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)
“No?” he asks with the most disappointed expression. I almost want to give him my dick to suck just to make him happy. “But it’s what husbands doooo.”
He’s fucking adorable, but I’d rather wait and have all of him than have this intoxicated version now. “Not when one of the husbands is very, very drunk, baby,” I tell him and kiss his cheek. I reach across his body and pull up the comforter, covering him with it. “Don’t worry, you’ll get as much dick as you demand tomorrow.”
“But you’ll stay and cuddle?” Kill asks, and when I look at him right now, I can hardly imagine he’s capable of swearing, theft, and fights. My little brat.
My dark sunshine.
“Of course I’ll stay. It’s our marital bed, baby. I know you require a lot of attention,” I whisper into his hair as we settle in the sheets, ready to doze off. Even now, with the addition of booze, his scent will keep me addicted, always longing for our bed and the warm touch of his hands.
I get hard pressing my dick to his freshly-spanked ass, but then a wave of tenderness hits me when he cuddles his back to my chest, lets me close him in my arms, so perfectly at peace. He knows what I am. Not only did I tell him, but he saw me kill a man. A man he knew.
And still, no matter how monstrous I am, his breath settles, and he falls asleep, like he trusts me to be his shepherd. I never felt like this before. No man before him saw all of me.
It’s in this moment, seeing the fragile pieces of him that I decide that I will protect him, and all that we have, with my life. And after the holidays, when the dust settles, I will marry him and make him mine for real.
Chapter 10
Killian
I wake with a hangover that isn’t as bad as the one I usually nurse after cheap booze, but I still don’t feel like sunshine and rainbows. Damen’s nowhere to be seen, which causes my chest to constrict with anxiety, but then I find a lovely note explaining that he’ll be back after dealing with some important business. He even calls me sweetheart in it, like I hadn’t cause a massive clusterfuck last night. The short letter also explains a doctor would tend to my needs if I called the number mentioned at the bottom.
It seems like overkill at first (also, what family holiday has an on-call doctor?), because last night was far from the first booze-fest in my life. But when a shower and ample water fails to make me feel better, I cave and decide to make use of any luxuries provided. Because, why not? I deserve a little pampering if I’m to be Damen’s trophy husband.
A cheerful young woman appears at my door within five minutes, and while I have misgivings about letting her hook me up to an IV drip, in the end I decide to go with it and spend the next two hours receiving a revitalizing massage, eating rice porridge with cucumbers over my eyes, and listening to soothing music.
Is this what the rich and powerful do whenever they overindulge? I would become a part of this family just for that, because by the time I’m left on my own, I’m feeling better than on my average non-hungover mornings. Problem is, I don’t really know what to do with the energy buzzing inside me.
Were I back home, there would be people to meet, a cat to play with, hobbies to do, but without Damen to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, I don’t feel comfortable enough to leave the room. Which, by the way, is like something straight out of a European palace.
Gold leaf shines on some of the reliefs decorating the walls and ceiling, and the bed is so tall there are little steps provided on one side. It’s both ridiculous and charming. The wall across from me is covered by three massive paintings that must have tickled Damen’s imagination when he was growing up, because the panels depict naked men locked in battle. Some do wear helmets, or pieces of fabric that do nothing in terms of covering the important bits, but whether the title of the triptych is Trojan War, Argonautica, or refers to some other mythological conflict, the theme is only an excuse to show hot guys being grabby with each other.
The rest of the room is bigger than my apartment. It’s no less impressive than the bed I’m sitting on. All our luggage and pretty bags filled with our purchases appeared in the morning as if brought by Santa himself. A lush Turkish rug covers most of the floor, and I feel like a princess taken away to a castle when I look out at the grounds through one of the tall windows. A winter wonderland extends farther than the horizon, but the grounds closest to the mansion are the most magical, with a giant Christmas tree and a vast maze farther away. The hedges making up the maze are covered with snow in a way that makes me think of Narnia. I half expect a lion to peek out from the forest.