Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
The party was every bit as horrific as I anticipated. Justin and I arrived on the red carpet, me clutching my black jacket with white knuckles under my chin. Then, at the appointed moment, I dropped my jacket, revealing my lush curves, while Justin turned around, showing off the “White Lives Matter” message emblazoned on his back.
The response was immediate. Flashes went off in pops, blinding me with their light.
“Turn this way, sweetheart!” one photographer yelled. “We want to catch a shot.”
I could hardly force myself to move. My cheeks were scarlet with humiliation, and my knees wobbled. I didn’t want to give them a full-frontal, but it was already happening. My big breasts were out, the Double D’s swinging, and my pussy was oddly swollen for such an exposed moment. I half-expected my clit to shrink in on itself, but instead, I could feel it growing large and hard, pushing itself out of its hood. What in the world? I managed a wan half-smile, but Justin elbowed me.
“No smiling,” he hissed. “We want to give off an editorial air. You know, high fashion and haute couture. Nothing plebeian.”
What the fuck? Our outfits are the furthest from editorial that I can imagine. This is a publicity stunt, like Justin pointed out earlier. Nonetheless, I dropped my half-hearted smile, pasting a blank and expressionless look on my features.
“Better,” Justin murmured to me under his breath. “Just like a model in a magazine. Now, let’s go.”
He takes my hand and yanks me after him as I stumble a bit on the red carpet.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “We don’t want you falling on your face like earlier today.”
What the fuck? I hate his rude comments, and as soon as we step off the red carpet, I yank my hand from his, grateful to be out of the spotlight.
“Cat got under your skin, Ainsley?” he asks in a smarmy voice, turning on me. “What’s your problem?”
I’m just about to hit the roof when I feel him. There’s a shift in the air, the unmistakable presence of an alpha male nearby. Then he reappears, massive and huge. He towers over Justin at six and a half feet, and looks like a thunderous god with his massive biceps and broad chest.
“Come on, Ainsley,” he growls, shrugging out of his suit jacket before slipping it over my shoulders. “You’ve had enough for today. We’re leaving.”
“What?” I gasp, eyeing him up and down.
“What the fuck?” Justin sputters. “Who the fuck are you? Ainsley, who is this asshole? Security!” he calls. “Security, my girlfriend’s being assaulted.”
But the truth is that I don’t want to be here, wearing a sheer dress that shows off my tits and pussy. I don’t want to cause a fuss at Bianca’s party, especially when I already ruined her fashion show. I want to leave, and so I turn to Justin with a tight smile.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I say without explanation. “I’ll catch you later, okay? Have a good time.”
Then, I take the huge man’s hand in my own. My palm is swallowed in his massive grip, and his fingers automatically curl around mine, providing comfort and reassurance.
“Let’s go,” he growls. “My car’s waiting.”
With that, I’m whisked out of the after party. Actually, I never even stepped foot into the venue because the stranger showed up right in the nick of time. I’m grateful to him for saving me, and look up at his harsh features as he opens his car door for me. His mouth is like a slash, that jaw made of granite.
He doesn’t look back at me.
“Inside,” he growls, blue eyes flashing. “We’ll talk later.”
Usually, I’m a wildcat. Usually, I fight and scream, claw and scratch, when I feel like I’m being run over roughshod. But with this man, every impulse towards disobedience melts from my bones. This man is my hero ... and I know I’ll be safe in his arms.
4
Karl
We’re at the Degas Hotel, seated at a secluded table within the Parisienne, the hotel’s five-star restaurant. There’s only a pitcher of sweating water at the table, but Ainsley doesn’t ask for food.
“Who are you?” she demands in a low voice. “How do you know who I am? Where did you come from?”
I shoot her a sardonic look. The curvy girl’s still got my jacket on, and I know why. It’s because of that fucking dress, or should I say lack of a dress. When she took her fur coat off on the red carpet, my jaw plunged to the ground, as did every man within a five hundred foot radius because Ainsley was basically naked beneath her coat. Her dress isn’t much more than a sheer tube of stretchy material, exposing her tits, ass, and pussy. Hell, I could see the heft of her breasts, as well as the delicate dark vee between her thighs. No wonder her brother hired me to keep an eye on things. After this stunt, Patrick O’Lachlan likely wants to make sure that his sister is marched straight to a convent for safekeeping.