Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Darren leaned over the door, essentially shutting it and leaving us together in a closed room. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked less than contrite. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, he looked about ready for a war.
“What were you doing?” he demanded.
I shrugged, my unofficial mind-your-own-fucking-business statement.
“She looked cloth to you.”
“She is getting more comfortable with me. She started work at the shop today. And you’re standing here, shitting all over my work by acting like we know each other, when we’re not supposed to.” I pushed off of Snowflake’s wall, walking over to her Juliette balcony and cracking the window open while lighting a joint. I observed the view, realizing that her window overlooked Mrs. Belfort’s maze. The pieces of the puzzle came together with a satisfied click.
That’s why she knew her way around it by heart. Little devil.
“What’th that?”
“What’s what?” I took a hit.
“Why are you thmiling?”
Was I? Maybe I was. So what?
“I’m fulfilling my part of the deal,” I said, thinking about Jesse rubbing her little clit in circles in the bathroom, her mouth falling open in pleasure. Having a raging boner in the company of a sweaty, lanky oil tycoon was not my finest hour.
“You’re altho thpending a lot of money.” He took a step toward me, bracing an elbow on Jesse’s bookshelf and knocking down a row of Jane Austens. He seemed to have drunk from the confidence well, because I swear the fucker hadn’t been that nonchalant the last time I’d seen him. “Gutting and refurbishing the hotel? Breaking ground on the water park before the money ith even yourth? Do you know thomething that I don’t?”
The answer was yes. I did know. I knew that I was in deep shit.
The reason why I’d started spending the money was simple: I didn’t want to fail. My wanting to fail had nothing to do with the money. It had to do with Jesse. She needed to get away from this place, because her parents were as constructive to her future as fucking herpes.
I blew smoke out the window, fingering my beard. “Don’t pretend like I don’t own this money. She’s working for me and is already hanging outside more than she has the entire previous year combined. But if what makes you sleep well at night is me completing the entire six months, that’s not a problem, either.”
“Thtick to the plan if you want to get the retht of the money. It’th not yourth yet.”
“It is mine,” I gritted out.
“What’s yours?” a small voice chirped from the doorway. Both our gazes darted toward the door. Snowflake was there, looking thoroughly-orgasmed and oh-so-pissed.
Sonovofuckingbitch.
THIRTY SECONDS.
I forced myself to stare back in the mirror after making myself come.
The first time I’d come since before The Incident.
The first time I’d masturbated since that night.
At first, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to at all. It wasn’t that I was not attracted to men, because I was. But it was in the same way you admired paintings and sculptures: from afar, knowing they were heartless, soulless, not to have, and definitely not to hold. As I propped my butt against the sink and spread my legs, however, the surge of heat and excitement I’d felt before The Incident came crashing into my body like a wave. I pushed my lips apart, looking down at my clit.
Swollen, throbbing, begging.
It’s been a long time. Touch me.
I did, but it didn’t feel as good as Bane’s thigh. His body was rough and callused, lithe, and male. My fingers didn’t hold a candle to his strong leg. Frustrated, I pulled a towel from the steam cabinet and dumped it across the bathtub edge. I hoisted one leg and straddled it, riding the edge like it was a mechanical bull.
I closed my eyes, imagining Bane.
The hard planes of muscles under his thin over-washed Billabong shirt.
His rough fingers finding my clit. Big, dirty, and inky.
His cinnamon breath and ocean scent as my thighs straddled his bearded face while I rode his mouth, my juices dripping down his chin. I moaned, squeezing my thighs against the bathtub, biting my arm to stifle my little yelps of joy—sheer, newfound bliss—as the first flood of pleasure washed my inhibitions and anxiety away. I was coming. Feeling. Falling. Breaking the chains of misery that anchored me down.
It wasn’t about my physical needs. Not all of it, anyway. It was about taking my power back. It was about reconquering my sexuality, a piece of land that had always belonged to no one else but me.
It was about finding my way back to the world.
I nearly skipped my way back to my room after washing my face and hands. Darren was still there, and that surprised me, because he usually barely had the guts to knock, let alone step inside.