Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“You’ll stay here.”
“I have a flat.”
“And I’m telling you that you won’t live in it anymore. At least for the next six months. I expect you to move in tomorrow.”
The arsehole. It’s like a dictator’s regime around here.
“Anything else, your majesty?”
“Yes. Lose the attitude. I don’t appreciate it.”
“You should’ve included that in the clauses. You want to keep me? This is me, Jonathan, attitude and all. I’m not the little girl who hid behind Alicia’s dress.”
He’s silent for a bit, watching me closely as if he’s meeting me for the first time. “I can see that.”
I stand up. “Can I go now?”
“Not so fast.” He motions at me to come to him.
I hesitate before I approach him until his woodsy scent is all I breathe in. He has the power to own everyone and everything in his immediate vicinity. It’s less about his last name and more about his presence.
“Lift your dress.”
“W-what?”
“Do it.”
“Didn’t you tell me to put it back on not two minutes ago?”
“And now I’m telling you to lift it.” His vicious gaze slides up to mine. “Do you have an objection, Aurora?”
I stare directly into his harsh eyes, refusing to cower down.
“If you do, the door is right there.”
“I don’t.”
“Then don’t make me repeat myself.”
My hands tremble as my fingers latch onto the cloth and I lift it up to my stomach. My bare thighs and cotton knickers are in his full, unnerving view. Unlike earlier, my sense of confidence is withering away. At least then, it was according to my plan. Now, it’s his playground.
The fact that I have no clue about his plots is messing with my head more than the state of my half-nakedness.
“Up.”
A shudder grips me at the authority in his tone. I slide the dress up one more inch, revealing my belly. Jonathan grabs my hand and yanks it up to my breasts.
The feel of his skin on mine sends electricity through my stomach, almost like he’s trying to shock me to death.
“Hold it there. Don’t move.”
I don’t know what he means by that until his fingers trace alongside my scar. A different type of bolt rushes through my skin and memories zap to my mind like lightning strikes.
Vacant eyes. Duct tape. Dirt. The crunching of a metal against bones.
There’s nothing I can do to stop the memories. They suddenly attack and ravish my conscience as if it’s an act of vengeance. The only way I know to deal with it is by hiding it and pretending, for the most part, that it doesn’t exist.
I’m about to cover the scar or push him away, but Jonathan pins me in place with a glare. “Do not move or I’ll lay you on my lap and spank your arse.”
A shudder snaps my spine upright and it’s different from the usual memories that assault me with no prior warning.
The promise in his words freeze me in place, my feet curling in my shoes as he continues his meticulous observation of my scar.
His fingers run across it with a softness that turns me breathless. His skin is not harsh, but not soft either – it’s firm and as hard as him. The more his hand glides over the skin, the more impossible standing becomes. For some reason, I’d imagined a man like Jonathan wasn’t capable of such tenderness.
My core pulses and I breathe harshly, almost like an animal who can’t keep its instinct down.
His finger runs up and down above my scar. “What does this tattoo mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You want to tell me you got a tattoo of a closed eye right above a knife scar for nothing?”
“What makes you think it’s a knife scar?”
“It looks like a scar caused by a sharp object, but since you’re stiffening at the knife part, then my guess was correct. What happened? How did you get stabbed?”
My hands quiver, but I manage to speak in a levelled tone. “That’s none of your business.”
“What did I say about that mouth? Maybe you do want me to fuck it.”
“I don’t care what you do to my body, Jonathan. This thing has been dead for eleven years.”
I don’t know why I freely offer that information. Maybe I wanted to figuratively flip Jonathan the finger by letting him know I’m useless in the sex department. That no matter what he does, he won’t be able to break me.
He can’t break what’s already broken.
His fingers trail down from my ribs to my stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then he cups me through my underwear.
I don’t stiffen. I don’t even try to wiggle free. It doesn’t matter, because he can’t get to me.
The few sexual encounters I’ve had were complete disasters. One of them even said, “You’re dry as a desert.” Then he soaked me in lube so he could get inside.
There’s nothing Jonathan could do to change that. Sexual pleasure was purged out of me when I saw those vacant eyes.