Possession (Redemption #3) - T.K. Leigh Page 0,99

time.”

Resting a hand on my chest, she applies pressure, forcing me onto my back and crawling on top of me, straddling my waist. Her mouth is warm as she trails kisses along my jawline, hovering over my lips.

“Then I want you to find me at midnight and kiss me in a way that may border on indecent.”

My hand moves to her hair and I grip it, locking her in place as I smash my lips to hers in a tumultuous kiss.

“I want people to look at us and only see two people madly in love. Not our past. Not our differences. Only us. Only love.”

“Only love,” I murmur as I flip her onto her back. When she runs her hands through my hair, her fingers digging into my scalp, I arch into her touch.

“So is that a yes?”

I bring my mouth back to hers. “You should know by now…”

“What’s that?” She smirks.

“I will never deny you what you…desire.”

“Is that right?” she retorts, a devilish glint in her eyes.

“That’s right, honeybee.” I move from her lips, kissing my way to her chest.

“Well then, do you want to know what I desire right now?”

“I’m on pins and needles.”

“Your mouth,” she heaves through labored breaths as I circle her belly button with my tongue. “On me.”

With a mischievous smile, I hook my fingers into her panties and slide them down her legs. “As always, your wish is my command.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Londyn

I slide the ridiculously expensive nude pumps onto my feet, then step back, admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror in the bedroom of the downtown Atlanta hotel suite Wes booked.

While I’ve been apprehensive about tonight, Wes has done everything to put me at ease. From spoiling me with a stunning gown. To booking an afternoon at the spa, complete with massage, manicure, and pedicure. To reserving this beautiful suite in the hotel where the New Year’s Eve Masquerade Ball is being held, in case I need to disappear for any reason. He thought of everything to make this as trauma-free as possible.

I study my appearance, feeling like I’m staring back at a different woman. In a way, I suppose I am, thanks to Wes. The version of Londyn he first met all those months ago is gone, replaced by a stronger Londyn. A more open Londyn. A Londyn who finally feels valued again.

I turn to my side, taking in the rose gold gown. It’s fitted through the bodice with a deep V at my chest and an exposed back before flowing out at the waist into layers of sparkling glitter fabric with a small train. I’ve never felt so glamorous, even on my wedding day. Then again, I didn’t really get a true wedding out of the deal. Didn’t get to go dress shopping or plan the wedding of my dreams. Instead, I wore a simple white dress I found at a thrift shop, and my father married us in his church mere weeks after Sawyer made his proposition to me. No bridal shower. No bachelorette party. Nothing. Maybe that’s why the marriage never felt real to me.

Shaking off the memory, I return my attention to the mirror, doing one last check of my appearance. Once I’m content the subtle makeup the beautician applied doesn’t need any touching up and the rose gold mask with glittering diamonds is securely in place, I turn from the mirror, heading toward the bedroom door.

The second I step into the living room and my eyes fall on Wes standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Atlanta, his stance exuding power and dominance, my pulse increases, my mouth growing dry. Able to sense my presence, he turns toward me, his lips parting as he takes in my appearance.

Over the past half-year that Wes has been a client, then a friend, then more than a friend, I’ve been treated to a variety of looks. From the dashing businessman who had no problem running into the rain to help a woman in need. To the dingy jeans and t-shirt wearing handyman who made a tool belt look absolutely sinful. To the casual man wearing shorts and flip flops as we hung out, talking about everything and nothing at once.

And I love every single one of those looks.

But Wes in a tuxedo with a simple black mask is on a different level altogether. He’s like a really hot Zorro. Or a dressed-up Dread Pirate Roberts.

“Wow,” I exhale.

“Wow,” Wes murmurs at the same time, his eyes wide with wonder as

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