The Rake by L.J. Shen

Author:L.J. Shen [Shen, L.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Boston Belles
Publisher: L.J. Shen
Published: 2022-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

Four days later, I moved into Devon’s loft.

It was the first time I’d visited his apartment. Throughout our long and chaotic relationship, I was the one calling the shots, so I always demanded he come to see me.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I had no idea what to expect, but somehow, the place fit into my perception of him perfectly.

An extensive chunk of open space with furnishings and colors I would imagine Queen Elizabeth herself favored. The lack of walls and vast hallways surprised me. The place looked like a repurposed warehouse. I’d always imagined Devon in a sprawling, dark manor—cluttered with family portraits and expensive yet stunningly ugly antiques. Then I remembered he didn’t like closed spaces. He was somewhat of a claustrophobic.

It was a real upgrade from my tiny apartment.

I was feeling particularly nice toward Devon that day. He’d made sure to come to my apartment every day since Frankgate and ensured that I came.

On his dick, on his tongue, on his fingers.

You name it, he shoved it in me.

I hadn’t broached the subject of exclusivity, but I made a mental note to let him know that I was not down with him dipping his sausage in every sauce available in the all-you-can-eat Boston dating scene buffet.

I spent the four days leading up to the move trying to convince Persy, Aisling, Sailor, and Ross that I was definitely, definitely not in a relationship with Devon.

Luckily, the Frank story made it easy to explain how we’d become roommates.

Everyone thought Devon was a dreamboat for providing me shelter, and that I was a complete and utter moron not to kiss his feet and beg him to wed me.

Things looked like they were finally settling down.

I would even go as far as to say I was getting comfortable in one of Devon’s spare rooms.

He sneaked into my bedroom every night since I’d moved in, but I always kicked him out to the master bedroom afterward, citing that I would never be able to sleep with a man next to me.

During my time here, I caught glimpses of conversations between him and his mother. She called him frequently, sometimes a few times a day. He always seemed polite and reserved, friendly—even though, it had to be said, Ursula Whitehall sounded like a giant pain in the ass.

“No, Mum, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“No, I don’t know when I’ll come to England next. Is the money I’ve sent you not enough?”

“No. I’ve no desire to speak to her. I’ve apologized. That should be enough.”

This last tidbit made me want to ask questions, but then I reminded myself it was none of my business.

Three days after I moved in with Devon, he went to work and I stayed behind.

I was sitting in front of the alabaster marble nook, enjoying an assortment of exotic fruit and grains—fine, it was Froot Loops. I was eating Froot Loops—minding my own business. I wore nothing but an oversized shirt (Snaccidents Happen). Thank you, Etsy, for providing me with a wealth of inspiration and life mantras and my brazen attitude.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.