Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Oh, Brant. I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed his knuckles, then turned his hand over and gently bit the flesh of his palm.
"I love you so much," he said, his fingers brushing over my cheek.
“I love you too.” I leaned forward and he met me halfway, his kiss tender, then deep. Maybe, he'd let it go. Maybe, if I gave him something small, this could be pushed off for another day. He stopped the kiss. "Is it us, Layana? Is that why you no longer want kids?"
Yes, of course it was us.
I tried to kiss him, but he held me back as his gaze searched my face, looking for an answer. I met his eyes and said what I had to. "No, Brant. No. I promise."
He let out a rough breath, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging me forward, his relief clear in the desperate return to my mouth. And, in that moment, with the wind and the cars and the hum of the city around us, I let myself believe the lie.
It wasn't him. It wasn't us. We were perfect.
Chapter 43
"Molly came back." Lee's voice was grim when he said the words.
I looked up from my spot on the couch, a flash of alarm shooting through me. "When?"
"She showed up at Toasty's the other night. A few minutes after I got there. Wanted me back." He rubbed a fresh callus on his palm and glanced at me, his expression guarded.
Molly wanted him back. Not a surprise. I thought of the way she’d rejected my plant, her almost steadfast loyalty to Lee. She had loved him, or at least thought she did. I tried to keep my voice level. "What did you do?"
"You mean, did I fuck her?" He stood from his spot by the living room’s front window. Moving closer, he stopped beside me, his body towering over mine. His eyes belied the dark look on his face. They were more cocky than angry and turning more sexual by the second.
I pressed my lips together and shrugged as if I didn’t care. His mouth curved. The asshole knew I was affected, saw the insecurities and fear that I was trying to mask. He saw the jealousy and fed on it. Loved it.
He reached a rough hand out and cupped my neck. Pulled it toward his pelvis. "Suck my cock."
"What? No." I pushed on his stomach, and he caught my wrist. Shoved it down, until my fingers were at his jeans.
"Suck it and see if you earn the right for me to tell her no.”
I said nothing and, for a long moment, we battled with our eyes. I wanted to suck his dick. God, my mouth watered for the feel of his hard cock against my tongue. But I'd be damned if I was made to do anything.
Holding his gaze, I pushed against his jeans and he pulled me harder, keeping me in place.
"Suck it and remind me of why I said no."
"You said no?" I looked into his eyes and damn if they weren’t as tortured as my own.
"Yes." He hissed in appreciation as I undid the button of his jeans and pulled his zipper down. "I don't know why. Her beautiful face just begging for me to bend her over and fuck”—the rest of his sentence was lost in the groan that came when I took him down my throat. He fisted my hair, stared at my face, and rocked against my mouth, letting out a string of curses.
"You fuck him," he swore. "You fuck him all the time and then expect me to be a saint.”
My eyes flooded with tears, and I told myself that the reaction was from the sucking efforts and nothing else. I needed to refocus his attention and the soft moan he gave told me I was on the right track. "Why?" he mumbled. "Why shouldn’t I go back to her?"
I never answered his question, only his need. And when his orgasm was over and he pulled me on top of him on the couch, his arms enveloped me into his chest, and he kissed me, and the answer didn't seem to matter anymore.
Chapter 44
ONE YEAR AGO
My house was unaccustomed to a man's presence. Brant had visited twice, early in our relationship, then never returned. Now, after more than a month of Lee, it had adjusted to the weight of a man on its couch pillows. The sprawl of dirty boots kicked off in its foyer. Lee's scent invaded its hallways, competing with the scent of wood polish and fresh flowers, masculinity meeting delicacy and crushing it into dirt. For the first time, Brant’s shirts and workout shorts—items I had worn home after early hook-ups, before I had a closet at his mansion—were finally being used.
I'd seen Lee almost every day of the last week, sucking up the time with him while I could take it. Brant had been MIA, something that had Jillian worried. She'd only seen him a few times, darting into the office at sporadic times, and not answering calls or texts. She did concede that this sort of thing was normal, especially in times of high stress. With his Apple negotiations at a breaking point and a few billion dollars up in the air, stress was certainly on his shoulders. I don’t know how Jillian handled it—the unpredictability of his behavior, but with three decades with him, she knew how to handle it, and I trusted her advice and direction.