Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
My dick softens as I recall her demands. She wouldn’t fight me for custody if I were willing to hand over twenty million for the privilege of participating in my daughter’s upbringing.
I would have given five times that amount, but no man likes to be played. Despite Anna’s multiple promises that a big payday wasn’t her intention, the fact that she disappeared within an hour of the funds landing in her bank account proves otherwise.
I would have continued searching for her as I had the previous four years if she had taken Camille with her. Since she didn’t, I redirected my anger to something more positive—as I try to do again now.
My attraction to Lucia is sufficient enough to force this train back onto the tracks in a shamefully quick time. It’s as immediate as the swelling of my cock when she glided onto the stage in a paper-thin dress and an oversized wig concealing her features.
I could have let her keep her shield of anonymity, but I was selfish. I was as desperate to see her face as I was to announce my plan.
A nanny position wouldn’t tie her to me for life, but it would guarantee me fourteen years to woo her.
Even someone as devious as Matteo could have an angel siding with the devil in that time. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the only plan I could think of that wouldn’t involve forcing her into submission with my dick.
No wonder my plan failed.
While pumping my cock, I flare my nostrils, hopeful to catch a snippet of Lucia’s scent on my skin. Pre-cum pools at the top when my efforts pay dividends. I can smell the scent of her arousal on my mouth, hand, and cock, but I also catch the faintest whiff of her perfume.
“Yes,” I whisper, my thoughts now not solely on my own release.
I imagine Lucia’s desperation reaching a fever pitch and her hand slowly slipping beneath her panties. I’d want to watch, so I’d have to order her into my room and demand she fan her legs wide for me.
Again, the thought has me on the brink of release.
I tug my dick harder, almost cruelly.
When my balls pull in close to my body, I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling. My pumps don’t slow as my body shudders through release. They taper a little so I can savor the tingles that have been few and far between the past five years.
I won’t allow another long stint of abstinence to happen.
Lucia Martinez flipped more than my life plan on its end when she jabbed her finger into my chest.
She rewrote history.
Chapter 8
Lucia
The all-night diner’s fluorescent lights buzz overhead as a jackhammer pounds at my temples. I’ve been here so long that the staff no longer glance at me. The nightshift waitress refills my coffee without asking, her eyes soft but tinged with the pity I hate. I keep my gaze down, fingers wrapped around the chipped mug, soaking in its warmth.
My clothes are still damp from rushing in from the cab to the diner. Each shift of fabric sends a chill across my skin. I can’t tell if it’s the rain or adrenaline still skating through my veins.
My body hasn’t caught up with the fact that I’m safe. Well, as safe as I can be. My hands shake every time I lift the mug. I pretend it’s from the rainy morning.
Over time, the sky shifts to that pale, washed-out gray of dawn. It signals I’ve survived another night and that it’s time to take action to make sure it isn’t my last.
Standing, my legs feel hollow, as if made of paper. I leave a few crumpled bills on the table—too much considering I didn’t eat anything, but people are less forthcoming with information when they don’t believe they’re owed anything—and step out into the morning air. It’s so crisp it wakes me up better than an ice-cold shower.
The studio apartment is only a few blocks away. I found it in the classifieds last night and circled it with a pen that barely had any ink left. It’s a cash-only, no-questions-asked apartment.
That was all I needed to see.
When I reach the building, the rain resumes. Icy needles spear through my jacket, and my shoes squish with every step. The building towers over me. It’s almost too polished and clean to be sullied by me. Here, people have routines and lives that don’t unravel overnight.
I push through the door. Warm air brings feeling back to my toes, and the strong aroma of cleaning products smacks into me. It smells like order, and my chest unexpectedly thuds.
A man behind the counter thumbs through papers on a clipboard. He’s older, maybe late fifties, with a round belly and a face that’s seen too many early mornings. Gray hair sticks out from under a navy beanie, and glasses sit low on his nose.