Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I thought it was mutual. I thought he enjoyed himself as much as I did. What the hell did I do? Tears threaten to prick at the back of my eyes, so I bury those emotions deep, deep down inside me where they belong. I’ve had a crush on this man since I was far too young, and he was far too old for me. I won’t be made to feel ashamed of last night by anyone.
Including him.
Especially him.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says in a sedated tone but still tight in accusation.
“My father is being … well … my father, so I’m ignoring it.” I pick at my nails as he takes a cautious step forward.
A sharp pain at my temple reminds me of my predicament, so rather than waiting for whatever the hell he has to say, I get up and make my way to the kitchen.
“I need coffee,” I tell him as a means of an explanation, and he follows.
It’s then that it hits me. He’s never been in my apartment. Suddenly, my cheeks heat with the realization. The kitchen is smaller than I’d like, but it’s not like I cook anyway. I pop a pod into the coffee maker and hit the button, then quickly remember to slip a mug into place.
“What do you want?” I ask, turning around to lean the small of my back against the counter. “If it’s to thank me for last night, you’re very welcome,” I sass with my asymmetrical smile remaining tight as he doesn’t respond with a better mood.
At least he has the decency to avert his eyes.
As he swallows thickly, my gaze focuses on the cords tightening his neck and the five o'clock shadow around his sharp jaw. My brow furrows when I realize he’s wearing the same shirt and pants from last night. Or at least I think he is. The white tee is slightly wrinkled, like he slept in it, though it's still tight on his broad shoulders. His suit pants are like any other black suit pants, so I suppose maybe it’s not the same.
However, I choose to think it’s the latter.
The worst yet best part is that he smells like last night—of sex and sin and that intoxicating cologne he always wears. And his hair, hell, I might as well have just fisted it as he devoured me. It’s a messy sight, mirroring me.
It’s quiet for a minute as I wait for him to say something.
Anything.
I motion for some response.
“New place?” he questions, looking around while my gaze drops for only a moment before finding his eyes again. This time, he’s staring right at me.
“It’s just my parents’ old place. I’m staying here for now,” I reply, tending back to my coffee as the sputtering of the machine comes to an end. I don’t tell him about the argument with my father or how he forced me to go to his university.
After stirring a touch of cream and sugar into my coffee, I add, “I’ll be here while I go to your school.”
“Right, about that,” he remarks as he stands on the kitchen threshold.
My pulse quickens. I swear to God, if he tells me I need to drop out, I think I’ll throw this mug at him. I don’t even want to be at their university. I have to go or else my father will… Well, he’ll threaten to cut me off and order me to do something else I don’t want to. It’s the way it’s always been. Either I march in line with his strict rules or I’m out on my ass with no money or trust fund. I won’t survive. Much to my disappointment, all I know is my father’s money.
I take in a steadying breath. “What about it?”
“Have you gotten an email or a message from anyone?” he asks out of nowhere, once again with a cautious tone.
I confidently state, “I’ve seen your dick. You’ve been inside me. So why are you talking to me like I’m suddenly under investigation?”
“Then you’re saying it wasn’t you?”
Nearly slamming my mug down on the marble counter, I can’t help the exasperation as I respond, “What wasn’t me?”
“Check your email,” he tells me. I pick up my coffee and walk with purpose right by him, letting my side brush against his when he doesn’t get out of my way in time.
I ignore him and try not to listen to his footsteps as I go back to my bedroom, the thick curtains keeping it shadowed compared to the living room. I scroll past the texts from my father, past the missed calls from both him and Ronan, and check my email. My heart races and my stomach drops, though I don’t know what I’m waiting for.
“There’s nothing here,” I call out, then turn around to have a damn heart attack. Unbeknownst to me, Ronan stands at the foot of my bed, catching me by surprise. I wasn’t aware he was that close to me, and it’s both a blessing and a curse.