Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 69(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 69(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)
He leans in and kisses me until my toes curl before he declares, “You. I need you, Alana, and if you want to talk about hate, I hate how much you don’t know that.” He pulls up his music app and pushes play. He set his cell on the steel railing next to me, and music fills the room, an easy invitation to block out the rest of the world.
Damion curls me into him, his hands caressing up and down my back, and it’s hard not to feel tiny and vulnerable folded against him, but somehow this arouses me. He’s always been that dominant male persona that I liked a bit too much, and I’m not sure what that says about me. His hands press to my breasts, his mouth to my mouth, and then he’s lifting me and leaning me against that steel beam all over again.
He kisses me and then lowers his head, his mouth suckling my nipple, and the room fades but the song does not. It’s “Astronaut in an Ocean” by Masked Wolf, and the words have me trying to escape the whirlwind of emotion they stir in me, digging my fingers in his hair and willing his mouth to mine. Instead, he palms my breasts, and the words haunt me.
When these people talk too much, put that shit in slow motion, yeah.
I feel like an astronaut in the ocean.
I’ve always felt like an astronaut in an ocean when I’m inside Damion’s world, out of place and yet where I belong when it’s just me and him. But it isn’t just me and him. There are so many other people involved. Finally, his mouth is on mine, and he tastes like whiskey, power, and torment, as if he’s certain he’ll lose me, and I’m not sure what to do with that information nor does he give me time to go that deep.
He cups my face and says, “You’re thinking too damn much. Obviously, I’m not doing my job.”
“Am I a job now?”
“Don’t turn that around on me. It’s every man’s job to take care of his woman, and you are my woman, Alana.”
I could tell him I’m not his woman, but the words don’t come to me. He eases me down his body, and my feet touch the ground, and we just stare at each other. “No objection to being called my woman?”
“It crossed my mind, but it would be a lie for me to deny the truth. And I’m pretty sure I was just preaching about honesty, even if we didn’t use that word. I’ve been your woman for the entirety of my adult life.”
His eyes burn like blue fire before he kisses the hell out of me and then scoops me up and starts walking.
Chapter Ten
Damion’s bed is every bit what you’d expect a king’s bed to be, larger than life, with towering posts I don’t remember really giving thought to until tonight. Because tonight, as he sets me on my feet, he leans me against that thick wooden surface and says, “This is where you belong.” One of his hands is on my hip, a possessive burn to that touch, while the other is on the wood above my head. “That ring—”
Everything in my head screams in rejection of what he might say next. I’ve officially turned this night into me playing the role of the desperate girl who wants to marry the guy who doesn’t want to get married. It’s embarrassing and not who I want to be. “No,” I say, my hand pressing to his chest, the act pausing his words, and I can feel his heart thundering beneath my palm. “Don’t talk about the ring.” I pull it from my hand and press it into his. “Now, can we just forget the ring and fuck already?”
His spine stiffens, and he stands ramrod still. He is stone, unmoving, his expression impenetrable, a tic in his jaw, and yet the sexual tension between us still crackles like electricity. Seconds pass, and the silence mixed with my boldness becomes my enemy, and just when I’m about to act or say something, anything, he catches my hand and slides the ring back into place.
And when his eyes meet mine, he says, “We can fuck all night long as long as this ring is on your finger.”
There’s no time for me to react or even assess what I feel right now. His hand slides under my hair, his palm to my neck, pulling my naked body flush to his. “You really have no idea how much I want you, or how much I have always wanted you, do you?” It’s a question filled with torment and self-hate, that I don’t quite understand. His mouth closes over on mine, his tongue stroking into my mouth, wicked and full of demand, the whiskey and power I’d tasted minutes before has transformed to torment, hunger, and need mixed with a possessiveness that says he believes he’s about to lose me. The truth is I’m his to lose.