Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Movement in the corner catches my eye just as my mom falls back on the filthy mattress, her eyes locked on the ceiling as if the cracking sheetrock above her head holds all the answers she may have about life.
Sad brown eyes watch me from across the room, and my heart kicks up a few notches.
Instead of coming to me and swooping me up in her arms, the woman who promised me that I was safe simply watches everything unfold. She doesn't block my view of my mother shaking violently on the bed. She doesn't offer a napkin for the foam pooling in her mouth. She doesn't try to stop the cussing man who darts from the room.
My mom's shaking stops and the woman in the corner just stares.
I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing it's all in my head. That woman did rescue me. She did protect me. She kept every promise she made.
I jerk awake, warm hands on my skin, and for a split second, I forget where I am.
Her eyes widen when I try to scramble away.
"You were having a nightmare." Her voice calms me some, but I know from experience that my heart will race for a while as I attempt to escape the grasp the nightmare will continue to have on me.
"Sorry," I murmur. "I can't control them."
"None of us can," she says, sadness in her voice borne from familiarity.
A second later, she's hovering over me, her eyes locked on mine.
We didn't turn on the light when we came in earlier. I was too focused on trying to get her to calm down, but the moon outside glowing through the curtains provides just enough light for me to see the intent in her eyes before she lowers her mouth down to mine.
I know better.
I know I should put a stop to this, but the nightmare has left me feeling broken, and less than a man. I'd use just about anything as a distraction right now.
Normally, after a bad dream, I head out back to the gym Cerberus has on the property, but she's in a vulnerable state as well. The last thing I want is to cause her even more trauma.
The first kiss is tentative and slow, as if she's trying to determine if I'm going to urge her away like I did before.
I groan into her mouth, the swipe of her tongue making my heart race for different reasons.
I lift my head, wanting more of her, my hand tangling in her hair. I resist the urge to grip a handful. I want to possess her, not frighten her.
She sucks in a deep breath through her nose when I wrap my free arm around her back and line her entire body up with mine.
I know she can feel how hard I am, but when her hands start to shake, I know that she's also scared.
"I want you to want me," I whisper when she pulls her face back far enough that she can look me in the eyes. "I don't want to do this if it's because you feel like you have to. You owe me nothing, Brielle. I need you to understand that."
She swallows, and I gear myself up for the rejection. I wouldn't ever try to get a woman to change her mind. If it takes persuasion, it shouldn't happen.
"I understand," she says, her teeth immediately digging into her lower lip.
"You're sure?"
She nods, and although it's enough for me to take things further, I know with every cell in my body, that taking things all the way can't happen. She's had enough people taking from her, and I won't be another man on that list. I don't ever want to be compared to Nathan and Xan. I'd rather die a million painful deaths.
"I need you to tell me if you want me to stop."
Her eyes dart away from mine, so I release her hair so I can urge her to look at me.
With my palm on her cheek, I wait until I know I have all her attention.
"You control this situation. I want to give. I don't want to take."
Her eyes search mine for a long time, and I wonder what she sees in me. I pray that it's a good man, someone so different from the men she's had in her life prior to me that it makes me unrecognizable. I don't want an ounce of similarities.
"Okay," she whispers.
It's what I need to roll her to her back and press my lips to her neck. Her fingers tangle in my shirt, and I pull back long enough to pull the thing over my head and throw it to the floor.
Our lips meet once again, and she chases my mouth with hers when I change the angle. The need I feel coming off her is addictive, but I can't get fully lost in it. I wouldn't forgive myself if I missed a cue from her that she wants to stop.