Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“Well, that’s exactly what you want, don’t you? For him to lose his shit enough that you finally get to be with him.”
“But—”
“Besides, you fooled me too, remember?”
I go still in his arms.
“You played me as well. So you owe me this.”
I move away from him. “Shepard, please, okay? I’ll do anything else. I’ll give you anything else at all. Just—”
“This is what I want,” he states stubbornly.
“Why?”
“Because now that I know what your answer would’ve been to the ultimatum, I want him to suffer like I’m suffering. Even if for a little bit.”
Chapter 15
I cannot believe that I’m lying to him again.
Even after learning my lesson – and this lesson I promise I learned – I’m still making the same mistake. Actually, I’m back to where I was when all of this began, one twin blackmailing me to hurt the other. Although Shepard isn’t exactly blackmailing me but still. I can’t not do what he wants me to do and let him down. I’ve already done that.
It’s just a lot harder than the first time when I lied to Stellan.
Because now I know the consequences. I know how painful it is for him and I don’t want to hurt him that way. I don’t want to torture him and play with his emotions.
God, I want the opposite.
I want to keep him safe.
I want to protect his emotions, the ones he clearly doesn’t want to have but does.
And second, all this just goes to show even more that these two need an intervention. They need to sit down and talk it the fuck out. Shepard needs to apologize for always provoking Stellan to get his attention. And Stellan needs to apologize for not giving enough attention to his own twin brother.
Or fight it out.
Whatever helps solve the problem.
The issue is that they need to reach out to each other, and freaking have a conversation about their long-standing but clearly not buried feelings.
Which I realize is such a hard ask when it comes to men.
I mean they won’t even engage in a conversation about the symbolism of it all.
The ring, in this case.
“Give me my ring back,” I tell him one night, playing with the damp ends of his hair.
Like a few days ago, he’s sprawled on me, all lazy and languid, so deliciously relaxed that I want to eat him. Or lick the muscles of his back that flutter with every breath he takes, the side of his neck. His chest too. His hard jaw. His cheek. The roll of his biceps.
Basically, I just want to lick him everywhere.
And I did all of that, not five minutes ago.
I even sucked him off.
Or rather he fucked my face. After which, he made me dance in his lap with his dick inside of me and I don’t know what’s my favorite: getting fucked in the throat or in my pussy and riding him like a pole while doing it.
I guess it’s all my favorite.
He’s my favorite.
The only difference is that we’re in a new city and instead of his room, we’re in mine. Because he wouldn’t let me walk – two doors down – to his. Because he thinks it’s unsafe.
Because he clearly has the top spot for crazy.
And maybe that’s why I love him so much and keep falling in love every second of every day. If this is his way of fixing things and getting me to fall out of love with him, then he’s not doing a very good job of it.
Anyway, back to the conversation at hand.
To which he replies, mumbling into my neck, “No.”
“Just give it to me,” I insist, fisting his hair.
He looks up, his eyes hooded. “Why?”
I try not to get too lost in his dark gaze.
But apparently, don’t succeed and reply, “Because...”
“You want to wear it?” he asks belligerently.
My heart clenches in fear. “I’m… It’s just –”
“Because last time I checked you were in love with me.”
Now my heart clenches more but for a different reason. A reason that makes me wind my arms and my thighs around his body even more tightly. And in response, he slides his arms up my back and tunnels his fingers in my sex-tangled hair.
Then, “That still true?”
I squeeze him with my limbs. “Y-yes.”
He’s taken to doing that.
Asking me if I still love him. I don’t know what the purpose is – because hello? Allergic to emotions over here – but I know that as soon as I say yes, he stops breathing for a second like he can’t believe it and then breathes out a long breath as if relieved.
So there’s no way I can stop telling him the truth.
No way I can stop controlling his breaths like he controls mine.
No way I can stop giving him relief.
“So then, no. You’ll wear his ring when you’re not in love with me anymore.”