Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
He walks to a half-faced statue and strokes the unfinished part with careful fingers, as if he doesn’t want to hurt a literal statue’s feelings. But why do I feel like, if given the chance, Landon wouldn’t hesitate to erase that statue as if it never existed?
After careful inspection, he lifts it effortlessly. Or more like, he makes it look easy. I can see his biceps flexing as a translation of his smashing power.
Landon might appear lean and definitely has fewer muscles than, say, Nikolai or Jeremy, but he’s still strong.
He deposits the statue on what looks like a sack of sand and sits on the chair opposite it.
He casts me a glance, throws a flirtatious wink, and then pulls out a cigarette and slides it to the corner of his lips. As he lights it, he fetches one of the countless tools and tosses it from one hand to the other as if testing its weight.
He puts it right back and retrieves another one that looks exactly the same to me, tosses it between his hands again, then inhales the smoke and releases a heavy cloud in the air.
I’ve never cared for the smell of cigarettes or smokers in general, but Landon makes it look hotter than it should be. It’s the blasé attitude and the confidence of a god that drips from his every movement.
With the cigarette hanging from his lips, he again strokes the statue, which I notice has generous breasts. He runs his fingers along the slope and then taps the nipple once.
Twice.
My body burns with unfamiliar scorching fire. His hand slides to her throat and I can feel the choker tightening around my own neck as if it’s his fingers.
What the hell?
His eyes flash to me and I stand still, scared to even breathe properly. The last thing I need is for Landon to think I find him attractive in any sense. He’s already conceited beyond belief.
“There. You’re such a good little muse.” His hand is still stroking and groping the statue as if it’s his lover.
“I’m just doing this out of necessity.”
“Are those words directed at me or yourself?”
He grins, and without waiting for my response, he gets to work. His fingers slowly but surely shape part of the statue’s head.
I’m struck by his expression when he creates. A stark difference from his usually mocking face. While sadism is still present, there’s also something different. I’ve never seen his eyes so light and engaged. They’re often half bored, as if the world holds no meaning to his immoral soul.
Now, however, he’s so far into his task that I don’t think he takes notice of how he seamlessly picks up tools or lights one cigarette after the other.
About an hour later, I’m getting tired of standing, so I attempt to lower myself into a sitting position.
“No.” He shakes his head, even though he hasn’t looked at me once since he started. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m tired,” I sign, but he’s still not looking at me. So I snap my fingers.
Nothing.
“Let’s take a break. Do you have anything to drink?” I ask, but his mind seems to be busy focusing on his fingers and the unmoving object in front of him.
“I’m going to rest for a while.” I start to sit down, but he stands up abruptly, making me stop dead in my tracks.
He’s looking at me now, but I wish he wasn’t. His dark blues are no different than a stormy ocean that’s about to swallow me in its depths. “I said don’t ruin it, didn’t I?”
“You’re not the one standing. It’s tiring and boring,” I sign with less bravado than usual.
“Come here.”
“Why?” I sign cautiously.
“You said you’re tired, so we’ll fix it.”
I remain rooted in place. I’d rather stay standing for another hour than get close to him.
“Don’t make me come get you, Mia.”
It’s the first time he’s said my name, and it sounds like a deep growl.
Slowly, I make my way to him, assuring myself I’ll claw his eyes out if he hurts me. I can also break his dick for humanity’s sake.
Once I’m next to the statue, Landon pulls me toward him so suddenly, I gasp.
The sound echoes around us as he pulls me down so I’m straddling with my back to his chest. I squirm when I feel the hard muscle beneath me. I’ve never made a habit of being this close to the opposite sex.
My previous encounters left something to be desired and the unshakable feeling that they were boys.
Landon, however, is all man. It’s not about the age, it’s the edge with which he carries himself. It’s the unapologetic way he touches me as if it’s his birthright.
“Don’t move,” he whispers in my ear, drawing goosebumps on my skin. “Don’t blame me for what happens if you do.”
His arm snakes around my waist and his palm cups the statue’s breast, fingers stroking the nipple.