The Inheritance (Volume Two) by Zelda Reed Read Free Book Online Page B

flies from his throat. His muscles tighten across his back. He’s close.
    He comes seconds after I do, my head tilted back, a silent moan rushing through me as my muscles expand and contract. He shudders, his teeth biting on my exposed shoulder before he collapses atop me.
    The two of us collect our breaths, sticky, wet and clothed and wrapped up in one another. Neal rests his head on my chest, his breath ghosting across my clothed breasts, mine skirting across his hair.
    After a few moments his head pops up. “You mind if I stay the night? I would love to go another round without all of this,” he tugs on my dress, “in the way.”
    I don’t even try to bite back my smile.

Six
    Around nine in the morning Ashleigh texts me, the ping of my cell phone pulling me out of bed. We should probably get going soon . She means back to The Palmer House, to pick up our bags and check out before noon. I text her back: Alright .
    The weight of the night before is apparent in my bones. I’m covered in Neal’s scent, the smell of him thick in my hair and mouth and between my legs, the taste of him heavy on my tongue. He surrounds me, suffocates me, and yet he’s nowhere to be found. Once again Neal’s fucked me and dashed.
    I swallow my disappointment and sense of shock. I refuse to allow Neal to turn me into one of those stupid girls who wear the word “doormat” like a perfect shade of lipstick. Like my mother said after Justin cheated and I sat in my bedroom, drafting the ways I could get him back: “If he’s done it once, he’ll probably do it again. Men aren’t that complex.”
    The smell of eggs fills my nostrils as I cross the hall to the bathroom. Ashleigh must be in the kitchen making breakfast, something I was sure she’s incapable of.
    Standing beneath the spray of hot water I scrub my skin until I’m pink, desperately erasing all trace of Neal. I fill my mouth with water and spit out his name.
    Neal Dietrich .
    He means nothing to me. He’s given me what I wanted and I’ve done the same for him, spreading my legs and lacing my fingers in his hair. One last fuck for posterity. By the end of the week he’ll be nothing but a memory - That guy who took over my father’s business. – nothing more, nothing less.
    My hair’s in a sloppy wet bun when I open my closet door, pieces of sixteen-year-old-Caitlin staring back at me. Her plaid dress with the white collar, four pairs of bell bottom jeans, a black skirt that was too tight and too short (a birthday present from Suzanne who handed it to me with a wink), and a few plain colored tees. I throw on the dress. Very nineties.
    Ashleigh throws a pot in the sink as I round the corner to the kitchen.
    She hasn’t been slaving over an aromatic breakfast, Neal has. He stands between the sink and the stove, boxers slung low on his hips as three omelets cook on the griddle. A bowl of fruit glistens in the sink, doused in cold water, shocking them clean.
    He throws a glance over his shoulder, stubble’s dark and thick. He hasn’t had time to shave.
    “Good morning,” he says, grinning.
    This is the moment where I rub my eyes before blinking comically fast. Am I dreaming or is he really making me breakfast? All that anger I was trying to ignore, dissipates in an instant, replaced by a cool wave of relief.
    “Morning,” I say, hopping on the barstool, on the other side of the counter. “Where’d you get the food?”
    He says, “I don’t know if they have them in Baltimore, but in Chicago we have these things called grocery stores.”
    I roll my eyes, the inside of my cheek pulled between my teeth to keep myself from smiling.
    “Would you mind doing me a favor?” he says.
    “Depends on what it is.”
    From the fridge he pulls a glass of champagne and a carton of orange juice.
    I raise an eyebrow. “Mimosas?”
    “I thought you girls might like a glass.”
    As if on cue, Ashleigh wanders into the living room from the opposite side of the condo, dressed in jeans