Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I knew it was too good to last.
EIGHTEEN
Vance
“This is the first time … ever, I think,” Tristan dips his head, “that I’ve looked forward to going home on Christmas Eve.” He’s beaming as the elevator pings and opens on our floor. Emotions clog my throat, I wrap an arm around him tugging him against me.
Poppy really is a fucking angel. What she’s done for him should be studied. She’s awakened a joy in him that I’ve never seen before. She’s a light lifting his darkness, like a sunrise soaking into every corner, bleeding it out.
“Do you think she’ll accept the present I got her?” he asks, hovering the key at the lock.
“I don’t think any of us can deny what this is between us, Trist. It’s real, and I think whatever happens, she’s ours.” He nods his head, opening the door.
A thrill burns up my spine, knowing she will be soaked and ready to be fucked for hours after the torment of the clamps.
“What the fuck?” Tristan’s voice freezes my blood, and I almost fall against him when I see Miranda sitting naked in the chair we left Poppy in before we left. “Where’s Poppy?” There’s an urgency in his tone as he throws down the shopping bags and marches through the apartment, searching for her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl, reaching for Miranda’s arm and hauling her out of the chair, raw anger unfurling in my gut.
“I came to keep Tris company.” Pouting, she yanks her arm free. “I didn’t know you or your latest slut would be here. A bit naïve, that one, Vance.”
I jab a finger at her. “Watch it.”
Her eyes flare as she folds her arms, which push her tits up. But they’re not Poppy’s tits and Miranda is a far cry from my Angel. For the first time in my life, I only want one woman.
“She’s not here,” Tristan wheezes, coming back into the room. Not many people see the real Tristan–the boy inside the man’s body–they only see the boss, the fucking CEO of a billion-dollar company, the daddy in the bedroom. He wore the façade well, but it’s peeling back right now, like a snake shredding its skin.
Trudging towards Miranda, he clasps her neck in his meaty grip and backs her up to the closest wall, her head hitting it with a soft thud.
“Let me go.” She scratches at him like a feral cat. Her red hair flies around, her tits bouncing as she tries to find purchase on the marble floor beneath her.
“Where is she?” he demands. Tall and strong, he easily lifts her.
Miranda is going redder than her pubic hair, so I brush a palm down his arm. “Let her go.”
“No.” He growls over his shoulder right in my face like a fucking beast.
“She can’t answer you if she can’t breathe.”
Looking back at Miranda–whose eyeballs are becoming bloodshot–he drops his hold on her, and she collapses to the floor, inhaling with raspy, choked sobs. “You could have killed me,” she croaks, pulling her body across the floor to put space between us.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, stalking her.
Her eyes ping-pong between Tristan and me, swallowing excessively as she drags herself to her feet and slips into a cream-colored coat. “I took a key.”
“What?” Tristan thunders.
“I wanted to surprise you for Christmas. I didn’t know you had a new girl.” She swats at the tears on her face, a string of snot dripping from her nose to her top lip.
“You can’t just take a fucking key. Are you crazy?” Anger seeps from my pores, kicking her shoe toward her when she struggles to locate it.
After sliding it on, she stiffens her spine and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t understand.” There’s a weird, tight smile on her lips. “You don’t need any other girls, Tristan. I can be whatever you need.” She says, gulping and reaching a hand toward him.
He steps back, disgust contorting his handsome face as he sneers. “I told you, I don’t want you like that, but you won’t take the hint.” She recoils, yet he continues. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, and if you don’t answer me, you’re going out the fucking window headfirst.”
Fear sparks in her eyes as she looks to me for help. Good luck.
Taking a predatory step toward her, Tristan punctuates each word when he asks, “Where. The. Fuck. Is. Poppy?”
When she stutters, he roars, “Where?” He’s right in her face, the force of his question making her hair shift and spittle spray her lips.
“If Poppy is the contracted girl you had tied to the chair when I arrived, she left.” She squares her jaw then gingerly moves past Tristan.
Before she can get to the front door, Tristan announces, “She’s not a fucking contracted anything, she’s our girl. And if you ever come into this building, let alone this apartment, you won’t ever leave it. I’ll tie you to that fucking chair until you rot, stinking and decaying. It’ll become your grave.”