Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
It makes me a fucking sicko for the way my cock threatens to thicken at the memories of what happened between us, of the pleasure I felt when I shoved all the bad shit out of my head to get through it.
I look up, wishing she had hatred in her eyes for me, but there’s this unexplainable electric current flowing between the two of us.
We should hate each other. We definitely shouldn’t feel some sort of kinship. I know she feels it too because the hairs on her arms are standing on end, and her breathing has changed.
Either one of us acknowledging it out loud is going too far, however.
I’m not unaccustomed to attraction, but it’s only ever been as deep as getting laid and getting gone. Emptying my nuts always took care of anything I ever felt for someone of the opposite sex, and frankly, it kind of pisses me off, this power she has over me without even trying.
I clear my throat as I stand, lifting my arms over my head to stretch my back out. The bed I managed to sleep on for a few hours has left me stiff and aching, but at the same time, it was leagues better than the concrete floor I’ve slept on for the last couple of weeks.
I need to put some distance between the two of us, but I know I won’t be able to manage that until I can get her across the river.
Being near her is making me irritable, on edge, and confused about why I’m feeling any of it to begin with. I want to blame her, but it wouldn’t be fair. She’s not responsible for how I feel, but that doesn’t help those emotions float away either. I probably should’ve walked away last night with Angel. He was right about her not being his responsibility, and she really isn’t mine either. But the surge I feel when I’m close to her makes it impossible to walk away yet.
“We need to go buy some different clothes,” I mutter, looking away when I notice her watching me.
I’ve got to stop all of it. I can’t fucking function, getting lost in my damn head. I won’t get anywhere wondering what she’s thinking or being concerned about how she feels. We may be forced to be around each other right now because, even as big of an asshole that I am, I’m not going to just walk away and make her fend for herself.
“Mine are fine,” she says, her voice a low whisper as if she’s terrified to voice an opinion, but at the same time is scared that a response was expected by me.
I know she doesn’t want to owe me anything. Hell, I feel exactly the same way about everyone else.
I don’t argue. Instead, I do something even more fucked up than insisting she let me buy her new clothes. I strip to my skin right in front of her before heading to the bathroom and closing myself inside.
I barely resist the urge to reach for my cock. The insistent throb in the damn thing with the way she watched my erection jutting out from my hips aches in a way I don’t exactly hate.
What might possibly turn me on even more is that she didn’t look scared, which is a good thing. That wasn’t my intention at all. She didn’t jolt back or clench her hands into fists as I passed by the bed she was still sitting up in.
I also didn’t get the vibe that she was interested in it either, just that it was in some way fascinating to her.
I manage deep breaths through my nose as the sting of water rushes over my skin. A lot of what was done to me has healed, but some of the deeper wounds have a way to go before I can participate in everyday life without them hurting.
Since the water doesn’t ever really get hot, I’m not exactly worried about rushing to save her some of the warm water. With what she’s been through, I doubt she’d trust me enough to put herself in that vulnerable position with me in the room, even if she wasn’t alarmed with me getting naked right in front of her.
It hits me like a lightning strike that maybe she expects me to hurt her again. That she didn’t get scared because she’s working under the assumption that even though she doesn’t want me to buy her more clothes, she still feels as if the balance between us isn’t even. And how have women paid for what they need when they have nothing else to offer?
My stomach is turning with disgust as I run the practically useless towel over my skin.
I want to ask her what kind of fucking monster she thinks I am, but I’m certain her experience recently with Cortez, Pirro, and the other men, hasn’t given her the best opinion of the male gender at all. It would only be natural to shove me into that same group after what I’ve done to her already.