Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“You know that’s not how I see you.”
He darts his hand out, loops it around my wrist, and pulls me into his embrace. When I collapse against him, I find it difficult to stay angry, especially when he wraps his arms around me and starts stroking his hand through my hair. He’s trying to comfort me, and I almost push my face against his chest, finding solace in his rock-hard power. Then I remember Rosa’s face again. The pain. The betrayal.
“What if I wanted to leave?” I say. “Since you don’t see me that way. If I’m not your prisoner anymore, can I?”
I lean back in his arms, looking up at him. Rage touches his powerful features. It looks like he’s ready to erupt at any moment, teeth clenched, his mismatched eyes flaring with equal intensity. I know it’s serious when even his eyes are riding the same vibe.
“You can’t leave until it’s safe,” he snaps.
“So I am your prisoner.”
“Why are you being such a brat? I’ve got a concussion, and my ribs are in agony. I wouldn’t tell anyone else that, but I’ll tell you because you’re my woman. I’m in pain, and my daughter hates me. The last thing I need is you coming at me too.”
I grab his chest and push away, but my instincts take over when I feel his solid muscle. I pull myself toward him instead, standing on my tiptoes and kissing him, but only for a moment. Then something ugly twitches inside of me, the urge to sabotage—break our relationship to save my friendship with Rosa.
“It’s not always going to be easy,” I tell him. “Maybe you thought it would be. Maybe you think it will be a case of, oh, we’ve said we belong to each other. We want children together. We want a life so we don’t have to work on anything. We don’t have to work on our relationship. We’ll never have any arguments. Is that what you thought?”
“I thought my woman would know better than to act like a sassy brat so soon after I’ve been shot.”
I try to step away from him. He grunts and presses down on the small of my back, pushing me toward him, letting me feel the tension radiating from his hard body. Suddenly, our lips are on each other. He opens his mouth with a growling noise, and I sink closer to him, grinding up and down. I savor the feeling of his closeness, the security promised in his touch, but I don’t feel very secure right now.
You know what I feel? Reality is tearing at the edges, just like after Mom died, like when I slipped into that fugue state and believed she was alive for too long. It would be easier to be crazy, in a way, easier to push away responsibility.
“We have to tell her,” I say.
“You’re right,” he replies, warm breath touching me, his lips red from kissing. “But not now.”
“Soon, Leo, or…”
“Or what?” he growls, his hand squeezing my hip in that possessive fashion.
He owns me, and I own him. I wish it were just as simple as that.
“Say it.” He squeezes my other hip, holding me in place, his jaw tight. “Tell me you’ll end it. Try to make it sound realistic. Try to make me believe you mean it when we both know you don’t. We both know you couldn’t.”
“If we don’t tell her, we’ll have to end it. What’s the alternative? Are you going to create an underground bunker to keep me in, even better than the basement? And then you can use me as your broodmare and not give a single fuck what I want, right? Is that your plan?”
He lightly pushes me away, shaking his head. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
Our eyes meet, and there’s so much emotion there. There’s so much unspoken heat and affection and, yes, love. I’m not afraid to think that, even if the thought of saying it terrifies me. It’s possible to bridge the gap here. I can sense it as we hold long, intense eye contact. I can also feel this chaos inside me, this mayhem that won’t stop rattling. It’s like the screws holding me in place are shaking violently as all the events that have led here are finally catching up.
“I guess you better leave,” I say, “since one of us can leave.”
He clenches his fists again. “Fine, Emma. If that’s what you want, but it doesn’t change anything. Pout all you want. Throw all the temper tantrums you want. You’re proving how young, naïve, and inexperienced you are—all reasons that make me need you. All reasons that show me I’ve made the right choice. Hell, not that it was a choice.”
He turns and strides away, his back muscles tense through his shirt. Once he closes the door, I sit on the bed, bury my face in my hands, and think about everything I’ve done wrong. This panicky sensation won’t leave me, this rumbling deep within.