Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
The alpha male is absolutely motionless. He looks at me like he’s trying to x-ray the thoughts out of my skull.
I can’t stop talking now. “You don’t have to keep them, or even look at them. In fact, you can delete them right now and I’ll never, ever bother you again.” My voice goes all soft and frantic. “Please, Trevor. Please just forget it. Pretend it never happened. I’ll do anything.”
The last two words hang in the air, heavier than anything I’ve ever said in my life. The city is silent below. Even the sun, reflected in ten thousand mirrored windows, feels like it’s stopped to listen.
The huge man picks up his glass, but doesn’t drink. Instead, he turns the brandy around and around, watching the amber whirlpool at the bottom. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold enough to snap bone.
“I’m not going to delete them.”
I freeze, a marionette with cut strings.
“What?”
He waits a beat, then clarifies: “I liked getting them. They ruined my date last night, but it’s fine. I didn’t like that woman anyways. Your photos are much more interesting.”
I can feel my heartbeat, everywhere at once. My face flames as my fingers clench. Oh god, this is going from bad to worse!
But Trevor looks unbothered. He steps away from the bar cart, comes around the coffee table, and stops two feet in front of me. I look up at his towering form, and the color of his eyes is even more unreal in daylight: not blue, not gray, but something the word “ice” was invented for.
“In fact, sweetheart,” he drawls, “the pictures were so dirty that I want to see the goods for myself. In real life this time.”
I gasp. There’s no other word for it. The sound escapes before I can think.
Trevor sits on the sofa next to me, so close that the plush velvet groans under his weight. He leans forward, elbows on knees, his big body making me weak without even touching me.
“Take off your robe, Kayleigh,” he says, voice soft but unyielding.
“What?” I gasp, eyes wide.
Trevor doesn’t move.
“You heard me. Robe. Off. Or else.”
I don’t know what “or else” implies, but my hands move before I can even decide if I want them to. The belt comes undone, and I sit there, fingers trembling, not quite daring to spread the lapels. My body is nude underneath, my nipples already hard, the space between my thighs damp and achy from his nearness.
Trevor’s eyes drop, then return to my face. “Keep going.”
I hold his gaze for a full two seconds, then pull the robe open and let it fall behind me. The fabric slides down, a gentle, silent puddle at my hips.
I have never been nude before a man in my entire life.
Yet I’m tingling all over with anticipation.
Trevor’s eyes skim over my ivory curves, taking in my lush Double D’s with their stiff nipples. He sees the softness of my stomach, the gentle slope of my hips, and suddenly, I feel seen. This man knows me, and his eyes scorch over my curves, eating up the femininity.
Trevor doesn’t speak for a long, electric moment. Then he reaches out and touches my cheek, slow and deliberate.
“You’re beautiful, Kayleigh,” he says, like it’s a simple fact. “But I think you already knew that, or you wouldn’t have sent the pictures.”
I want to die, and also to live in this moment forever. My hands don’t know what to do, so they hover uselessly in my lap.
He doesn’t move to touch me further. Instead, he sits back, arms folded, and just watches.
I should hate this. I should be humiliated. But instead, a slow, syrupy heat develops between my legs, the ache there so needy.
The air between us is so charged that I think if I breathe too hard, I’ll set the sofa on fire.
He’s testing me. He’s seeing if I’ll follow through, if I’ll let him look, if I’ll own what I sent.
So I do. I open my legs, just a little—enough for the city below to see, if the glass was a two-way mirror. My clit throbs, an electric ache. I can’t help it: I want him to see. I want him to see the center of my femininity, and to know of the effect he has on me.
His eyes flick down, taking in the stiff nub, then up. He smiles, slow and dangerous.
“You’re even sexier in person, Kayleigh,” he murmurs.
I let the words wash over me, and for a moment, I feel weightless.
Somewhere in the room, the city buzzes on, oblivious.
But in this glass box, forty stories up, the game is over, and we both know who won.
11
TASTING HER INNOCENCE
Trevor
Isit on the sofa, forty floors above the city, and watch my stepsister try not to disintegrate. The light pouring through the windows turns her hair white-gold, satin yet feral, loose around her shoulders and still a little damp from the shower. There’s a spatter of faint freckles across her collarbone. She has her knees together now, but it doesn’t do much to hide her body. I could say she’s shy, but it’s more complicated than that—Kayleigh’s the type who burns herself for warmth. She pulls the plush hotel-grade robe like she’s going to put it back on, realizes what she’s doing, then forces herself to let go, arms dropped at her sides, big breasts bobbling.