Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I wince.
He must feel it because against my ear he says, “I mean it. It was fucking incredible. We both know that. And I want more of it.”
I shake my head. “Stop.”
“I want more of it, Chloe. No, little bunny, I want all of it. All of it.”
I shake my head, saying nothing.
“I’m gonna give you space right now. Leave when you’re ready. And I’ll be in touch.”
“No,” I whisper. “You can’t. This was a one-off.”
He puts his mouth to the top of my head. “No, it won’t be a one-off. Last night you agreed to make all my fantasies come true, Chloe. And that’s what you’re gonna do.”
He squeezes again before he releases me. I sway with the loss of his stability, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I stay still in the hallway, staring at the digital number ten on the dryer’s display as my clothes continue to tumble.
And I don’t know what to think about what he’s just said, or how to process any of what’s happened in the past ten or twelve hours. So I simply stare at the display on the dryer through blurry eyes, while it slowly counts down the minutes until I can get dressed and get the fuck out of here.
The button and zipper of my jeans are so hot they’re burning me, but I don’t give a shit.
I don’t see him on my way out and don’t know how to lock up, so I don’t worry about it since he got in with his fingerprint, anyway. And I shouldn’t worry about his stuff, his property, after what he’s just admitted to doing to me.
The elevator is waiting for me, so I get in, press the button and leave. His car is gone when I get to mine. He must have sent the elevator back up to wait for me because the parking lot is empty other than my car.
I cry all the way home, grateful I don’t have to face anyone for at least the next twenty-four hours, though I’m sure twenty-four hours won’t be nearly enough.
Sunday Evening
My door opens and Adam motors into my office without knocking. I peer over my shoulder at him, thinking I should remark that I’m implementing the same rule he has. I still remember the sting of him snapping at me when we first moved here because I walked into his office without first knocking.
But I don’t say anything. And right now I don’t think I even feel anything. Not guilty about sleeping with someone else. Maybe a bit of anger, though. Maybe like what I’ve just been through is Adam’s fault because I didn’t want to use that blasted hall pass, but he pushed and pushed.
“Hey. Um… I’m home,” he says expectantly, looking a bit confused.
Maybe because I didn’t come to greet him when he arrived a few minutes ago, loudly announcing his arrival.
“Good weekend with Paul. Missed you, though. How are things here?”
I unclench my jaw. “Hey. Good. I’m just trying to get some work done,” I tell him. “Talk to you in a bit?”
He looks surprised at my dismissal. “Oh. All right.”
I turn my back to him, lift my phone and pretend to do something.
He’s gone.
Pressing my forehead to the desk, I let out a heavy sigh. That was probably me giving him a taste of his own medicine. And it doesn’t feel good that I’ve sunk to this.
I keep my head down for at least five minutes before I get up and close the door, then drag myself to the little sofa bed in my office that we figured would work well for overnight guests. I’m thinking I’ll sleep here tonight.
I wrote a text to Alannah this morning after a sleepless Saturday night, telling her I couldn’t talk about what I did, that I need space to process. She’d sent a bunch of texts and called several times. After I finally messaged her, she wrote back telling me she had a feeling I was in GuiltyVille, that I have nothing to feel bad about, and to let her know when I’m ready to talk. I responded with a simple OK because I knew I had to in order to get her to give me time before messaging, calling, or showing up here.
Thirty-odd hours hasn’t brought me any perspective. I don’t know how much time it’ll take for me to come to grips with my night with Derek Steele.
“Chloe?” The door opens and light from the hall illuminates Adam’s face. “Why are you sleeping in here?”
I haven’t slept yet. It’s after midnight and I’m lying on the pull-out bed in the dark, staring at nothing.
“I’m not feeling great so no point in disrupting your sleep,” I say.
He doesn’t answer right away, but then he moves his chair and stops close to the bed.