Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Her eyes are on me rather than the television when I re-approach the bed, but once again, she doesn’t say a word as I climb up to join her. It only takes about ten minutes of my naked skin in the open air for me to begin to feel discomfort. I get the first real reaction out of her in over an hour when I shift my body and lift the covers, joining her under them.
I don’t touch her, but that doesn’t keep her from thinking that I will if I decide to take those liberties.
I don’t make the mistake of thinking that she wants me there, even though she doesn’t ask me to leave. That would be crazy. This woman may do what I want her to, she may obey my commands, but she’s never going to want to.
I push the limits of her sanity as I inch closer. Still without touching, I close the distance until I can feel the warmth of her skin against mine. The heat radiating from her own body soothes me. It makes me once again realize that this woman may be more dangerous to me than I could ever be to her.
Chapter 12
Raya
I swear my heart is skipping beats every couple of seconds. I’m naked. He’s naked. And we’re under the covers of this big bed together.
He purposely scooted closer to me, but once again, he’s not touching me. It’s the threat of it that scares me so much.
He seems completely engrossed in the show playing on the television. I know better than to think that he’s not paying attention to me. It’s weird how attuned to me he seems.
With him this close, it’s easy for me to dart my eyes to the left and take in his features. I do it cautiously, my eyes darting back to the television screen repeatedly.
I take in his facial features first. His eyelashes are long, brush the apples of his cheeks when he blinks. The blue of his eyes would almost be mesmerizing. It’s a color a woman could easily get lost in.
If things were different in my life, I know I’m the type of woman that would get lost in such spectacularly blue eyes. It’s impossible to do that now that I’ve seen the monster behind those eyes.
My second glance lands on his jawline. The stubble there is a golden brown no more than a quarter of an inch in length.
It makes me wonder how long it’s been since he shaved. Three days, five days, a week? I have no idea.
It’s not often I see men in the process of growing a beard. Either they’re clean shaven or the beard is always in place. The process of it is fascinating to me.
I clench my hands in my lap, the movement concealed under the blankets. The tips of my fingers tingle with some weird urge to touch his face, to see what that stubble feels like against my skin, hitting me harder than it should.
Maybe, I’m fascinated by him. Maybe, it’s my inability to understand how a person can do what he’s done to me and sit there, acting as if he has no cares in the world.
That’s all that it is. It’s not attraction, it’s intrigue. It’s that feeling people get when they see or hear something they could have never imagined knowing about until that very moment. It’s surprise and shock and it’s eating away at me.
I have so many questions. I want so many answers.
My third glance is at the pulse pounding on the side of his neck. I take the time to count them. His heart rate isn’t erratic, it’s steady, strong, while mine pounds in my chest as if I’ve run ten miles.
I swallow, looking back at the television when I realize that my own breathing and my own pulse are starting to increase. I spend long minutes watching the television without actually seeing or understanding what’s going on. I guess I can be glad he didn’t stop and purchase one of those pornographic movies he spent so much time perusing.
The next look lands on the mangled patch of flesh on the back of his neck. It looks painful and I know it had to have been. As evil as this man could possibly be, I know he would feel pain.
I want to ask him about it. I want to know how he got that scar. I don’t know how I missed them at the surf shop. I shake my head, rejecting that thought. I know exactly how I missed it. I didn’t pay him any attention. He wasn’t worthy of it. I see them now and a little explanation of why they’re there would go a long way in helping me understand who he actually is.
It would help me understand that he is either evil or he’s a product of something society made. Did he get them there because someone hated him? Did he get them there because he’s always been an evil man? Are those scars what caused him to be evil or are they a result of being evil?