Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“Well, since they told him it would happen to him again if he did it to someone else, and they’d be paying attention, I would reckon so.”
“Have you been watching?”
“He hasn’t even been out on a date.”
I tried not to smile.
I failed.
He watched me and noted, “You’re rather bloodthirsty.”
“I’m actually all about rehabilitation and establishing hearty social programs to alleviate conditions that would lead to disenfranchisement, such as after-school activities, paying for school lunches, increasing minimum wage, redistribution of wealth through taxes—”
I didn’t finish because he groaned.
“Oh shit,” I said. “You’re a Tory.”
“Fiscal conservative,” he amended.
“A Tory!” I accused.
“Center leaning.”
“Oh my God, I spent the night fucking a conservative.”
“And you enjoyed it greatly,” he purred.
“Thank goodness you don’t have a second amendment here.”
“The duchy owns twelve shotguns.”
I forced my hands in between us in prayer position and begged, “Please tell me you don’t hunt. Please, please, pretty please.”
“I don’t hunt. But I do trap shoot, and we host sporting clays.”
“Trap shoot?” And since I didn’t know the other either, I added, “Sporting clays?”
“Clay pigeons. Trap shooting is from a stationary position, but the angle the clays are launched is varied. Sporting clays is when you’re in a simulated hunting scenario. In other words, I shoot. I just don’t shoot anything that’s breathing.”
I grinned, grabbed his head and pulled it to me to kiss him.
He took over what was supposed to be a quick kiss, and it got interesting.
Some time later, when he put me on my knees with my face in his downy pillows, and he was taking me from behind, it got seriously interesting.
Okay, he was a great fuck and a magnificent man.
I could forgive him for being a Tory.
Or…a fiscal conservative (I decided to think of it like that).
Then again, I was coming to terms with the fact I would probably forgive Battle for pretty much anything.
And that didn’t scare me one whit.
CHAPTER 18
THE CANDIDATE
“Battle,” I moaned.
Then I came.
For his part, Battle kept fucking me against the wall of his shower.
Around the second time we did it after we returned to the house from going out for steak dinners at the posh pub where he took me on our first out-of-The-Downs, his-sisters-not-around date last night, he’d stopped reaching for the condoms.
I got it, they were a pain.
But I was honored, since it said he trusted me.
And of course, since then, I’d showed him that gratitude…repeatedly (though, right after the first time he did it (or didn’t do it, as this case was), I’d touched his face and whispered, “Honey,” and from his expression, I knew he understood me, or rather, I understood the immensity of what he’d just given me).
So this time, when he climaxed, I felt the warmth of his cum jetting inside me.
Mm…
So much better.
Just him.
And me.
Nothing in between.
He rocked into me through the aftermath and then held me, because that was his way.
And I loved his way.
Finally, he pulled me off his dick and kept his hands on me until he knew I was steady on my feet (that was his way as well, and obviously, I loved it too).
And we finished our shower.
I tripped on a ragdoll cat when I was stepping out.
But fortunately, Battle was there to catch me.
“They live,” Tempie drawled as we walked hand in hand to the breakfast room.
I felt my face get hot.
One could say I never in my life expected to be on the greatest sex-a-thon of all time with the hottest guy in existence, only to end it wandering into a room filled with his sisters.
But there we were.
And as for Prue, for some reason, she was there wearing her octopus beanie.
“Not another word,” Battle warned, guiding me to a seat.
Tempie just smiled her cat’s smile.
“You two missed the delights of the chippie last night,” Prue told us.
“I don’t think they missed anything,” Tempie was still drawling.
“Stay,” Battle said into my ear after he seated me. “I’ll get your plate.”
Watching him go to the sideboard, and doing this with confusion because he’d told me himself it would be empty, I heard Chassie chime in, “I thought I saw you guys leave last night.”
“We had dinner at a pub,” I told her.
“The Nag’s Head?” Prue asked.
I nodded as I poured coffee.
“They do great steaks,” Prue said.
“I learned that last night.”
“Good Lord, Battle. Is that a love bite?” Tempie asked, her gaze narrowed on my neck.
I stopped pouring cream into my coffee to lift a hand to cover my love bite.
He scowled over his shoulder at his sister. “What did I say?”
She smiled again.
He turned his attention to the chafing dish. “What’s this?”
“I scrambled eggs!” Prue chirped.
This I had to see.
I got up and stood by Battle to peer at the messy, wet, underdone slop in the chafing dish that had cooked bits of eggs floating nauseatingly in it.
Mercifully, Battle put the lid on it and looked down at me. “Darling—”