Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I hear ya. I was just finishing up myself.”
Lucas dropped his gaze to his desk and fumbled with some papers while discreetly wiping his eyes.
“Hmm.” Oliver made a contemplative sound. “I heard you’ve been staying later and later at night. Your divorce was finalized today, yeah?”
“I’m sure that’s not news.” Lucas scrubbed a palm down his face. “Just when the watercooler crew got bored of talking about my husband’s indiscretions, they can now talk about the settlement I had to pay for being a dumbass.”
Oliver took a couple of steps inside, and Lucas was dreading his attempt to talk to him. He didn’t want to discuss anything. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and draw the shades to let humiliation churn in his stomach.
“I’m not staying. I just wanted to invite you to have a drink with me tomorrow.”
“I’m working tomorrow,” he said robotically.
Oliver smirked. “Of course you are. I mean after.”
“I have a thing, um…” Lucas fumbled, trying to find a lie that made sense. “Until like nine.”
“Cool. I’ll swing by and get you at nine-thirty. Just a quick drink at Pier Fortune at ten o’clock.” Oliver winked. “Just trust me, Lucas. You won’t wanna miss out on this opportunity.”
I’ve had drinks with you plenty of times, and it was never life-changing.
Lucas groaned in annoyance. He was in no mood for drinks, socializing, laughing, reminiscing, or anything else, but Oliver was a great guy, and Lucas remembered him having to get over his own nasty divorce a couple of years ago.
Maybe one drink won’t hurt.
Perhaps Oliver could give him some tips on getting over the dreadful loneliness without Lucas having to ask.
Belladonna Mansion
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
Thorn Blackwell’s alarm went off at six in the morning, though he really didn’t need it to wake up. He’d had the same routine since he’d begun operating Belladonna nine years ago.
He turned over in his king-sized bed and flung his arm over his head, already having a bad feeling about the day.
The thunderstorm raging outside made the long, sweeping branches of the weeping willow tree beat against his bedroom window as if they wanted refuge inside too.
A flash of lightning brightened his room with a brief flicker of white before plunging him back into darkness.
The scent of rain slithered its way into his suite—fresh and edged with the saltiness of the Atlantic Ocean.
But storms were Belladonna’s Kryptonite. It dragged up old ghosts. His mansion was a sanctuary and tempests like the one ravaging the coast could seep into the soul.
Thorn was a man who weathered others’ storms for a living.
The knock on his door was light but urgent.
He had to clear the grogginess from his voice before he could call out.
“Come in, sweet boy.”
Bare feet moved quickly across the marble floor in his foyer before Casey’s silhouette appeared behind the antique Japanese screen in his bedroom.
“Thorn,” Casey’s voice trembled.
The storm answered for him. A crack of lightning so close that Thorn felt the following thunder in his chest.
He flung his comforter back in time for Casey to dart towards him and dive into his bed.
He wrapped his shaking arms around Thorn’s waist and buried his face in his chest. He didn’t ask the younger man if he was okay because he knew he wasn’t.
“Thorn, please,” Casey begged, hooking one of his long, toned legs over Thorn’s hip, pulling him in tighter and closer until Thorn was on top of him. “I need.”
“I know,” he rumbled, scraping his stubbled jaw along Casey’s forehead and down his cheek.
His comforter became a cocoon as Thorn sank all his weight down to shield his sweet gentleman from the fury outside.
Although his men were healers of the heart, each one carried their own fractures. They all had hurtful pasts that had landed them there.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” Thorn murmured. “You’re safe with me, always.”
Casey was quiet for a long time, soaking in the quiet dominance and the unspoken vow that Thorn wouldn’t move until he was no longer afraid.
The savagery of the storm continued to intensify, but the rapid cadence of Casey’s heartbeat began to slow, his breathing evening out, his body becoming submissive beneath him.
He caressed and soothed Casey’s warm body—his dick remaining unfazed in his satin pajama pants.
The boy in his arms wasn’t his. The love he had for him was and would always be platonic and professional.
“Thorn,” Casey whispered, his soft lips tickling the hairs on his left pec.
“Yes, baby.” He squeezed tighter, the branches beating like bullwhips against the glass.
“Where’s my Sir?” The plea was soft but aching, and Thorn felt his pain and disappointment. “You said you’d find him for me.”
“I will, boy. I promise.” Thorn kissed the crown of blond hair, catching the faint fragrance of sugarcane and vanilla. “Not much longer.”
Casey’s chest deflated as he dug his fingertips into the muscles of Thorn’s lower back. “There’s got to be a lonely Master out there somewhere…needing me.”