Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
He takes the glass out of my hand before placing it down on the small table in front of us. I expect him to ask me to sit down, to ease me into it, but instead, he moves in behind me, adjusting my body just enough to put me directly in Izaac’s eye line.
Caesar’s hands fall to my waist, his lips skirting over my neck. “Mmmm, beautiful Aspen. You smell divine,” he murmurs as his hand lowers down my thigh and brushes across my bare skin. I suck in a breath, melting back into him, unable to keep from picturing Izaac’s hands on my body, his lips on my neck.
His fingers find the spaghetti strap of my dress, and he slowly rolls it down my shoulder before his lips roam along the exposed skin. My knees shake, and as his hand clutches my waist, I feel another body step into my side.
I gasp, but before I can process, his hands are on me, grazing over my sensitive skin. There’s no denying how good it feels, but when my gaze shifts back to Izaac, I can’t help but feel this is wrong. So damn wrong.
Anger flashes in Izaac’s stare, his hands clenched at his side, and it’s clear that whatever bullshit I’m trying to prove, it’s working. He tracks their every movement, watching as their hands lay claim to what’s already his, as their lips dance across the skin he’s so familiar with.
Damn it feels so good, but they’re not him.
Izaac’s gaze moves back up to mine, and the hurt I see there reflects the agony that’s stared back at me through the mirror all week, and a part of me wants to keep going, wants to see how far I can push this, but the other part—the rational part—knows that I need to stop. This isn’t what I want, and all I’m doing is hurting him and myself.
Caesar’s hand slips down over my hip, trailing lower until it brushes over my thigh again, only this time he doesn’t follow the same trail back up, he lingers, his fingers pushing closer toward my core, and the second they brush across my pussy and my hips jolt in response, Izaac turns and walks away.
Agony tears through me, and without his eyes on me, the spell is broken, and all I feel is dirty. “Stop,” I say, my body tensing up. “Stop, please.”
The two men immediately pull back, their hands flying away from my body as though I’d physically hurt them, and I whip around, my eyes already starting to fill with tears. I need to make this right. How on earth could I have thought this was a good idea? Izaac would never sink to this level to try to make me hurt this way.
“Woah, pretty girl, is everything okay?” Caesar asks. “We didn’t hurt you?”
“No, not at all,” I tell them, letting them see the regret in my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m a mess. I had no business coming here tonight.”
“Say no more,” the other guy says before they both nod and walk away.
What the hell was I doing?
I need to get out of here. Only, how can I leave things like that with Izaac? I need to see him.
Not willing to risk picking up my drink after it was put down by some man I’ve never formally met before, I leave it behind and cut through the VIP lounge. My hands shake as I try to blink back the tears. God, he’s never going to speak to me again.
Knowing he’s got to be around here somewhere, I consider going back to the bar and asking them if they could get him for me, but there’s only one place I know he’ll come for me, one place we can truly be alone and talk through everything—the dark room.
Bypassing the bar and Becs, I make my way to the familiar room and step inside before dimming the lights just the way I like it. They’re low enough that I can still see but dark enough to have settled my nerves. I don’t get those kinds of nerves with him anymore unless butterflies count, but it feels right to take us back to basics.
Making my way into the center of the room, I prepare to wait. He’s not going to scramble after me like a love-sick fool. He’s going to make me suffer, and he’ll leave me here just long enough for me to wonder if he’s coming at all, but in the end, he’ll come because he can’t stand the idea of hurting me even though I was the cold-hearted bitch who set out to cause him pain.
What can I say? Izaac Banks is a better person than I am. He always has been.
The seconds quickly turn into long, drawn-out minutes, and before I know it, at least thirty minutes have passed when I finally hear the door close behind me. The relief overwhelms me, and I close my eyes as I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” I whimper, certain he can’t hear me over the loud music in the club, but I know he senses it. He always does.