Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Backing up into her bedroom, I stand at the edge of the bed. She laughs and walks over to me. “Oh, so confident,” she murmurs. “Just like that?”
She lies on the bed, looking up at me, biting her lip. My dick damn near explodes when she looks at me like that. Even though I know she won’t remember this, the savage temptation remains.
“I have a fetish,” I tell her. It’s a lie. I haven’t been with enough women to develop shit like that.
“Oh, really?” More laughter.
“Hmm. I like to watch women sleep. Pretend to be asleep for me, Ania.”
“That makes you crazy, does it?”
“Yes. It does. Can you do that for me? Can you pretend to sleep?”
Biting her lip again—this is taking everything I have—she lies back and closes her eyes, putting a dramatic hand over her face. “I am so sleepy. I hope nobody disturbs me.”
“I like it to be realistic,” I grunt, my dick aching, a wild voice inside telling me to take her, take her hard. “Don’t do any of that theatrical crap. Pretend you’re really sleeping.”
“Oh, okay.”
I sit in the corner, waiting as she climbs under the covers, rolls onto her side, and starts to snore. The whole time, my mind is ticking overtime. Is this what she’s always like when she sleepwalks? Any bastard could take advantage of her. Any bastard could hurt her. When she’s like this, literally anybody could do anything to her. It fills me with so many murderous thoughts.
Soon, her snoring goes from a performance to actual, sleepy breathing. I stand quietly and leave her there, returning to the living room, fighting the instinct to climb into bed next to her. As I continue cleaning my rifle, I think about an impossible scenario.
I come home from a long day, my body sore, and check in on my kid. Maybe little Henry has put babies in my head. Then, I climb into bed next to my woman—my wife.
My sister.
“Quiet,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head.
CHAPTER 8
ANIA
When I wake, I can feel the food in my belly. It’s like this thick glob sticking to the lining of my stomach. I can taste the stickiness on my tongue and feel it in my throat. I make an ew noise without even meaning to, then stand up and head for the door, meaning to hit the bathroom.
But my kidnapper is already waiting for me.
“Did you force-feed me during the night?” I snap.
His sad look makes me wish I could snatch the question back. There’s judgment there, but not the bad kind. It’s a soft sort of judgment, an almost loving kind. Oh, hell. What am I thinking?
“No,” he replies.
“Oh,” I mutter when it hits me. “Did I do anything else when I was sleepwalking?”
“Hmm,” he replies.
“What?”
“I don’t want to lie to you.”
I let out the meanest, most mocking laugh I’ve ever aimed at anybody. Maybe that’s the only way I can make this work—laugh, mock, and be a bully. Can I be that person?
“So you can kidnap me, but lying is off the table.”
He shrugs. “You tried to … get physical with me.”
I roll my eyes, but somehow, on a deep level, I know he’s right. “Yeah, of course, I did,” I say sarcastically.
“I’m happy to pretend it never happened,” he grunts.
I push past him, heading for the bathroom. He steps into my path. I don’t want him to read the hurt in my eyes. I shouldn’t care if he wants me or not. Heck, I should forget about me wanting to be with him.
“Ania,” he says.
“Can you move, please?”
He sighs. “Listen, I’m not here to be your therapist, but you’re keeping that snack bar in you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” he growls. “Like I said, no therapy, no judgment, but you need those calories.”
“Just move.”
I grab his shirt, meaning to push him out of the way. All that does is hammer home how muscular he is, how powerful. His chest seems to expand against my touch, heat burning my palm. He doesn’t move a single inch. He stares down at me, his dark eyes haunted and almost hurt.
“Not today, Ania,” he snarls. “Do yourself a favor.”
I almost squeeze my hand down to feel his muscles pushing against me. I want to feel how powerful he is. When I touch him, it’s weird. For a moment, I think maybe I can listen to his advice.
“You’re reading into something that isn’t there,” I tell him, forcing myself to let him go. “You seriously need to chill.”
He looks at me for a long time, then says, “Hmm,” and steps aside.
I go into the bathroom, and I try. I really try not to. I always give it my best shot. With the faucet running and the water drowning out the noise, I do what’s best for my future career. I make the sacrifice that has to be made.