, and I sure as shit won’t live off yours. I’m going to take care of you in every way, and that starts now.”
He’s up from the table in an instant, and the look on his face leaves no doubt.
“I want to finish my sausage,” I complain.
“Yeah, and you’re going to, baby girl.”
Despite Roman’s best possible distractions, my stomach is still crying out for more sausage and bacon, and apparently, the hotel stops serving breakfast at eleven am. I tried telling them that it wasn’t my fault, that my husband didn’t give me chance to finish before it went cold, but I was told it was a rule, and that there’s a place just down the street that serves breakfast until mid-afternoon.
My husband.
The words don’t seem real, even now. Nor does the smile that’s plastered to my face as I cross the street, heading for Mindy’s Diner. I’m pretty sure my overprotective new husband wouldn’t be too pleased that I’m out here alone, especially dressed in my wedding dress, which I realize at some point I have to stop wearing, but I’m not ready.
Roman fucked me until he passed out, and I was hungry.
I hear the wolf whistle before I feel the fingers on my arm.
“Hey, cutie, out here all alone? Sun’s shinin’, birds are singin’. Girl like you shouldn’t be lonely on a day like this.”
I shrug away from his clammy fingers as I turn. “Thanks, but I’m married.”
“Clearly.” He snorts, and I flash the ring that they can probably see from the International Space Station, and barely register the guy before I turn back to my errand. He must be in his fifties. Tall, kind of handsome, I guess. Probably used to catch the eye of all the ladies before the drink started turning his face a permanent, ugly shade of lobster red.
I can smell it on him from here, and all I want is to get away…
“Hey, no need to be too quick to rush off, sweetheart. I’ve got a suite and a bottle of champagne with your name all over it. Hubby doesn’t have to know anything about it. Hey, slow down—”
I feel his fingers on my upper arm again, and before I can shrug away, he’s already digging them into my flesh, trying to pull me back toward him.
And I see red.
I’m not violent, but I’m not a fucking china doll either.
With a scream, I slash my nails across his face, and now he does let go. As he doubles over, clutching a hand to his eyes and calling me a little bitch, I bring my knee up into his groin as hard as I can, and feel the crunch of balls being squished.