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)
As desperate as the kiss of two people in love who are afraid to lose each other.
The next morning, I’m walking down the hotel parking lot to get to the bus so we can head out while thinking about when to tell Shepard.
It has to be today, though. I just need to figure out when exactly.
I’m aware that it will stress him out and maybe I should wait until the season is over so he can focus on the game. But I’ve already hid the truth from him before and it didn’t turn out that well. Plus, the championship game—which I’m sure they’ll get to play—is still a few weeks away and I’m not waiting that long to tell my fiancé that this isn’t working out. As in he can’t fix things. He can’t help me move on.
I’m very firmly—even more firmly—stuck on his twin brother.
And that I slept with the said twin brother last night.
Twice.
Well, he fucked me just once but then in the park, he ate me out while I lay there on the cold grass, all heated by his body and his mouth on my sore pussy, and tasted snow on my tongue every time I gasped.
For the record, I told Stellan that it was really unfair that he keeps getting to eat my pussy while I still haven’t gotten to taste his cock. And his words were: “Yeah, but see, I’m an asshole with double standards. I don’t really give a fuck about what you want right now. As long as I get to bury my face in your cherry-flavored cunt and make it dance on my tongue like you danced for me. And keep doing that until sometime next week. So instead of arguing with me, why don’t you relax like Daddy’s good whore and let him spread your legs and get some pussy, yeah?”
Actually, if we’re counting the number of times he ate me out yesterday as sleeping with him, then I think the count is up to three times or four…
I’m almost at the bus now while pondering such dilemmas, which is when it happens. I slip on the patch of ice and bump my forehead on the side of the open door.
“Ow,” I whine.
“Shit. You okay?”
Did I mention that I’ve been thinking about telling my fiancé that I had sex with his twin brother while walking with said fiancé?
Yes, that’s exactly the scenario I’ve found myself in.
And I think it’s karma. I betrayed Shepard last night—although if we’re being honest, I’ve been betraying him ever since I’ve known him—and now the universe is biting me in the ass. In any case, he looks concerned as he climbs down the steps of the bus to come check on me, which makes me feel even guiltier.
I rub my forehead that’s slightly throbbing. “Yeah, I guess I just wasn’t looking.”
He removes my hand gently from the spot to replace it with his. “Hmm. Doesn’t look too bad.” He presses the spot and I hiss. “Ah, it got you, huh. But—”
“What happened?”
A loud and very familiar voice cuts Shep off and his jaw clenches. He glances over my shoulders, and I know he’s watching his twin brother arrive. I also know that his brother is getting closer fast because with every second, Shepard’s jaw gets harder and his eyes harsher.
Shit.
This isn’t going to be good, is it?
He gets really upset when something hurts me—as evidenced by his ministrations last night and countless other things that he’s done over the past year—and after what happened at the bar when he had to come to my rescue, this is going to be really, really bad.
I spin around just as he reaches us, and I realize I was right.
It is going to be bad.
He’s dressed as he usually does, in a workout T-shirt that emphasizes his dense muscles and low-slung sweatpants with his hair pushed back and polished as always. But the rest of him has agitation written all over it. His tight face, his heavy breaths and his dark, frantic eyes that land on me.
I open my mouth to tell him that it’s okay, but he gets to speak first. “What the fuck happened?”
I wince at his lashing voice. Not because I’m scared of it or him, but because he’s worrying over nothing. Taking a step toward him, I soothe, “Nothing. It’s just… I wasn’t watching where I was going and I literally walked into a door. It was so stupid. And so embarrassing but…”
I trail off.
Because for some reason, my explanation—that I thought would put him at ease—is kinda making things worse. His eyes are darkening, which I didn’t think was possible, and his face, which was already very angled, looks even more angular now.
And then there’s his voice.
It isn’t lashing anymore, but I don’t think it’s a good thing. Because it’s low and rough and it shivers down my spine as he says, “You walked into a door.”