Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
“I won’t.”
I will never ever back down.
Not when he looks like this. All overcome.
Not when he’s talking like this.
When has he ever talked like this? When has he ever been… dramatic?
Because he was being that back there, wasn’t he?
Only to me, it sounded perfect.
So, so perfect.
His chest shakes again. “So you’re really mine.”
Now it’s my turn to shake.
Time for my breaths to hitch and my throat to well up with emotions. And words.
Well, just one word: Yes.
I’m really his.
His. His. His.
But somehow my brain kicks in and I whisper, “F-for tonight.”
And it’s like I broke something. Something precious.
Not only inside my own chest but inside his as well.
And whatever it was, it hurts.
Especially when all the emotions that were flickering on his face vanish, leaving behind sharp things.
Sharp peaks of his cheekbones, sharp hollows, sharp jut of his stubbled jaw.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like it at all. It only makes me hurt more and I blurt out, “It’s b-because we’re both in pain. And we’re suffering and I-I think… I just want it to end. I want us to move on and —”
And then he takes his shirt off and my words go poof.
He rips it off really, snagging it at the back and yanking it off his body. And then…
Then there are just muscles.
Miles and miles of them. Tanned and summery and rippling.
All jam-packed and sleek. Dense.
So beautiful.
And yeah, sexy. Such a work of art. So much so that even the black and blue bruises, the numerous cuts and scrapes, do nothing to take away from the allure of his body.
They do twist my heart though. At how brutal they look. How painful.
And all because of the two years’ worth of torment. Maybe even from before that.
For wanting what doesn’t belong to him.
His best friend’s girl.
I flick my eyes up and focus on his rippling chest. “You didn’t have that before.”
I’m referring to his tattoo.
A series of numbers, in a plain script, on the left side of his chest. Tonight I get a good look at them: 1510.234 3023.456 When I first noticed his tattoo, two weeks ago, I couldn’t understand what it’s supposed to be. And tonight, after reading and re-reading the numbers, I still don’t.
“No, I didn’t.”
I look up, into his eyes. “What is it?”
“Something that matters.”
Confused, I frown. “What does that —”
Suddenly my words halt and then simply dissolve on my tongue like sugar because he bends down, his sculpted abs curling. Which is fine, or would be fine, if he hadn’t also gripped my ankles at the same time. Both of them, and in a very firm hold. And then keeping his eyes on me, he kisses one.
The one with the anklet, making me suck my belly in and bite my lip.
At his both tender and possessive gesture.
And then he gets on the bed.
He gets between my legs, that he widens.
Widens and widens and keeps going until my heart is in my throat and my eyes are big as saucers.
His smirk is back.
It’s small but no less potent.
You’d think that it would dampen the fire in his eyes, the fire that’s making them look all dark and glinting, but it doesn’t. Somehow that arrogant smirk on his split lip and the intent look in his eyes go together.
They work super well and make him look larger than life.
They make him look like a force of nature.
The force that’s parting my legs and I don’t know… I don’t know why or what he’s doing and…
“R-Reign —”
He shakes his head. “No talking.”
My belly clenches at his rough command. “But what —”
“You’re mine, aren’t you?”
“Just for —”
“Yeah, tonight.” He squeezes my ankle. “Heard you the first time.”
“I —”
“So now you listen to me,” he says, flexing his grip. “You’re done. Talking and making demands. You wanna take the pain away, don’t you?”
I nod eagerly. “Yes.”
“You wanna move on. You wanna end the fucking suffering, yeah?”
“Y-yes.”
His jaw tics. “So then tonight, I make the rules, understand?”
“You hate r-rules.”
“Not the ones that I make.”
“But —”
“Tonight, my word is law. My rules are your fucking promise. Your oath. You know why?”
“B-because you’re my boss?”
His eyes glint with arrogance. “Yeah. But also, I’m your Bandit and you’re my Bubblegum.”
My elbows slip and I almost go back down on the bed.
I almost fall.
With shivers. And tremblings. With relief.
That he finally, finally called me by his name. He finally called me what I’ve been wanting him to.
Even though I kept denying it.
I kept fighting with myself.
“So I want you to shut the fuck up and let me do what I want,” he continues, his gaze sharpening. “Okay, Bubblegum?”
I hiccup out a breath. “Uh-huh.”
He licks his lips like a predator who’s getting ready to go in for the kill. “Good girl.”
His raspy praise makes my tummy clench.
Or maybe it could be the fact that in the very next moment, he falls on me.