Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
This time of year is even worse as he closes himself off, which I hate. Christmas is everywhere. There’s no escaping it where we live. Next year, we should go find an excluded cabin somewhere—disappear until the new year.
Tristan has always hated the holidays. He grew up in foster homes after his dad fell asleep on Christmas Eve with a cigarette alight. The asshole burned down the house, killing himself and Tristan’s mother, who was sleeping on the couch. Tristan only survived because he’d been locked out of the house as a punishment. He’s never told me why.
My hand clenches around my empty glass, turning my knuckles white. I hate thinking about his life before he finally made it to college on a scholarship. That’s where we met, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. There’s something enchanting about Tristan, a determination and drive that’s rarely found in someone who had his start in life. He was damaged by a lot of assholes, and so many authorities failed him before he got himself free.
I admired him then and still do now. We are a paradox, Tristan and I. We had completely different upbringings, yet I’ve never met another person more like me than him. I was raised in a privileged household where my parents meticulously planned my life, believing they had a clear vision of what was best for me. From an early age, everything was calculated—a prestigious high school, college, career, and a wife to boot. I met all of their goals except the wife, which I’d probably would have by now if I hadn’t met Tristan.
Growing up under my family’s expectations and control left me with a profound yearning to seek it in other areas of my life. My need for control grew from a desire to a way of life that shaped my identity and my relationship with Tristan. “Would you like another, sir?” I nod in confirmation for the bartender to pour the whiskey.
Straightening my spine, I bring my glass to my lips, the amber liquid sears my esophagus. I glance around my surroundings, bypassing the woman at the end of the bar who has been eye fucking me since I sat down. Too bad for her there’s someone else who has piqued my interest.
I run my gaze up the someone’s profile. She’s sitting at the bar, prodding at a cherry in her glass while repeatedly shaking her head and laughing under her breath like something comes to mind that she can’t quite believe. The black coat she wears has slipped a little from her thigh, showcasing a bare expanse of toned, creamy skin, and damn, do I want a taste of that.
Escorts in this hotel are always of a higher caliber, but she is next level. And if I don’t move quickly, someone else will snatch her up for the night. I bet she tastes like candy. Women like her always do, and like candy, if you indulge in them too long, they eventually rot your teeth. One night, that’s all I’ll take, and I’ll make it one she won’t forget for a while.
Pulling my spare room key card from my pocket, I walk over to her and slide it across the bar. Bright green eyes expand, beaming up at me like I’ve just given her the sun. “Really?” she asks, and I frown, unsure if she’s serious.
Does she think I can’t afford her?
Maybe it’s because I don’t look like her usual clients. This place is full of old, bald, fat businessmen. I’m not one to rub my own ego but I’m a good-looking man who works out and takes care of himself. I don’t need to use hookers—I can go to any club and walk out with a woman—but it’s easier to fuck a professional… There’s no mistaking what we’re doing, it’s a transaction, and I know it’s going to be a good fuck. Most of the time anyway.
“Really,” I assure her before turning to leave for my room. I haven’t been this excited in a long time, and damn, I want to paint that woman in cum until she’s drowning in it. I send a quick message to Tristan.
VANCE: Don’t wait up. You’re going to regret not coming out to play tonight.
I picture the grunt of disinterest my text will evoke in him. He’s probably fucking his fist to thoughts of his assistant again. It’s the only thing he seems capable of concentrating on lately. She must be something real special to have him so obsessed. I’ve never seen him want a woman this much before. His reply comes as the elevator doors open, tugging a grin to my lips.
TRISTAN: I never wait up, unless you tell me to.
Pushing open the door to the penthouse suite, I kick off my shoes and loosen my tie. I lose my jacket then uncuff the buttons on my sleeves, pushing them up my arms while heading straight for the bar and pouring myself a couple of digits of whisky. Five minutes later, the door opens, and the woman hovers at the threshold, her vibrant jade eyes springing wide, her plump pillowy lips parting as her jaw drops.