Page 161 of The Invite
Nobody can save her now.
She’s mine.
CHAPTER – 40
Nessa
Every inch of me is deliciously sore yet I’ve never felt more relaxed.
I definitely understand what being thoroughly fucked means in its full glory.
For a while, I forgot about the impending doom. The threat of Anonymous. The upheaval of the past weeks. But now that it’s just me—the stress sneaks back.
Augustus left an hour ago after we took a shower together, where I avoided looking at the cuts on his chest. The tally has come to four. He didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. In fact, he wore my marks with pride, male satisfaction pouring off him in spades. I can’t tell anymore who is crazier—me or him.
Standing in my tiny closet, I rummage for a pair of high-waisted jeans and a cropped tank top to change into.
Apparently, Augustus hasn’t had his fill of me today. Before leaving, he told me to get dressed and that he’ll be back for dinner. The statement was so domesticated as though we’re a couple. The switch in his personality still boggles my mind.
I finish getting ready, pushing his eccentricities to the back of my head. He’ll be here any minute.
My top doesn’t hide the multiple hickeys he’s left. My breasts and throat have taken the brunt of the damage. It’s a good thing I don’t have to go to work tomorrow because there’s no hiding them. There’s literally one below my jaw. I hardly wear makeup, so it’d be a bitch to conceal.
I swear we’re both savages.
Though I, at least, feel guilty about my actions.
The doorbell rings.
My heart skips a beat.
Quickly combing my hair and with one last look in the mirror, I run downstairs. I wonder how long he can keep up the charade of being a gentleman and rapping on my door. Reaching it, I yank it open and the oxygen knocks out of my lungs.
Oh, holy Jesus!
My fingers clutch the doorframe to stop from falling into a puddle on the ground.
I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Augustus stands on my porch in his full biker attire with his sleek black helmet tucked underneath his left arm. A pair of gloves dangling from his fingers.
Tall, rugged, and divine.
Every biker-obsessed girl’s fantasy come to life.
I don’t know where to stare first. The fitted leather jacket molded over his shoulders and arms or his signature compression shirt hugging his muscular torso beneath it.
It’s as if I conjured him straight from one of the videos on his page.
Trailing my gaze down his dark blue denim jeans, I have to bite my lower lip to stifle the moan as I see his laced brown leather boots that finish off his ensemble.
What chemical reaction is happening in my body?
Since when did the sight of a man’s boots turn me on?
It’s the whole package. How is any woman supposed to resist? My heart is racing wildly at his proximity. He is devastatingly handsome every other day but in his biker clothes, he’s taken it up a notch to lethally sexy.
Despite being fucked twice, my pussy quivers as I trail my eyes back to his face. Half of it is shrouded in darkness, making him appear menacing. Those stubborn strands fall over his forehead, and I itch to push them back.
