Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Are you threatening me right now?”
“Yes I am. Any issues this evening, and I will rip that expensive dress off your body and spank your pretty ass until it’s raw and pink and only when you’re shaking and begging will I finally sink my big dick into your lovely, warm, soaking wet pussy, and I will have my way with you until I’m satisfied. Do you understand?”
Oh shit. My mouth falls open and I gape in alarm, heart racing, a tingle buzzing between my legs.
“You… you can’t threaten me with sex!”
“I didn’t say sex. I said I was going to spank and fuck you, Deanna. There’s a big difference.” He releases my wrist and turns back to the window. “Enjoy the drive. We’re nearly there.”
Well fuck. I shift to my side of the car, head spinning. What the hell is with this guy? One second he’s saying how beautiful I am, and the next he’s threatening to fuck me into oblivion if I somehow embarrass him.
This party is important, that’s obvious. Whoever these people are, Prime wants to impress them. But since when does my husband care what anyone thinks?
He’s always been a maverick. Prime moves through the world like he expects it to bend to his ideas of what’s wrong and what’s right. Norms are more like suggestions in his mind.
Despite him breaking every rule imaginable, he’s still wildly successful and popular. Everyone loves him. I’ve seen women literally fall over themselves trying to get close to him and men aren’t that much different.
So why’s he suddenly acting like he cares about anything?
It’s bugging me as the car pulls into a long driveway. A perfectly manicured lawn with cute bushes and gorgeous old trees leads to a massive house. We’re in the Gladwyne neighborhood, a town right in the Main Line, Philly’s oldest and most influential area. Old money still lingers in this place, and I’m guessing this Ricardo guy’s got plenty of it. We’re let out before a set of palatial steps outside of which two men in dark jackets are waiting. One comes to my side and offers to help me out of the car.
But Prime’s already there. “I’ll escort my wife, thank you.”
I take his offered elbow, not sure what to say. He pats my hand like I’m his darling and we walk up through a set of double doors and into the most lavish home I’ve ever seen in my life.
Marble floors. Dangling chandelier. Old paintings on the walls. Voices and laughter echo off the high ceilings. I’d guess twenty people are in the entry alone, though there are several other rooms and a sprawling kitchen and living area toward the back of the house. It takes a lot of effort to keep my head from swiveling around like a freaking moron.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” I whisper to Prime as he leads me through the people, pausing to greet several men who call out to him.
“You get used to it.”
“I’ll let you know when that happens.”
He seems amused by my naivety, which is fine, better than being annoyed. Prime seems subdued by his standards, and this might be the first room I’ve seen him enter without getting mobbed by a dozen different people demanding his attention.
It’s strange, seeing him as only a piece of the crowd, when he so clearly stands out. The men pale in comparison to him, not a single one of them remotely as big or handsome.
Prime plucks two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. I clutch mine, feeling out of place, but he was right. All the other women are equally done up like we’re headed to the strangest awards ceremony possible. Diamonds glitter at throats full of Botox. More than a few faces are trapped in a vague expression of alarmed joy. Meanwhile, their husbands have slicked-back hair, Rolexes on their wrists, and laugh loud enough to make the floorboards tremble.
“There you are!” A man I vaguely recognize from the wedding approaches. He shakes Prime’s hand. “Glad you could make it.’
“I appreciate the invitation, Ricardo. You know my wife, Deanna.”
“Yes, yes I do, hello darling, you look beautiful.” He kisses my cheek. His lips are paper-dry. “Prime, I need to borrow you for a while. There’s a pool game happening and it’s damn good action.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave my poor wife to fend for herself in these shark infested waters.”
Ricardo guffaws, obviously amused. “No worries on that front, my home is perfectly safe. But hold on a moment. Donatella! Donatella! Come over here!”
An equally rotund woman extracts herself from a nearby group and meanders to Ricardo’s side. She’s in her sixties, round, dyed black hair, eyes done up with so much blue they look fake, her obviously designer dress unflattering and absurdly glittery.
“Ah, the famous Prime is finally here. Everyone’s been talking about you.” Donatella shakes his hand, beaming. “And the woman who manages to nail him down. How did you do it, darling? No, wait, don’t tell me here where your secret might lose its power.”