Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I’m back to this moment being about control.
He wants it. Maybe I took it?
He seems to prove as much when he says, “I very much want you to touch me, Zoey.”
Oh God. Stop with the Zoey. Please. This is one big fantasy, I remind myself. Being Zoey wouldn’t be a bad thing if Zoey wasn’t my mother.
I shake myself and force myself back into the moment. “Then why are my hands between us?”
“Neither one of us is ready for where that takes us.”
“Thanks to all the whiskey you poured down my throat, I feel pretty ready.”
He arches a brow. “You want this to be over and done? Because I don’t.”
His confession does funny things to my belly. “No?”
“No,” he assures me. “I do not.”
“What does that mean?” And those nerves I thought I didn’t feel are swimming through me like liquid fire.
His eyes narrow, and he studies me with such intensity that I think he’s trying to read me, maybe gauge just how nervous I am, as if he read my sudden wave of inhibition. He releases my hands and cups my face. “Relax, sweetheart.”
I wet my dry lips. “I’m relaxed.”
“You’re nervous, and you don’t need to be. Nothing happens that you don’t want to happen with me, ever. Just say no.”
“I don’t want to say no.”
“Not in this moment, but I hope knowing you can, will make you relax. Maybe you need that wine.”
“Maybe we should have brought the whiskey bottle.”
“Done,” he says, and he leans in and brushes his lips over mine. “I’ll get us one.” He starts to turn away, and I catch his sleeve. “I don’t think you need to.”
“It’ll keep if you decide you’ve had enough, which, for the record, I want you to relax, not forget.” He motions to the living room. “Go sit, or stay at the window. Do what feels right.”
He’s shifted dramatically from intense to easygoing, and it’s whiplash I’m not even sure I wanted. He’s given me space, said all the right things, but also given me time to think, and thinking is almost worse than not thinking when it comes to nerves.
He walks to the living room to grab the phone. I follow him, and when he’s ordered room service, including champagne, strawberries, and whiskey, I’m standing in wait, my arms awkwardly folded in front of me.
“I thought you might want options.”
“You’re very big on options.”
He closes the space between us. “Only on some things.”
He catches my hand with his, his grip swallowing mine, and reminding me how big he is, and how tiny I feel next to him. I like it. I like him. How can I like him when my father hates him and he doesn’t even know my name? Because it’s sex, I tell myself. And sometimes that’s okay. This will be my first time doing the whole sex is sex thing, but why can’t I? I am woman, hear me roar, as my mother used to say. I’m still thinking too much.
His lips curve. “And stop thinking so much.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Why do you think I just ordered room service?”
“Maybe fast and over is a good idea.”
“It can be, but to that I say, maybe later, after we go a little slower. Come on,” he says, urging me to follow him.
I tug slightly, and when he looks at me, I say, “Where are we going?” Which is an utterly stupid question. I know where we’re going.
Now there is pure mischief in his eyes, as he says. “The view is even better in the bedroom.”
Chapter Twelve
The views are better in the bedroom is not a question, but Ethan just stares at me as if it is. Truly, I’m beginning to feel like he's a little too focused on me and my choices. I made my choice when I dared to come to his room. All that does is feed my nerves. I’m ready for the alpha that lurks beneath his surface to come out and play, and I don’t know what he’s waiting on.
So I nod.
Satisfaction fills his stare, and I realize it’s more than a little sexy. I want to see that look over and over and over again. He’s still holding my hand, and he leads me toward the bedroom. I’m also aware I need to pee, but that seems really not sexy. However, the alternative seems a lot less sexy. I’ll figure it out. But drinking is not my friend until I remedy my situation. I’ll go freshen up. That’s it. That’s kind of sultry and sexy, right? Maybe? It can be. If I come out naked, and I’m not doing that. Maybe in my bra and panties? Am I that daring?
I am not.
At this point, we’re walking up a set of stairs—yes, stairs in a hotel room—which is a reminder that he is rich and once again the words, I am not, apply. But it doesn’t matter. It’s one night. That very concept is all about freedom. Freedom to feel, freedom to explore. Freedom to be pleasured and give pleasure. Freedom to ask for more.