Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Jordan snorts again before looking up with those piercing blue eyes.
“Sweetheart, can I tell you a secret?” he asks.
“Anything.”
He shakes his head, so handsome that my heart hurts.
“I didn’t tell the hospital that I was your prospective father-in-law. I told them that I was your boyfriend.”
I pause, stunned.
“Wait, what? Really?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “I wasn’t thinking clearly because my son had just died. I was knee-deep in grief, and babbling nonsense to anyone who would listen. Plus, you had no one, sweetheart. It was obvious because there were no visitors. Your family is in France, and I had no idea how to reach them, and yet you were lying pale and deathly still in the hospital bed. So I lied, and told the staff that we were engaged.”
“And they let you in?” I ask in an awed tone. “Wow, you must have been convincing!”
Jordan nods darkly.
“Like I said, sweetheart, I wanted you even then,” he confesses. “In my bereaved state, I let my weakness take control. I claimed you as mine while you lay in a hospital bed, vulnerable and sick, because that’s how much I craved you.”
My heart begins to flutter because what is this man saying? Again, I’m so bewildered, and this conversation has only made me more confused. I thought we were in it for a baby. I thought that sex with Jordan would be nothing more than a turkey basting session, albeit with the billionaire’s naked, sculpted body hovering a few inches over mine as he pushed his dick deep.
Yet it’s been nothing like that. Yes, we fuck like rabbits at every chance, but we also discuss important subjects. We talk about his son, and Harry’s untimely demise. We discuss what we want for our future children, and how we will accept them no matter their orientation. Jordan’s even admitted to desiring me when he first met me, the need so intense that he could feel his cock hardening while I lay in a hospital bed.
But what does this mean? Could the alpha male be falling in love with me, despite our bargain? Could I be falling for him? The knowledge makes me gasp and my cheeks heat because I’d love to be in a real relationship with Jordan Lewis. But how do I make my wishes known? What if I tell him, and he laughs me out of the house? Even worse, what if he takes our child after the baby’s born ... leaving me cold and alone, with only my regrets to keep me company?
9
Jordan
My shoulders slump as I stare at my drink on the bar. The din of the crowd around me is lively and entertaining, and yet I can’t think of anyone except Juliette. My son’s fiancée.
Goddamn it, how did things get to this place? On the one hand, I’m a lucky motherfucker. I’m the dude who gets to fuck a pretty French girl non-stop, practically keeping her chained to my bed. She’s gorgeous and voluptuous, with a hungry pussy, big tits that bounce, and a tight asshole. Juliette loves it too, and can’t get enough of my massive dick penetrating her everywhere. So what’s the problem?
The problem is that she’s my dead son’s girlfriend, and that I’ve been disrespectful and goddamn selfish at every turn. Hell, I even fucked Juliette at Harry’s wake, with guests milling about downstairs! We were supposed to be mourning the death of my son, and instead, I was drilling his fiancée’s juicy little pussy in my bedroom. Plus, it was such a fucking shitshow when Juliette and I showed up late to the funeral. People stared, and whispered behind their palms, but the truth was so outlandish that they didn’t believe it. After all, what grieving father fucks his departed son’s girlfriend? I swear, I should shoot myself in the head because I deserve it. Literally, a shiver of revulsion runs through my frame because I deserve to be dead after what I’ve done.
Meanwhile, a hard pound to my back startles me from my gloom.
“What up, bud?” my friend Chris greets. “You look like shit. Why the long face?” He signals the bartender for a drink, and the man spins into motion immediately, despite the fact that there are a dozen patrons ahead in line. It’s good to be a rich motherfucker, and Chris certainly looks the part with his thirty-thousand dollar watch and rugged good looks. I know he’ll tip well, too, because that fucker likely cleared eight figures this year. Damn.
But I merely shake my head, my own problems pressing.
“It’s female shit.”
Chris grins, flashing even white teeth while sliding onto the stool next to me.
“That’s my favorite kind of bullshit,” he chuckles, “because it often ends with a wet twat and a big dick deep up her ass. You know that anal sex solves everything. It’s the best shit out there.”