Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Chapter Nineteen
Nick
I tug Lyriope’s hand again, pulling her down to sit beside me. I groan loudly as the warm liquid covers my body.
Running my wet hand through my hair, slicking it back, I say, “I think we’re going to have to make a habit of this.”
I move my body closer, and just the brush of her leg against mine increases the heat surrounding me. If I get much hotter, I’ll definitely be boiling over.
I grab the hookah and take a long inhale, passing it to Lyriope who shakes her head.
“I don’t smoke.”
“I don’t either. This is different.”
She smirks. “Looks like smoke is coming out of your mouth.”
I inhale again, hold it in my mouth, and inch my way to Lyriope. Placing my lips onto hers, I breathe the smoke into her mouth, feeling my cock harden as she inhales softly, her eyes fluttering closed as her lips remain parted. I consider never pulling away as the feel is by far one of the most delightful sensations ever.
“Can I ask you a question?” Lyriope asks, breaking off our kiss and releasing the smoke.
“You can always ask me a question. I may not answer, however.” I regretfully pull away but lean back and relax in the steaming water.
“I know nothing about you. Nothing at all. You’re a mystery to me.”
“Is that a question?”
She rolls her eyes. “You clearly know everything about me, but I don’t know a lot about you. I only know what you want people to know. I know about the Nick Hudson image you work so hard to portray. I can try to dig up dirt on you all I want, and I have, but I’ll never know anything about the real you. Who you really are. Why you do what you do. Since I’m going to be living with you for… a while, I feel I should know at least something.”
“Why?”
“Because.” She swallows hard. “You confuse me.”
“How so?”
“One second you fill me with terror, the next second you fill me with—”
“Desire?” I interrupt, taking her stunned silence as an opportunity to inhale from the hookah again.
“Yes,” she looks down at her hands, her cheeks pinkening. “Desire.”
“So how does knowing me more change that?”
She shrugs. “You may not be such an enigma to me.” She glances at my cane laying on the side of the hot tub. “Why do you walk with that cane? At first, I thought it was part of your style. Like a costume. But you never go anywhere without it. Tonight, you’re only wearing a black shirt and jeans. A cane doesn’t exactly go with the outfit. So why?”
I slowly turn to take in her beauty beneath the starry sky. Oddly, I feel like answering this question which I’ve never done with anyone. Although no one has flat out asked me about the cane before either. “I need the cane to help me walk and ease the pain I get. I was in a car accident as a teenager that shattered my leg. The docs saved it from amputation, but the limp and daily pain will forever be with me.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide. “I had assumed it was a prop. I’m… Wow. You’re still in pain from the accident? I’m sorry.”
As if she opened Pandora’s box, I don’t feel like stopping there. “It was a horrific accident. My mother, father, and sister died in the car. I was the only survivor.”
I hear her inhale sharply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to have you tell me—”
“You said you wanted to know more about me. Well, there you have it. My father was driving along the coast. The roads were winding, the cliffs leading to the ocean on the right side of us. No big deal for a normal family. But we weren’t a normal family. My depressed and manic father decided that then would be a great time to die. So rather than slowing down on one of the sharp corners, he decided to gun it and send us flying off the cliff.”
Lyriope covers her mouth. “Oh my God. And you survived that?”
“Barely. But yes.” I point to some of my tattoos. “The ink covers the scars that dominate most of my body. You have to look really close to see them all. I decided that rather than being scarred my entire life—caused by someone else—I would morph them into beauty. I’d take control of my own appearance rather than allowing my past, and the actions of my father to do it for me.”
Her eyes scan my body.
“Broken bones heal but I decided all those months recovering in the hospital that I’d never let history repeat itself. I’d never become my father. He lived a pathetic life. He worked a nine to five job he hated, was in a loveless marriage, and had two kids he never spent time with. He simply moved through the motions of life in a fog of sadness and misery until he finally couldn’t take it anymore.”