Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Or rather that’s all I do.
But I don’t.
I do let out a relieved breath, but there’s also a pit of disappointment in my belly. Ignoring all that, though, I ask, “What question?”
“If it really does it for you,” he goes on, sifting through my hair, his breath on the side of my neck. “Dancing on the top of a moving train.”
I fist my dress. “You were l-listening?”
“Hard not to,” he replies, moving on to the right strap of my dress, tracing it with his thumb. “When you were making such a ruckus.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You know it’s a stupid thing to do, don’t you?”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Not to mention, dangerous.”
“I knew you’d say that too.”
“In conclusion, only an idiot with no common sense would do something like that.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “God, you’re so grumpy.”
He tucks his thumb under my little strap and pulls at it. “That and I hate dancing.”
The strap slides off my shoulder and drops down my arm, making my breath catch in my throat. “I could… I could help you.”
Now that my strap is gone, he trails his fingers in circles on my strapless shoulder. “Help me with what?”
I fist and fist my dress, my skin shivering, my thoughts scattering in the wind at his touch. “I could… I could teach you.”
“To dance.”
“Yes.”
“No, I think I’m okay.”
I don’t know why, but I keep at it. “I mean, you could l-learn to like it.”
“No.”
“It’s really fun, though, I promise.”
“I’m allergic to fun.”
Right.
I know that. I mean, if I don’t know that by this point, then I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life anymore. But then again, I think I do know. I do know what I’m doing, what I’m talking about.
I’m not talking about dancing at all, am I?
I’m talking about… love. I’m talking about how I could teach him to love and maybe he could learn to love… me. And if that happens, then maybe we could live happily ever after.
There are a lot of ifs here, though. Plus the little fact that I’m engaged to his twin brother and I’m supposed to be moving on from him. Oh and he lied to me and broke my heart, and I’m angry at him.
But Jesus Christ, it’s so hard.
“So are you going to stop?” he asks then, his fingers still working on my skin.
“S-stop what?”
“Trying to get my attention.”
“I’m not trying—”
“If you’ve got something to say,” he goes on, “now’s your chance.”
I breathe out and bite my lip. “Why don’t you ever talk to the guys?”
“I talk to the guys.”
“No, as in like why don’t you ever have fun with them?”
“Because I just said I’m allergic to fun and that’s not my job.”
“But you’re always doing your job,” I protest.
“That’s what they pay me for.”
I turn my face to the side, trying to catch the sight of his face in my periphery. But maybe he’s too tall for me to do that or he has angled himself in a way that all I manage to get is the cut of his bruised jaw. Either way, I don’t get to look at him more than that.
Oh, and his maddening finger, playing with my strap, my skin, my hair.
“But you don’t even like your job,” I remind him.
“I don’t have to like it to do it well,” he reminds me back.
“But, Stellan,” I say exasperated. “You don’t take nights off. You don’t like parties. You don’t drink and I understand why, but… I think you’re lonely and you need friends. I think you take everything super seriously. You need to relax a little. You need…”
“I need what?”
I sigh. “A life. You need a life.”
He exhales a long breath as well. “You worried about my life?”
“Yes.”
I’m worried about my life too, but that’s not the point right now.
“Well, there’s a way to fix it,” he shares.
I perk up. “What?”
“It involves a thing called it,” he growls lowly, “that unfortunately we’re not going to do. Because you’re engaged to my brother, and you think it’s inappropriate.”
I don’t know how I manage to put together words, but I somehow do. “You don’t think that it’s inappropriate?”
“No,” he growls, sending shivers down my spine. “Because all I can think about is you. And what you taste like and what you feel like on my tongue. All I can think about is getting to taste you, taste her, again. Because all I can think about, Dora, is how much better it’ll feel and how much better she’ll taste if I manage to get inside. If somehow, some-fucking-way, I manage to get into that cherry-flavored pussy.”
Oh God.
I think I’m… I think I just came. Or if not then, I’m so close to coming.
“But I can’t do any of that, can I? Because you insist on staying a virgin. And you should. You should save it. You should give it to someone who’ll make love to you,” he seethes, his voice thick and angry and a little tortured.