The A Little Bit Trilogy Bundle: A Little Bit Submissive; A Little Bit Rough; A Little Bit Controlling - A BDSM Erotica Romance by Bebe Wilde Read Free Book Online

Teagan.”
    “My mother is Irish,” I said. “Well, Scots-Irish.”
    He nodded. “I see.”
    “Uh huh,” I said then looked over his shoulder into the house. “May I?”
    “Of course,” he said and stepped back, allowing me into the vast foyer. “Please come in.”
    I looked around and nodded with approval. A massive curved wall covered with grasscloth wallpaper led into the living room. Wow, cool. This place looked as good on the inside as it did on the outside. It was the bomb. I couldn’t get over how much I loved it already. I glanced at Roman and felt something, which I immediately shook off. I smiled a little and said, “And how long have you lived here?”
    “Just under a year,” he said.
    I nodded. “Why don’t you show me around?”
    “Let’s sit down in the living room and talk first,” he said.
    “Okay,” I replied, following him. The room took my breath away. Big points, major points. I looked around at the rounded, sunken living room and at the couch, which spanned the room and was covered in this yummy, soft Italian leather the color of a well worn saddle. I loved it. The coffee table was very rich looking and chic, made of black glass and sitting on an ornate gold frame. It was a wow piece, to say the least and stacked with a few, well chosen design books and some kitschy yet cool vintage ashtrays and knickknacks. Behind the living room was the open kitchen which was fabulous. I wanted to go in there and look around but Roman gave me a look.
    “Please sit,” he said and waved me to the couch.
    I sat down, still taking the place in, the fluffy white sheepskin rug, the expensive modern art pieces on the wall, the low bookshelves which were filled with smaller sculptures by famous artists and more coffee table books, the gigantic flat screen TV on the wall. I had to smile at that, remembering his quote about having a place for the TV. He certainly had it here.
    The room was so nice, so well put together, so well thought out. Who wouldn’t love this place, if they could afford it? I looked around, thinking I could do this; I could sell this place. I just had to get back on my game.
    “My parents were French, as am I,” he said and sat down a few feet from me. “You were an only child?”
    I shook my head. “No, I have a brother, Harry.”
    He nodded. “And from your accent you’re from the South, oui?” he asked.
    I nodded, being concerned where this line of questioning was going. I said , just to make sure he knew we were to keep it professional, “I don’t know what any of this has to do with anything.”
    “Making chitchat,” he said. “I like to talk.”
    “Oh,” I said and blushed slightly. “It’s just I’m so excited to list your house.”
    “And you’re impatient to do so,” he said. “I understand. It’s just a house. I can tell you it was a mess when I bought it. The former owner was a hippie record producer of some sort. He turned the conservatory into an herb garden, not the sort of herbs you put in spaghetti, either.” He chuckled to himself.
    I thought about that. “Okay,” I said slowly. “I didn’t read anything about the conservatory.”
    “It was added on in the eighties. We tore it out,” he said and waved his hand. “It was not cost effective to keep it. Besides, it looked terrible.”
    I nodded that I understood.
    “It took well over two years to bring this place back to its former glory but I also made sure the renovations would suit the modern buyer.”
    “Did you buy this place with the idea of flipping it?” I asked.
    “I hate that word, flipping,” he said with a shudder. “But I didn’t. I saw something that was beautiful that had been let go. It was decaying, such a travesty. But after I finished, I knew I couldn’t live here. It is just too large for me.”
    I nodded.
    “It was a labor of love, as they say,” he said.
    “I see,” I said and made some notes. “Let me ask you, when you did your updates, did you keep with