Page 80 of Taming Scarlet

“Julian!” I gasped, eyes round. “No!” I said, scandalized. I mean… how could I even walk with something inside of me like that?

He ignored that, reaching for his phone, then clicking on something. Then the entire thing—inside and out—started to vibrate.

“Oh God,” I cried, trying to press my thighs together. “No. I can’t.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, shooting a devilish smirk at me. “I believe by that you meanYes, sir, please.”

He emphasized the words with another long pulse of pleasure.

“Yes… sir…” I whimpered, pressing my thighs together. At his raised brow, finger poised over the button, I added, “Please.”

I learned that night that if I ever started to think he’d shown me the best he had to offer, I was likely about to be proven wonderfully wrong.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Julian

I’d been on all sorts of aircrafts in my life.

Even I had to admit that a private jet was the superior way to travel.

Of course, that might have had more to do with the fact that I got to fuck Scarlet forty-five-thousand feet in the air without having to hide in a cramped bathroom to do it.

And while I enjoyed the hell out of the yacht, Portugal, and even the flight back to the States, I was glad to be home.

Scarlet was eager to scoop up Hugh, so we popped right over to Drea’s place on the way back from the airport.

She was so distracted by loving on him that the doorman had flagged me down instead of her, passing me a bouquet of pink roses.

“When did these get here?” I asked, not sure how someone would know to send her flowers when she’d clearly been out of the country.

“Early this morning,” he said, rushing toward the door to open it for another resident.

Early that morning.

The flight had been eight and a half hours.

So that would have been sometime when we were on the flight.

She probably posted a departure picture or something before we left the airport.

Seeing Scarlet had gone up ahead of me, I took the elevator up alone, turning the flowers in my hands.

She told me she liked peonies. White ones. Not pink roses. But this was the second time she got pink ones. The other ones, she’d tossed right down the trash chute.

An ex.

That was what I thought the last time.

But with all the talking we’d done, she hadn’t mentioned an ex who might have been holding a torch.

At this point, I was relatively sure she wouldn’t have kept something like that from me.

Curiosity piqued, I glanced at the little white card.

And there were two words there

My dove.

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