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)
After delivering that decree, he goes back to tucking his face in my neck.
God, this man.
I pull at his hair again. “Just give it back, Stellan. As a sign of respect to your brother.”
Because that’s what it is.
Now that I’ve broken things off with Shepard, it’s not as if I’m going to wear it. I’m going to give it back to him. He should have it. It’s his. It’s not a token of rivalry between them, or a competition. It’s also not a symbol of jealousy because there’s nothing to be jealous about.
Although I can’t really say that to him.
Hate you, Shepard.
Hate you for making me keep secrets from Stellan.
Even though, clearly, he has secrets of his own.
“Not interested in respecting him, remember?” he murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.
Okay, this is it.
This is my opening.
Sighing, I blink up at the ceiling. “I think there’s clearly, clearly, something between you two. Some sort of a tension. And I think you need to talk to him about it.”
He hums.
I frown. “I’m serious, Stellan.”
“Hmm.”
I turn my face to the side. “Are you listening to me? I know you think you’re a shitty brother and I know you have a secret. You don’t have to tell me, even though I’m dying to know it. But maybe you can tell him.” This idea occurred to me only recently, that if he can’t tell me for some reason, maybe he can tell Shepard. “Maybe whatever it is that’s keeping you both apart can be solved. It can be fixed if only you opened up and –” I feel him, getting heavier on me and I push at his shoulders. “Stellan? Are you falling asleep on me?”
Then, with an alert, a very awake voice, he replies back, “If you insist on talking about things that don’t interest me, then yes.”
“Ugh. You’re impossible. You’re –”
“And I don’t want to fall asleep just yet.”
I dig my chin in his hair. But the joke is on me because I don’t think he felt anything because of his hard head and I’m the one who ends up with a throbbing chin.
“Why not?”
“Because I still have to draw you a bath.”
This is not fair.
I don’t think this is fair.
Him being so sweet after shutting me down like that. How am I supposed to stay firm and push him to do the right thing when he makes my heart race the way he does?
Then, biting my lip, “With lavender bath salts?”
His chest grazes my sore nipples – sore from all the sucking he’s done – as he breathes, and I squirm under him. “Yes, with lavender bath salts.”
“And a rose scented candle?”
He looks up then and takes me in, my heated cheeks, my spread-out hair on his pillow. “At the risk of smelling like a fucking flower bouquet, yes with a rose scented candle.”
“Hey, you’re the one who insists on getting me a rose every day.”
“Still your favorite flower, yeah?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“So then,” he whispers back.
Every single morning since he found out that roses are my favorite flower, there’s a rose waiting for me on my pillow. And like I did with the first rose, I eat it. Not alone though; I share it with him. He thinks it’s nuts but he never denies me when I pluck a petal and urge him to open his mouth. He never shies away from it when I place it on his tongue like we’re both sharing a drug and getting high together.
On roses.
And so again, I don’t know what’s my favorite: finding a rose on my pillow every morning or getting to see his face as soon as I wake up.
Because he insists on us sleeping together.
He insists on cuddling with me all night – and yes, he’s a total cuddler – with his strong and heavy arm tucked into the dip of my waist and my butt fitting against his lower abs and of course, his dick.
Which I have to say never ever goes down all the way.
He’s always semi-hard and heated and I love wiggling against it to wake him up.
What can I say, I love his dick.
I love it even more when he puts me on his cock and asks me to give him a lap dance first thing in the morning.
I love him.
So I slide my arms down from his neck and cradle his stubbled cheek. Looking into his shimmering eyes, I say, “I’m ready for my bath now.”
He circles his eyes over my features before muttering, “Thank fucking God.”
And then he carries me to the bathroom where he gives me a bath fit for a princess. Well, he slides in as well so he can massage all my sore muscles, untangle the long strands of my hair with such gentleness that I always want to weep. But instead, I turn around and make out with him. Which helps because along with making me want to weep, he makes me go breathless with his tenderness. So this way, he gets to revive me with his breaths and his kisses.