Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
My own finger tingles with the memory of the silken texture of that curl. I want to wrap it around my fist and anchor her in place while I claim a ruthless kiss from those perfect, rosebud lips. They’re soft and tinged with a subtle pink shade from her customary strawberry Chapstick that she always keeps tucked in her pocket. Even her lip balm has a sweet flavor.
My own mouth waters in anticipation of tasting the sweetness on her lips and sampling their soft, pliant shape. I’ll memorize every caress that makes her sigh and submit. Abigail will melt for me by the end of our date tonight.
Once my little bird flies willingly into her cage, I’ll gently clip her wings so that I can keep her safely locked away. She’ll never want to be free because I’ll keep her so drunk on pleasure that she’ll be utterly devoted to me. I’ll keep and protect her, and she’ll have no reason to think of leaving me.
I blink again to clear the dark, ruthless glint from my eyes. She seems uncannily capable of reading me, and I’m determined to appear nonthreatening today: a perfect gentleman.
“Thanks for waiting,” she says, her voice taking on the slightly softer tone she uses when she’s feeling shy around me. “We had a rush in the last twenty minutes, so I needed to stay for a while longer before clocking out.” Her gaze is hesitant when her azure eyes meet mine. “Do you still have time for dessert?”
“Of course.”
I offer her my most charming smile, and satisfaction warms my chest when her lovely face brightens in an answering grin.
Abigail is attuned to my moods. She often mirrors the people around her—I’ve witnessed her empathic nature many times when she’s dealt with customers at the café. She smiles when they smile; her eyes tighten with anxiety when they complain; and one time, I noted a slight quiver in her lower lip when her coworker burst into tears during a particularly stressful morning.
A strange, sour feeling turns my stomach. Jealousy again.
Even the thought of anyone else holding sway over her emotions is enough to make my cruelest, most possessive instincts sharpen.
I keep my smile in place and remind myself that I’m in control of this seduction, not her. My will is strong enough to regulate my responses to her, even if these feelings she brings out in me are almost as unnerving as they are addicting.
“Ready to go?” I prompt her before my mask slips again.
She nods and falls into step beside me. I barely suppress the urge to rest my hand on her lower back while we walk out of the café. At the very least, she allows me to open the door for her and even thanks me for the gesture.
So, Abigail isn’t completely averse to being taken care of. It’s not entirely feminist sensibilities that made her prickly when I tried to buy her paintings and her drinks during our date.
Abigail will surrender eventually—she will eagerly accompany me on lavish dates where I provide her with everything she could possibly want—but for now, I’m irritated that I have to be cautious.
On our date, it became clear that she’s been subject to financial control. Is that why she was skittish after our kiss too?
Some bastard hurt her in the past, and that’s getting in my way of winning her trust.
Her abuser will face my retribution. It’s only a matter of time before I get his name.
Then I can work out some of these unpleasant feelings of frustration and resentment. I’ll extract my revenge in blood and soothe myself with his screams.
The memory of the wild rush that’d overtaken me when I beat the thief flashes through my mind. The power and savagery of the violent moment had been the most ecstatic high I’ve ever experienced.
Until my kiss with Abigail eclipsed it.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her tone mildly curious but her gaze a bit wary.
Internally, I curse my slip-up, but I quickly ease the sharpest edge of my smirk.
“I’m wondering what dessert you’ll order,” I reply smoothly. “Something with strawberry?”
Her soft laugh is the sweetest music, and she relaxes at my side, her steps lengthening slightly to match my stride perfectly.
“No daquiris for me this evening,” she says. “I have another early shift tomorrow. But I can always indulge in something chocolatey.” Her gaze takes on a slightly unfocused, dreamy quality. “I hope they have peanut butter gelato today too.”
The way her voice deepens is pure temptation, like she’s experiencing physical pleasure at just the thought of her favorite sweet combination.
It’s the smallest bit of new knowledge—I’d noted her Belgian chocolate ice cream and her huge jar of creamy peanut butter when I broke into her apartment. But the fact that she blends the decadent treats and experiences such bliss is just as addictive to me as her soft sigh of arousal when I caressed her spine on our first date.