Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
"Before?"
"You know what I mean." Okay, so he's still clueless. "Don't make me say it out loud."
"I wish you had, too," he mumbles. "But now you will, and that's what matters. I'm not going to always be around. You're going to have to protect yourself."
My heart sinks, and suddenly, I don't want to do this anymore. "I'm tired," I mutter, sagging a little against the wall.
"The lesson isn't finished yet."
"I know, but I'm tired." The truth is, my heart's not in it now. He's not going to be around forever, or even much longer. We can't stay here for the rest of our lives, and I know it, and I never expected to. But how do I go back to my old life now? It's my fault for getting comfortable. We've been gone for weeks, and it's almost mid-November. Soon, we'll have to discuss Thanksgiving and whether we'll have a turkey. I was looking forward to learning how to roast one. I was actually looking forward to having a holiday with him.
And now, shortly, we'll return to the way things were. Me in my wing, him in the little cottage I can see from my bedroom window. Not all of it. Enough that I can tell when he's got a light burning, whether he's up in the middle of the night like I sometimes am.
"Let's try one more move before we call it a day. You've gotten good at this," he says, and for once, he sounds like he means it. He's not teasing. There's no insult waiting to be voiced. "But I want you to know how to get out of a situation when someone attacks you from behind."
I don't even know what's happening; he's so fast. One second we're facing each other, and the next, he spins me in place and grabs me tight, rough, shoving me against the wall with my arms pinned at my sides and his body holding me in place.
"What do you do now?" he grunts, his hot breath on my ear.
Instinct makes me thrash and fight, but his arms only tighten. "Come on. You can do better than that." He sounds nasty, cruel, like he's taunting me. Laughing at me.
And yet…
His whole body goes just as stiff as what's starting to poke me in the ass. It's like he's surprised, like he didn't expect it. When I move against him like I did before, he sucks in a sharp breath. "Don't do that." He sounds like he's being strangled.
"I thought I was trying to get away from you?" I push back, only that means pressing my ass against his growing erection. "What, you can't handle having a girl so close to you? I thought you were supposed to be tough."
"Watch your mouth."
"What? You don't like it? You were mocking me a second ago." He groans when I move my hips ever so slightly, and I can feel the power shifting between us. Now I am the one in charge, and it feels fucking amazing. Exhilarating. He can pretend to be strong, confident, and controlled, but we both know the truth. He's got a weakness for me.
"Let go, then," I whisper. "It would all be so easy if you just let me go."
His arms loosen, but he doesn't release me. He gives me enough space to turn around until my back is against the wall and my body is flush with his, so close I can feel his heart pounding under my palm. He leans against the wall, a hand on either side of my head, caging me in with his arms. I let my hands slide down his chest, and he holds his breath as I trail my fingertips along the ridges of his abs, so clearly defined under a thin cotton shirt.
"Fuck…" he groans like a man on the edge, closing his eyes when I brush against the silk-covered steel twitching in his shorts.
"No. Open your eyes," I whisper. "Look at me. I want you to look at me."
And when he does, when he meets my gaze, I would swear he hates me. And I know that feeling, because I hate him. I hate who he turns me into. I hate that he makes me want him. I hate that somewhere, he got the idea that I am all wrong for him and he is somehow better than me because he can fight what's between us and I can't.
"What are you going to do?" I ask, stroking him through his soft shorts. God, he's so hard, so thick. There's nothing but a thin layer of fabric between my skin and his. It would take nothing to pull him free and find out what that hard little bump on either side of the spot under his head is. A piercing? The idea takes my breath away. There's so much I don't know about him.