Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
We had “our” sides.
She glanced down at the plate laid out for her. “Do you have, like, servants?”
“I have hired staff. You will almost never see them. And I think it goes without saying, they’re not the same kind of staff I have at Ascend Red.” I reached for the carafe of orange juice. “They are, however, as discreet. And part time. Nobody’s here after seven.”
“Ah.” She paused, finally noticing the non-breakfast item on the table. “And did your ‘discreet’ staff lay this out?”
“No. I did.” I held out my hand and took the wearable vibrator from her. “Let me help you put it on.”
“Starting early,” she grumbled, but stood.
“You’re naked under that robe, yes?” Not that robe. My robe. She was already wearing my clothes.
She pulled one lapel aside to expose a perfect breast.
“Great.” I held up the vibrator with the straps stretched between my fingers. “Let’s put this on.”
I helped her slip one foot in, then the other. She shimmied it over her hips, bringing the pretty pink butterfly vibe against her vulva. I adjusted the straps to keep it tight, then pushed a finger between her body and the toy, parting her labia around it.
“Perfect.” I leaned back to admire my work, then patted her ass and pulled her forward for a kiss before instructing her, “Sit. Have something to eat.”
She eyed me suspiciously but sat and started filling her plate. “You know, you could ask me what I like for breakfast. I don’t need the whole buffet.”
I reached for the vibrator’s remote and gave her a buzz. She jumped.
“Noted. You can let the cook know.” I hadn’t had a chance to ask her before she fell snoringly unconscious. And I hadn’t paid attention while we were at Ascend Red. There had been too many other things on my mind.
Now, I would focus all my attention on those little things I needed to know to prove that I gave a damn about her beyond sex.
Well, not all of my attention. I would need to spend some time on sex.
My phone vibrated, and I almost cursed out loud. But I was home now, back in my normal life. I couldn’t live like Charlotte and I were still at Ascend Red. My sister’s name and photo came up on the screen.
“Fuck.” I shook my head. “I have to take this. You stay right here. Have something to eat. But don’t get up.”
I hit the button on the vibrator’s remote and walked away, grinning at Charlotte’s outraged gasp as I slid my thumb across the phone screen.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Catherine. Always a joy to hear from you.” I closed the sliding door that separated the dining room from the butler’s pantry.
My sister barely paused while I spoke. “Mother has been trying to get ahold of you—”
“She knew where I was,” I argued, but I did feel a pang of guilt. I’d told her I was going to my resort—a nudist resort, as Mom understood it—but I hadn’t told her for how long.
“You’ve been off in the islands for over a month!” Catherine—never “Cate” or “Cat” or, god forbid, “Caty”—scolded. “She’s been worried sick!”
“So, you’re calling me because she’s in the hospital, then?” The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I shouldn’t have said them. What if Mom had been in the hospital? What if something terrible had happened to her, and I started out the conversation with hostility and sarcasm, the way I had when Catherine had called me about Dad.
“Obviously not.” Catherine’s voice dripped with condescension. “I’m calling to remind you about her birthday.”
I wished she could see my exasperated expression through the phone. “I know when her birthday is.”
“Her sixtieth birthday,” Catherine prompted.
Ah, fuck. I knew when my mother’s birthday was. I had forgotten about the fuck-off enormous party happening.
The party that was happening this weekend, smack in the middle of my seven days with Charlotte.
My brain raced for some reason to skip out on the whole thing. Weekends in the country were only fun for society baby boomers who enjoyed snorefest garden parties and showing off their wealth. My mother happened to adore snorefest garden parties and showing off her wealth.
“We’re doing the family party on Friday night,” Catherine went on, as if I must have completely forgotten every single detail. “The children and I will be arriving in the afternoon. Jackson will be joining us on Saturday morning. He’ll be working late on Friday.”
Her flat tone made it clear that she didn’t buy her husband’s story and didn’t expect me to, either. But Catherine had chosen her shitty husband the same way our mother had chosen hers: size of teeth and bank account.
“What time can we expect you?” she asked.
A loud shout of “Fuck!” came from the dining room.
“Oh my god,” Catherine said, fully disgusted. “You’ve got someone with you.”