Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
A burst of creative energy rips through me every time I touch Mia. It’s strange, powerful, and, to my dismay, unexplainable.
I don’t tread in unknown territory. And when I do, it’s only after I’ve studied all variables. That doesn’t seem to be possible with a certain blonde who’s messing up my patterns, habits, and, most importantly, my equilibrium.
It doesn’t matter that I spent the whole night here. That energy started to slip soon after I left Mia.
There must be a way that I can contain this energy. When I was coming all over her petite face, I figured the only solution would be to lock her up, but she’s literally a menace and would snip my balls the first chance she gets.
Now, there’s another option that I don’t particularly care for, but it could be the only one on the table.
“You look gorgeous today.” Nila’s annoying voice brings me out of my reverie.
“I’m gorgeous every day.” I grab her wrist with two fingers and throw her hand away.
Touching is one of the most revolting things humans ever invented. I tolerate it out of necessity and only indulge in it when my cock is involved.
“Now off you go.” I push her in the direction of the door.
“But—”
“I won’t fuck you, Nila. Go find yourself another dick. Though it won’t be as satisfactory as mine, I’m sure you’ll survive the downgrade.”
“You’re such a prick.”
“Being obsessed with my cock won’t get you on his Ten Favorite People list. Fortunately, he’s not turned on by desperate holes.” I slide the studio door closed in her face and make a note to ask the janitor not to give her the keys again.
Though that would be talking to his dick she obviously seduced and won’t be an easy task.
Men, as a general rule, are guided by their lower parts, and while I belong to the disgraceful gender, I don’t share their mindless animalistic instincts.
Fucking, like everything in life, is a power play. A means to take what I want and fuck off.
Just like last night.
Then why did you want to stay afterward, Lan? the voice inside my head that I thought I’d murdered for his blasphemous suggestions whispers.
To get more from my muse, I reply back—in my head, of course, because I’m not a lunatic. Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have that, so you don’t know what that means. Throw a pity party for yourself and don’t invite me.
That shuts him up.
Good.
Hope he chokes to death on the sentimental bollocks that he wears like a charm.
I’m about to leave the studio to execute my next diabolical plan that may or may not include a certain goth Barbie when my phone vibrates on the work table.
Now, I won’t be winning a Son of the Year award anytime soon, but I don’t usually ignore Mum’s calls.
I pick up the video call with a grin. “Morning to the most beautiful queen.”
Mum laughs, her face radiating. Bran and I inherited the shape of her eyes, while Glyn has her facial structure.
Astrid C. King, as per her paintings’ signature, is the reason all three of us have artistic genes, though I have the strongest, mixed with a dash of chaos.
She soon narrows her eyes. “Why are you buttering me up first thing in the morning? Are you hiding something?”
“Just the fact that you’re the best mum ever, maybe?”
She laughs again.
It’s easy to deal with my parents because I just unleash my inner boy who actually appreciates them.
Mum is a tad better than Dad, though. He, for some reason, still holds a grudge that I pushed Bran and called Glyn unnecessary when we were kids.
So I veered to pretending that I love them to death and that seems to work wonders.
“Stop it, seriously.” She sobers up. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”
“A while being two days.”
“Still too much. All three of you are living far away from home and I just miss you.”
“We miss you, too, but Bran and I have been away from home for over five years now.”
“Still doesn’t get easier.” She sighs with enough drama to rival soap opera actors.
And my mum isn’t even the dramatic type.
“We were never meant to stay,” I say while staring at my collection of clay statues that lie around like ghostly puppets.
“Drive that knife deeper, would you?”
“I wouldn’t dare knife my own mother.” I grin. “We’ll visit soon.”
That’s literally the whole point behind her terrible act.
As expected, her expression lights up. “Bring Bran and Glyn. Kill, too.”
“Only if Killian gets to be brought chopped to pieces and shoved in a freezer.”
“Landon!” She gasps, her eyes chastising me all the way to Sunday.
“What? It’s no secret that I don’t like the twat.”
“Your sister loves him.”
“One more reason to dislike him. She often has terrible taste. Like that time she painted all over my statue.”
Mum winces. “People express their artistic abilities differently.”