Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
This is the moment. He’s either going to pull away or…
He takes my hand in his tan, rough fingers and places it on his chest. “This beats for you.”
Holy fuck. He’s not pulling away; he’s bringing us to another level.
“I can’t fight this hunger for you anymore, Gia. Don’t want to.”
My eyes fill with tears. For a second my heart fluttered. For a mere moment I had hope. But that’s the one thing I’ll never allow myself to indulge in.
Hope.
It’s a beautiful word, yet it causes unlimited damage. I lived with that word my whole life. Hope took me down once. I can’t allow it to again.
If he notices I haven’t responded, he’s hiding it well. He pulls me up, and his jizz drips down my stomach.
“You want to order dinner, or go out?” He brings me into the bathroom and starts the shower. I’m almost too stunned to respond at first. Does he actually think we are going to continue?
He steps in and reaches for me as I’m trying to make my brain work. I should go, but let’s be honest: I never should have come with him to begin with.
The hot water pelts my body. He grabs my chin almost roughly. “I’m done playing. I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it. I know it.”
Then he grabs the shower gel and starts to wash himself in angry, fast movements. By the time I get the shower gel in my hands, he’s moving me aside to rinse and opening the heavy glass doors.
“Rhys?” He stops but doesn’t turn. “I can’t commit to anything right now.” It sounds strained and pretty pathetic as I swallow back the words that I should say. I should tell him that he let me leave. That he hurt me and now I’m not the same. That because of him I make bad decisions, all so I never have to feel that burn in my heart again.
He grabs one of the white towels and wraps it around his waist. Looking at me through the mirror, he shakes his head as if he can’t understand me.
“Relax, Gia. I asked you to dinner.” My eyes hungrily watch him leave. As he runs his hands through his wet hair, his broad shoulders and back look truly spectacular.
I take my time in the shower. What the hell am I doing? Rhys is starting to seem like the normal one here. I wash my hair and grab the body wash for the third time before I feel stable enough not to humiliate myself. My emotions are all over the place. I’m terrified he’s gonna hurt me, and I can’t even enjoy the moment. The only time I’m completely free is when his pierced cock is fucking me.
This is absurd. I have to get out. Wait, did he say he’s taking me to dinner? I turn off the water and almost laugh because did Rhys Granger just ask me out on a date?
I step out, and the large bathroom looks like a sauna. That’s how long I stayed in the shower. Wrapping a towel around my wet hair, I grab some moisturizer and freeze.
I hear his guitar, but this is not a song that I know. He’s creating. Goose bumps cover my skin and it’s all I can do to breathe. After reaching for a robe, I slowly open the door.
I have known that Rhys is a musical genius from as early as I can remember. I used to sneak out of my bed as a kid and spy on him. He basically lived in our garage his senior year, sleeping on that old mattress and writing.
I’d go through the kitchen and sit on the steps that led down to the garage. It was then that I knew he was the perfect man. His words and voice moved me even as a child.
I lean against the doorframe and listen as he sings and plays. Fuck, I need a cigarette. This song is about me.
She’s a hunger that I’ve come to need. I’ve never been good with words, but that’s all right because my heart. My heart beats for hers.
My heart beats for hers.
And this is when I fall. I’m no better than his crazy fans. In fact, I might be worse because I’ve been loving him since I could feel what love is.
My heart beats for hers.
Somehow I’m in front of him when he looks up and flashes me the famous Granger smirk. He’s shirtless. His arms flex and his hand travels up and down the neck of the guitar.
After a dramatic strum, he says, “You’re my muse.”
I look at him, wanting this to never end. “That is… Rhys.”
He puts the guitar aside and pulls me in between his legs. As his hands untie my robe, he brings me close. My hands weave through his thick hair. And that’s it—the tears fall.