Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
He returns less than a minute later with one open bottle of beer in his hand. “Let’s share.”
I may need to give beer another chance.
I take the offered bottle and down the smallest sip before I hand it back to him. He wraps his lips around it and gulps a mouthful before placing the bottle on the coffee table.
“Take a seat, Eloise.”
I do just that in the center of the couch. He settles on the coffee table, directly across from me.
“Lean forward.”
I do as requested, holding my breath as he studies the small cut on my forehead. After I washed the blood off my face, I could tell the wound was small.
“This looks fine,” he comments in a whisper. “I’ll still bandage it for good measure.”
He does that with effortless ease. Choosing a small bandage before ripping it from the package and applying it to my forehead with tenderness. He immediately follows that with a brush of his fingertips over my cheek.
“Your knee is next.”
I offer my foot to him, and he smiles, placing it on his right thigh.
Since my robe is so large, everything that is supposed to be covered still is.
He touches the area around the scrape on my knee before he leans closer to get a better look. I feel his breath rush over the skin of my leg.
“This is fine,” he finally says. “I’d recommend letting it breathe. You won’t feel it in a day or two.”
“All right,” I whisper. “All that’s left is my elbow.”
I go to push the fabric of my robe up my arm to reveal my elbow, but his focus is still on my leg.
“Lamb.”
The word, spoken in a hushed tone, feels weighted with so much need that it’s palpable.
“Yes?” I somehow manage to get that out.
“I need…” His voice trails as he reaches for the beer to take another pull. “I need to think.”
“Why?” I ask.
His gaze catches mine. His eyes have darkened. There’s a dangerous promise there. It’s waiting to be unleashed. “Why do I need to think?”
“Yes,” I answer, leaning forward to brush one of my hands against his. “Why think when you can just feel?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gaines
It takes every ounce of strength I possess not to lunge at her.
She must be naked under that robe. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since she strolled out of the bathroom with her hair pinned up on the top of her head.
Strands have come loose, falling against the side of her face.
With the small bandage on her forehead, she looks like a broken doll, but she’s far from that.
She’s a woman that men covet. I saw more than a few stare at her in the club that night. Two passed by us tonight when we were entering this building. Neither could tear their eyes away from her.
I had a hand on my belt buckle when she was in the shower. I almost – fucking almost — undid the belt, unzipped my pants and stroked one out to the thought of her naked behind the door.
I press the palms of my hands into my eye sockets, wishing in some sense that I could erase the memory of how she looked in that green dress from my memory, along with the glimpse of her bare back that I saw and those fucking black lace panties she had on.
They must be on the bathroom floor.
I drop my hands to my lap and gaze down the hallway. I can still escape this hell of my own making. I could go to the bathroom, close the door, shove the panties into my pocket and leave.
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
My silence is so thick it’s making the air in the room heavy, as though a weighted blanket is slowly falling over us.
“I’m going to get a glass of water,” she announces with a tremor in her voice.
I left her hanging far too long. I know that. I’m an asshole for that but this woman is like a drug to me. Another hit and I’ll be lost to the need.
The last time I touched her, I was a mess for weeks. Months, if I’m being completely honest. When I did finally fuck another woman it left me feeling worse than before it happened.
I’ve fucked since when the itch has been too persistent to ignore, but it’s never left me feeling as satisfied as my brief encounter with Eloise did.
She pushes to her feet. A wiggle of the toes on her right foot catches my eye. Her toenails are painted a light shade of pink.
“Stevie painted them,” she whispers. “I saw her a few days ago.”
I don’t know if she’s dragging the name of someone we both know into this moment to break the tension, but it’s not working.
The desperate need that is thrumming through my veins and every cell of my body hasn’t lessened at all.