Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Clearly, that's not the case.
"The only thing that man feels for me is annoyance," I mumble, limping to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
God, I'm an idiot.
Why would he be interested in me? He's almost twice my age and hot as hell. Even if he had a clue about my crush, he'd never do anything about it. As far as he's concerned, I'm barely even an adult, certainly not a woman worth his time. He didn't ask me to stay because he wanted me here. He asked me to stay because he felt sorry for me and was trying to be nice for Tahani's sake.
Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I twist the cap off my water and take a big drink, pushing down the swell of disappointment that sends a lump into my throat.
First Damien, and now this.
Awesome.
"Screw 'em both," I mutter, determined not to cry over his blatant rejection. I turn around and limp toward the stairs. My foot still hurts where I sliced it open, but it's not terrible. Even so, I planned to stay off it for a little bit longer by spending the morning on a chaise on the deck with my Kindle.
Not anymore.
No way am I staying here any longer. Mr. Gregory can be a dick all by himself.
I hobble up the stairs, intending to pack my bags, only to stop in front of the heavy door to his bedroom. It's closed tight, warning me to move on and let it go, but I hesitate for a long moment anyway. Part of me wants to pack and leave quietly, sneaking out without a word to avoid irritating him more. But some other defiant little part of me—the pissed off, offended part, I think—isn't satisfied with that plan. After all the tossing and turning I've done the last two nights, remembering how he demanded that I say his name, that pissed-off part wants to annoy him one final time. Payback for almost making me cry.
Before I can resist the childish urge, I lift my hand and tap on the door.
He doesn't answer.
"Mr. Gregory?" I tap again, a little louder this time. I wait for several seconds but don't hear anything. Leaning closer, I press my ear to the door. Nothing but silence greets me. I know he's inside, though. He's ignoring me.
Just when I'm about to say screw it and walk away, I hear…something.
A moan.
What?
Is he–?
He moans again, the pleasurable sound unmistakable.
Oh my God. He is!
"Mila, fuck, baby." His voice is low and guttural, making it clear exactly what he's doing and who he's thinking about while he does it.
I should walk away. I know I should…but I don't.
He's getting himself off, fantasizing about me.
My heart hammers as my hand lands on the doorknob. I don't even think about it. Every single piece of me focuses on the sounds he makes.
The knob twists beneath my fingers, and then the door slides open.
The outer wall of his room is glass like the rest of the condo, but his bedroom is dark and masculine instead of modern and airy. It screams decadence, with deep, bold colors and black furniture. A massive four-poster bed sits against the inner wall, so big I could get lost in it. The dark red sheets and comforter are twisted up, standing as proof that he tossed and turned most of the night like I did.
A quiet whimper escapes my lips when I catch sight of him. He's standing against the wall, his ripped body on display as he leans back with his head tipped back and eyes shut. His dark hair is tousled, a few strands falling into his face. He's shirtless, revealing a toned, chiseled chest covered in vibrant tattoos that curve and twist around each muscle. Every inch of him screams strength and power, like he was carved from rock.
My eyes drift lower.
My water bottle slips from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud as I stare in shock and awe. His jeans are undone, his right hand wrapped around his exposed cock as he jerks himself off. His dick is as intimidating as he is, thick and so hard it looks painful. The broad head is an angry red, the purple veins seeming to pulse with every stroke.
My mouth waters as I stare at him working himself. I want to wrap my lips around his length, see how much I can take before my eyes water, and I have to pull back. I've thought about it so many times over the last four years, I can practically taste him on my lips already.
"Mila."
I jump at the desperate crack of sound, my gaze flying from his cock to his face. His piercing hazel eyes are wide open, pinning me in place. There is no shock or embarrassment in his expression, only a dangerous hunger that sends shivers down my spine.