Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Just like that. No. Like I’m nobody. No explanation, no reasoning. Just… No.
Right away, the blood starts pounding in my ears. If this keeps up, I’ll have a stroke. Fine. Some things aren’t worth fighting about. I force myself to take a slow, deep breath before turning toward the table with my own plate in hand.
She plops down on one of the chairs with a leg tucked under her and picks up a piece of bacon, munching without saying a word or looking my way. It’s probably better that she does not speak. I need to get this out without her bullshit arguments and childish reasoning.
“We need to talk — or, I need to talk to you.” She lifts a shoulder, using her fork to scoop eggs onto a piece of toast. At least she’s eating. Just how she can do that, I don’t know, since my insides are churning like I’m sitting in a boat in the middle of a stormy sea.
“Last night.” Her chewing slows but doesn’t stop. “That can’t happen again. We can’t go back and change the past, but we can’t keep doing this.”
To all of that, she offers a single, flat word. “Sure.”
“That’s it. That’s all you have to say?”
Still, she won’t look up from her plate. She only chews before taking another bite of bacon.
Not this time. I will not let her get to me this time. She’s hurt, that’s all. I’m not going to make her feel any better if I lose my temper.
“I’m sorry,” I offer. The words stick in my throat, but I force them out.
She takes another bite of her food and chews slowly before washing it down with some coffee. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Tatum, you do.”
She sets down her cup before drawing the leg not tucked beneath her close to her chest, propping her heel on the edge of her seat. I can’t see what’s happening under the table, but I can imagine it clear enough: her lace-covered pussy on display. She’s determined to exploit every single one of my weaknesses. “Maybe I need to hear it from you. Maybe I need to know what you’re sorry for. Maybe you don’t get off that easily.”
It was pretty easy to get you off, wasn’t it? I won’t get anywhere by throwing that in her face, even if the impulse is so tempting. Almost as tempting as she was last night.
No. It was more profound than that. She’s tempted me before and I was able to resist. Last night was something different. Deeper. Primal. I was already standing on the razor’s edge, watching her body writhe while another man touched her… I didn’t stand a chance. There was no hope of resisting. The animal inside of me had no choice but to claim her. She’s mine.
She isn’t. She can’t be.
“Listen. Straight up.” I push my plate away, unsure why I bothered to cook for myself in the first place. “You have to know I want you to get through your shit. I want you to heal and move on.”
Finally her gaze lifts to reveal hard, wounded eyes. She can put on whatever act she wants with everyone else, but she can’t hide the pain she feels, not from me, not once I see it in those emerald orbs. “Because it’s your job,” she taunts softly. “And you’re a good, faithful boy.”
“Because you don’t deserve to feel the way you do.” Though when she puts me through shit like this, I have my doubts.
She snorts softly. “I’m so glad you think so.”
“Could you not turn this into a fight? You know I’m right.”
“Do us both a favor and stop telling me what I know, okay? Because you don’t have the first clue.”
“That’s not true.”
“If you say so.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with what he did to you.”
She flinches but recovers quickly—or pretends to, which is probably closer to the truth. “Who?”
“You really want me to say his name? I’m trying to do you a favor here.”
“Do us both a favor and drop it. I don’t need you to do me any favors. I don’t need you, period.” Chair legs scrape across the floor when she shoves away from the table.
“I can’t be the reason you get over him.” She only scoffs on her way to the sink with her plate. Do not look at her ass. I might as well tell myself not to breathe. “And it’s not because of what he did to you. I need to know you understand that. I’m not going to let it go until you tell me you understand.”
When all she does is loudly scrape what’s left on the plate into the sink, it takes a slow count of five to keep from blowing up. In times like this, I wonder if she really is dense or just likes to see how far she can push me before I snap.