Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Sabella,” he mutters, nipping my earlobe.
My name is both a protest and a prayer on his lips. The heat of his chest on my back vanishes. Instead of lifting off me as I expect, he slides a hand around my stomach and between my legs. When he presses his fingers on my clit, the tension in my lower body builds again. A gasp slips from my lips, telling him what he does to me. He doesn’t work fast and efficiently. He takes his time, rubbing me slowly.
By the time I’m ready to beg for release, he’s growing hard inside me again. My panting is loud and my moans needy, but I don’t care. He fucks me slowly, savoring it this time. I’m overstimulated and raw inside when he finally lets me come. He doesn’t climax again, but he moves with me, setting the rhythm of my hips until my aftershocks have faded.
The floor is cold beneath me, but as long as his body covers mine, I’m in no rush to move.
Too soon, his warmth disappears. I turn my face to the side. He gets up and looks down at me with confusion etched on his face. Spearing his hands through his hair, he steps away. It feels like the cloud that moved in front of the sun. The room turns ten degrees colder. Confusion morphs into urgency as he grabs his pants off the floor and pulls them on with jerky movements.
I push up onto my knees, feeling the effort in every muscle. He avoids my gaze, groping for his torn shirt and balling it up in his fist. Still not meeting my eyes, he offers me a hand and helps me to my feet. He stands tall, a stunning picture of ink and muscles. I wrap my arms around myself and press my legs together to prevent his cum from running down my thighs. I’m not so sure of my victory any longer. I failed to get through to him, and I don’t want him to see me so vulnerable, not when he’s so detached.
I needn’t have worried about his attention, because he turns his back on me and walks up the stairs. Leaving me like this is a thousand times worse than when he watches his release leak from my body. I’m unable to move. I can’t bring myself to take a step toward the stairs.
He comes down a moment later, dressed in a clean shirt and carrying my robe in his hands. What I see on his face is no longer anger. There’s just…nothing. His mask is back in place. He hangs the robe over my shoulders. For a fraction of a second, his hold tightens, but then he drops his hands and walks through the door, leaving me alone once more, still banished, forcing me to face the fact that we may be broken forever.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Angelo
* * *
Sabella’s apology rings in my ears as I speed over the gravel road to the old house. What do I do with that?
It changes so much.
It changes everything.
I can’t hate her even as I love her any longer. Then again, I haven’t hated her for a long time now. No. The naked, raw truth? I never hated her. I only chose to project my hurt on her.
So what the fuck do I do with this?
I have no idea.
Because she’s still going to betray me.
The notions are two warring entities in my chest. Two opposites. Redemption and betrayal. She apologized for something she’s not guilty of, and she’s scheming against me. On the one hand, she acknowledged my feelings and thereby showed me she cared. On the other, she’s plotting my arrest to guarantee her own freedom. I have no clue how to reconcile the two. There’s a very good reason for that. It’s impossible. The question of what I’m going to do about it remains. As always, the answer is the same. Keep her in isolation. Cut her out of parts of my life. Which leaves us right where we are, trapped in this fucked-up circle.
But she apologized.
She said she was fucking sorry.
And I believe her. She meant it. Her honesty was too pure. She left herself too vulnerable to have been faking it.
But I don’t have a solution.
In the end, that’s what takes its toll. I’m not just tired. I’m exhausted. I can’t think about it anymore, so I do what I always do. I turn my thoughts elsewhere.
The road is uneven. Sabella’s body was knocked around during the drive to the new house. I need to have the potholes filled and the road tarred. I have to brief the lawyer on finalizing the contract for Powell to sign. A shitload of paperwork waits on my desk. The report from the guards watching my cousins sits unopened on my phone. Lavigne has to be dealt with. The children’s future has to be decided, their school secured. The gardens require work for spring, pruning and transplants. I focus on the shitload of tasks on my list until I arrive home.