Stella
He’s gotta be, like, six foot four. Maybe taller. If I had a ruler, I would totally whip it out and find out for sure.
Height isn’t the only thing I’m interested in measuring on the man who bought me. The bulge he’s packing in his pants doesn’t do much to preserve any mystery on the dick front: this guy is hung.
It makes my lady parts clench and get drenched just thinking about it, which is saying something—considering I don’t know what it feels like. My pussy just knows that it wants it.
As if the doctor’s coat, the broad shoulders, the chiseled jaw, and the dreamy blue eyes weren’t enough, knowing that he’s got a massive cock sort of seals the deal.
I could have been bought by a creep. Or a loser. Or a dude with a forehead tattoo.
Instead, I was bought by a total dreamboat.
A total dreamboat who is now totally taking off his lab coat.
I mean, except for this fucking necklace, I’m already naked. So if he wants to join me, I’m not about to complain.
I bet he’s got an eight-pack beneath his shirt, too.
But to my dismay, he stops with the lab coat. He’s desperately trying not to look at me as he wraps it around my shoulders so that neither of us are naked anymore.
Damn.
Though I have to admit, I’m grateful for the warmth.
I risk a glance down at myself. Not exactly an improvement on my previous state. It should be designer or nothing.
“Look, I’m sorry for the mix-up,” he says, although he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’ll book you the next flight home.”
It takes a second to register since, in my head, I’m unzipping his pants with my teeth.
“Right,” I choke out after only a second’s hesitation, “that sounds good. LaGuardia. Private charter flight if they have it. If not, Delta will do.”
He pulls out his phone, which conveniently has a flight app already installed. I watch his fingers dance over the screen. Obviously, he’s skilled with his hands.
“There’s one in the morning,” he says. “At eight.”
“First class?”
He looks at me like I’ve grown horns. “Coach.”
I swear to God, I nearly gag.
“Coach,” I groan. “Do you know who I am?” This time my Mom impression is so good it almost scares me.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he says, having the nerve to match my tone. “You’re a spoiled little brat. Let’s not forget, though, you came here in a box.”
I’ve never really understood what it meant to see red. In this moment though, it makes perfect sense. I’m seeing goddamn crimson—with an accent of blood orange!
“That’s right,” I say. “I came here in a fucking box! Have you ever traveled by box? It fucking SUCKS! So, if you think I’m about to leave in anything less than first class, you’ve got another thing coming…Mister!”
I emphasize the last with a couple of hard pokes to his chest. Holy shit, this guy is ripped. I look down at the floor, trying to hide my wince as pain shoots through my finger.
At the same time, I’m fighting the urge to reach back up and tear the shirt from his body.
When I feel ready to meet his eyes again, I find them brimming with anger.
“Okay princess,” he says in an eerily calm voice. “First class it is.”
“Good.” I decide to smother the triumphant smile that threatens to break across my face.
Probably shouldn’t push my luck.
He looks back at his phone, fingers again flying with an ease that makes my mind race. Oh, the possibilities.
Less than a minute later, his attention’s back on me. I can’t say I like that mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Okay,” he says. “All set. First class all the way. Happy?”
“Perfect! When do I leave?”
He smiles broadly. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks? I can’t wait two weeks!”
Now I understand the mischievous glint…and the shit-eating grin now spreading even wider across his face.
“Oh, you can’t?” he asks with mock sincerity, “I can always downgrade you.”
This stupid, sexy son of a bitch.
I might have caved. I might have just given up right then. Probably would have in fact, if it weren’t for that grin. That smug, shit-eating grin.
“Okay,” I say, letting the word hang in the air just long enough to foster false hope. “I’ll wait the two weeks. Where’s my room?”
The look of utter confusion that comes across his face is almost worth the trip in that damn box.
Almost.
“Your room,” he repeats, deadpan.
“Right. The room I’ll be staying in while I wait for my flight out,” I say, hugging the doctor’s coat around me and wandering around the foyer, gawking at the décor.
It’s not bad, honestly. A little homey and a little too minimalist for my tastes—but whatever. I could get with this for two weeks.
“What makes you think I’m putting you up for two weeks, princess?”
“What made you think you could buy a kidnapping victim over the internet?” I shoot back. “I’ll also settle for the Hilton, but you can bet your ass I’ll be getting room service.”
He laughs, yet there’s no humor in it. In fact, he looks annoyed. He shoves his phone back into his pocket.
“I didn’t know you were a kidnapping victim when I bought you,” he reminds me. “And if you trash the place, I’m billing your sugar daddy.”
Before I can respond, he’s moving, his long legs eating up the distance to the stairs.
I furrow my brow. I don’t have a sugar daddy—I have a trust fund.
“Hurry up,” he calls without looking back. “Before I decide to turn you in to the LAPD instead.”
I think of telling him not to order me around. That I’m many things, but his bitch isn’t one of them…yet.
I bite my tongue instead.
If I’m going to be here for two weeks, I should probably start picking my battles. After all, I’ve already come away pretty victorious tonight.
I follow him, hurrying to match his pace. This place is huge and, by the time he finally comes to a stop, I’m a little winded—and I do pilates, for fuck’s sake.
Not that I’ll let him see that he’s already worn me out.
“Here you go,” he says, pushing open the nearest door.
I step into the room, eyes assessing the place.
It’s fantastic! Four-poster bed, lush carpeting, gorgeous chandelier. Now this is a place I can relax.
I turn to tell him so, but he isn’t there.
I poke my head back out the door and catch him turning the corner, walking even faster now that he’s alone.
I tamp down on the disappointment that threatens to bubble up. Sure, I kind of want to smack the guy, but part of me was hoping he might stick around for a while.
I shut the door and lean back against it, taking in the room anew.
I glance down, realizing I’ve still got his lab coat on. I shrug it off. I might have to stay in his house, but I damn sure don’t have to wear his clothes.
After a moment’s thought, I hold the discarded garment to my face, deeply breathing in his lingering scent.
Holy fuck… he smells good.
I consider putting it down or throwing it away.
But I can barely pull the lab coat away from my face. It’s like I don’t want to stop breathing in.
When I breathe out again, it’s a sigh…
Then, I smell the lab coat again and go right on basking in his manly, sexy scent.
Kidnapping and threats of coach class aside…
A girl could get used to this.