Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
For her.
My heart belongs to her now, and nothing in the world will stop me from keeping her.
5
MEGAN
I splash my face with cold water for the second time, close my eyes, count to ten, then open them, expecting to find myself back in my apartment with Derek banging on my door, ready to kill me. Instead, I see my reflection staring back at me in a spotless mirror hanging in a bathroom big enough that you could park a Hummer in it.
This can’t be real.
The last couple of days have got to be a dream. It just doesn’t make sense that Orson Brooks, the most eligible bachelor in the city, would spend half the day showering me with gifts like I’m some kind of supermodel or something.
Not to mention our naughty behavior in the dressing room…
Just to make sure I’m not losing my mind, I grab my phone and dial Trish. She picks up on the first ring.
“Girl, where have you been? Did you not see my texts?”
I glance at my alerts and realize I’ve missed at least ten from her.
“Oh, sorry. I’ve been…busy.”
“Busy? Are you kidding?” She sighs audibly on the other end. “I legit went by your apartment and you weren’t there. I thought you’d been kidnapped or something!”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, not kidnapped…” I muse, twisting my hair around my finger. “Just…moved into a new house.”
There’s a long pause before Trish responds.
“What?”
Giggling, I toss myself onto the bed. My body is still buzzing from the orgasm Orson gave me. The dresses and heels he bought for me today have been laid out by my walk-in closet. I pinch myself just to be sure—but nope—I’m not dreaming.
“Let’s just say…the date went really well.”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Trish snorts. “I had to persuade you into even going on this date, and now you’re telling me you’ve moved in with the guy?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds weird…”
This time, it’s Trish who bursts out laughing. “Okay, spill it.”
Humming with excitement, I go through everything. And I mean everything. Once I finish, Trish says nothing. I can just imagine her sitting there in her room, running her tongue over her top teeth, wondering if I’m making it all up just to mess with her.
“And you’re not screwing with me?” she asks.
“I’m not,” I reply. “In fact, you should come visit me!”
There’s a knock at the door, and I turn to see Orson standing there, hands in his pockets, a dashing smile on his lips. How am I so lucky?
He raises his chin—a simple gesture conveying everything.
“Listen, Trish, I gotta go. Talk later?”
“Wait, you can’t just spring this on me and then vanish—”
I quickly hang up, leap off the bed, and throw myself into Orson’s arms. It feels so right. So natural. Like we’ve been doing it for years.
He lifts me up with ease. He doesn’t even need both arms to do it. We kiss, and he runs his hands through my hair, sending a delicious shiver up my spine.
I love when he does that.
“You’re so strong,” I whisper, giggling as heat swells within me. Orson just grins.
“I want to show you something.”
I flutter my eyelids at him and glance…down... “Oh, yeah?”
He chuckles. “Not that. Not yet.” I sigh dramatically, just to tease him. His gorgeous green eyes sparkle back at me. “It will only take a second. Then we can get to the fun stuff.”
Fun stuff…
My cheeks start to prickle. I’m blushing, only this time, I’m not embarrassed. It hasn’t even been two days, and I’m already ready to bare my soul to this man.
My dream man…my king.
“Okay,” I say, kissing the scruff on his jaw. “Show me.”
I lean my cheek against his enormous chest as he carries me gently down the hall. I’m greeted with streams of golden sunlight as he opens the door into what can only be described as the most incredible art studio I’ve ever seen.
It has everything: tables, easels, stools, drawing boards, canvases, pencils, rulers, every paint imaginable. It’s mind-blowing. But what’s even crazier is every one of my pieces are here too, finished and unfinished.
My heart is racing. “What is this?” I ask—probably the dumbest question I’ve ever asked, but I don’t know what else to say.
“What do you think?” Orson chuckles. “It’s your new studio.”
He sets me down and I walk slowly through everything. It’s like I’m floating as I stare down at the paints—all of them premium brands—and all the brushes and pencils I could never afford.
There are professional artists out there who would be envious of this.
“What do you think—?” he starts to ask, but before he can finish, I’m leaping back onto him, kissing him like the only cure for my hunger is his lips.
His rugged hands grip my ass, and he wastes no time pulling down the hem of my shorts to get to my flesh. I moan into his mouth as he kneads it firmly, sensually, making me feel like I’m the only girl in the world.