Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Oh. Wow.
He could do it.
Call the powers that be, men so high on the food chain that I don’t even know their names. He could request me as his personal entertainment for the duration of his stay. No one would probably even question him.
“I’m not one of the amenities,” I gasp, pulling away, seriously considering slapping him.
Tripp hauls me back while my palm is in midair, his mouth panting on top of mine.
“Before you get upset, you wouldn’t just be there for my pleasure.” He explores my mouth with a slow sweep of his tongue, groaning over my taste. “I’d consider it my personal mission to orgasm you until it starts to hurt.”
I moan, losing power, and he watches me from above, his hand encircling my throat and squeezing. When did I lose control of this situation? Did I ever have control of it? I shouldn’t be allowing any of this to happen, but my body seems to have already reprogrammed itself to need him.
“I can see you’re not ready to come to my room. So here’s what we’re going to do. Put my number in your phone, Vida. Text me where to meet you tonight.”
“Okay,” I breathe shakily.
He releases me, watching with glittering eyes and a heaving chest as I locate my phone and tap in the passcode. Tripp takes it out of my hands and adds his number before giving the device back to me.
“If you’ve got a boyfriend, break up with him. I’ll see you tonight, Vida,” he says, helping me onto my bike and kissing me a final time, his mouth so demanding that my head is spinning by the time he tears himself away.
I pedal away in a daze.
What exactly have I just agreed to?
SIX
Tripp
I exit the black town car and step onto the curb, raising an eyebrow at the restaurant where I’m meeting Vida. Manny’s Mussel Pots.
Seriously?
There are two Michelin star restaurants at the resort and we’re meeting at this place? The sign proclaiming Manny’s as the best mussels in Massachusetts is hanging by a thread and the front window has a crack in it. Despite some mild irritation that Vida won’t let me bring her somewhere worthy of her, I can’t help but crack a smile. Because while I already knew she wasn’t a gold digger, this is just another piece of evidence in her favor.
Wanting to rub it in Calder’s face, I snap a quick picture of the falling-down joint and send it to him, along with the middle finger emoji.
Before I even reach the door, the loud music playing within is shaking the cement beneath my feet. I open the door and step into the lively darkness, my gaze sweeping over the red, hanging Christmas lights and the framed black-and-white photographs along the wall, depicting the fishing trade along the Massachusetts coastline. Broken peanut shells decorate the worn floorboards. The smell of garlic hangs heavy in the air.
And everyone in the crowded restaurant is staring at me.
Of course they are. I might as well be wearing a sign that says I’m not from around here.
I am. But it’s a much more affluent part of Massachusetts.
Most of the customers are still dressed for the day in whatever uniform they wear for work. Some of them I even vaguely recognize from the resort. Meanwhile, I’m in a pair of deck shoes that are probably worth more than this entire establishment.
But I’m used to being stared at. I was taught from an early age to keep a stiff upper lip in any situation and that’s exactly what I do now, taking off my shades and staring back at the curious onlookers with a bored expression.
One that I can’t maintain when I see Vida weaving through the crowd in my direction.
Jesus.
Fucking.
Christ.
This girl keeps getting hotter.
I was obsessed with her in the maid uniform. Then, this afternoon, I had to go back to my room and jack off over those tight little cutoff shorts. Tonight she’s in a yellow, strapless summer dress that is so snug around her tits, I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off them, especially because I know what they feel like. Perfect. The hem is so high on her thighs, the dress had to be designed for torture. Her hair is down and loose, her mouth shiny with gloss, leading to memories of our kiss that afternoon.
How the taste of her hit me like a slug to the stomach.
I have never been so affected by a kiss. I didn’t even know I could be.
For the second time, she almost had me popping off in my pants. It’s a wonder I didn’t when she tasted like honesty. Ripe, innocent arousal. Forbidden fruit.
The only fruit I want to eat.
Hers.
“Hey,” Vida says, bouncing to a stop in front of me. “I got us a table in the back.”