A look I can’t describe takes over his features.
It’s intense.
It’s…obsessive.
“You’re never getting away from me, Vida.” His hand circles my throat, big and unyielding. “Do you understand?”
Drowsy, I assume we’re still in the game…and I nod.
No idea that my fate has been sealed.
EIGHT
Tripp
I feel exultant.
Sexually charged.
On edge. Focused.
I feel like a fucking idiot.
I’m drawing a girl a picture like I’m in elementary school. Who the hell am I?
When I woke up this morning, alone in my room, my first thought was that this cannot continue. I need to wake up with Vida beside me in bed from now on. And because I was raised a billionaire, my second thought was…gifts. I need to give her gifts the likes of which she’s never seen. Diamonds. A Rolls-Royce. An island.
All of it.
Everything.
Then I remembered who she is. She rejected my offer to eat in a nice restaurant. I don’t have a hope in hell she’s goingto accept diamonds. For the first time in my life, I’m at a disadvantage.
Money has always been the answer to every problem I ever had. But money is useless with Vida. And that might be one of the many things I admire about her, but it makes me nervous as shit, because what else do I have to give?
Thinking fast, I had colored pencils and an artist’s pad delivered to the room this morning after breakfast, and I’m drawing her the Milky Way. I didn’t even know what this galaxy looked like, but I’ve found a diagram online to work from. It’s not going to win any awards, that’s for sure. I can’t show up empty-handed the next time I see her, though.
What she gave me last night…
Lord.
It transcends anything of monetary value.
She trusted me. She allowed me to feel free of shame.
I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel like a sick fuck deep down.
And Vida didn’t merely endure my fantasy—she had an orgasm, too.
She loved it, too.
My cock stirs beneath the desk, demanding I stroke it for the third time this morning, but I ignore the Vida-inspired lust and keep drawing. We didn’t make any plans when I dropped her off at home last night, but I’m determined to set our next date. She told me she works until dinnertime tonight, and Ineedto see her after that. I think I’ll go out of my mind if I can’t.
A reminder dings on my phone, and I snatch it up.
Yacht party 9pm.
“Dammit,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “I forgot.”
