Tags:
Drama,
Fiction,
Erótica,
Romance,
Literature & Fiction,
Contemporary,
Adult,
series,
Contemporary Romance,
contemporary romance series,
romance series,
new adult,
Contemporary Fiction,
Contemporary Women,
Women's Fiction,
debut,
50 shades,
contemporary erotica,
complete series,
new authors,
third in the series
either side of me, trapping me against the car. “You’re not getting your own place.”
“I can’t live out of a duffel bag at Gretchen’s forever.”
“Move in with me. Today.”
“Move in?” I exclaimed. “Today? That is absurd and wildly inappropriate and just, no. We can’t do that.”
His jaw set and his eyes hardened not inches from mine, but his fingers moved into my hair. “Today,” he repeated, tilting my head back. “I’m not wasting any more time. I want you in my place,” he paused to kiss my neck, “watching TV in my den,” he added with a kiss on my jaw, “cooking in my kitchen,” another kiss on my cheek, “fucking in my bed,” a kiss on the lips, “sleeping in my bed, and,” another kiss on the lips, “waking up in my bed. Every day.”
“David,” I said breathlessly, because I didn’t know whether to swoon, protest or rip off his clothing right there. “It’s so soon. Everyone will talk.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Like I promised, I’ll always be your shield.” He gave me a hard peck. “You and I are going to have fun.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. This weekend. Forever,” he said. He went to open the car door, but I was struck dumb, still trying to decide how to react. He picked me up by my waist and turned to set me on the curb so he could get to the car. I practically fainted myself into the seat and watched him round the car with casual confidence. Completely unaffected, even though I was hot and bothered and unsure as to whether or not I had just agreed to move in with him.
Once we were pulling away, he said, “So let’s see . . . Burberry, Versace . . .”
I suppressed a smile. “It concerns me that you’re so familiar with women’s designers.”
“Ralph Lauren, Chanel, Prada – aha. Prada it is. We’ll start there.”
I giggled. Should I be more concerned that he knows women’s clothing or that he reads me like a book?
“Come on,” he goaded. “The Olivia I know is not this shy. She once told me I was a player who only wanted what I couldn’t have, but look at us now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get too cocky. It’s only been a couple days.”
“There she is,” he said, laughing as he shifted gears and sped up.
CHAPTER 4
DAVID HAD IT IN HIS HEAD that he didn’t want to be disconnected from me for any reason. Therefore, the first stop we made after breakfast was to get me a new cell phone. Ignoring my protests, he added me to his plan and demanded the most capable phone available.
We parked the car at his apartment and walked the short distance to Magnificent Mile. I was no stranger to nice things – despite Bill’s aversion to spending money, I’d had my own savings account, and I’d always been one to choose quality over quantity – but for some reason, I felt nervous and out of place. It was a lot to take in, this new life. I learned quickly that if I didn’t follow David into a store, he would leave me out on the sidewalk. It wasn’t that I didn’t love to shop, but I was uncomfortable spending someone else’s money. He insisted on it though, threatening to give the salesgirls free rein if I didn’t participate.
By the third store, a medium-sized boutique with collections by various high-end designers, I’d begun to loosen up and picked out a few things on my own.
“We’re looking for a new wardrobe,” David told the salesgirl.
“David,” I interrupted, gaping. “We’re only supposed to be getting a few things for work.”
“Oh, right . . . . Bring the wardrobe, though,” he instructed her.
She smiled at him brightly, no doubt thrilled to be in the presence of such an extremely handsome man who had practically just handed her his credit card.
“What size are you?” she asked.
“I’m probably a zero right now – ”
“But we’re aiming for two or higher.” He rubbed my back.
“Higher?” I grumbled.
“You’re tall. Don’t need to be a two.”
I pursed my lips at him and restrained
David Sherman & Dan Cragg
Frances and Richard Lockridge