Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
He’d kissed me. It hadn’t even been a full fucking kiss. He’d literally pecked the corner of my damn lips.
I was acting like he’d fucking suddenly made out with me. Had touched my cock for the first time.
But nope. A mere goddamn kiss—one that could barely even be considered one—had me all twisted up inside, my dick so hard I could use it as a punching bag if I wanted.
I glanced up from grabbing another piece of wood when the cabin door opened. Gabriel stepped outside, his hands wrapped around a warm mug of hot chocolate, his cheeks already turning rosy from the cold. He just sat down on the porch swing and smiled at me before sipping at the hot liquid.
My gut tightened, every part of my body urging me to go to him. But I ignored it and focused back on splitting as much wood as I could, even if I didn’t need it right then. Maybe if I wore myself out enough, I’d stop craving him so badly for a few hours.
I needed a damn break from wanting him so much. Or else, I was going to snap. If I did… God help Gabriel then. Nothing would stop me from making him mine in the way I needed him to be.
I poured more coffee into my mug, tired as hell, my muscles pleasantly sore. I didn’t know how many hours I’d swung that axe for, but I’d at least managed to make myself tired enough that my dick wasn’t constantly hard. That was a plus, at least.
But it was slowly perking back up as I watched Gabriel move around the kitchen like he owned it, softly humming a song under his breath that I didn’t know. He was in his domain, happy as could be with just the two of us holed up in this cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was the most relaxed I’d ever seen him, and fuck, I didn’t want him to lose this. If I could, I’d keep us here forever just so he would always remain this content.
He had adjusted fairly easily to suddenly being uprooted once again. I guessed since there was no one else around, he was comfortable. It was just me with him. Made it easier for him to adjust to the change.
Me, who was supposed to be protecting him.
Me, who was supposed to be taking care of him.
Me, who was supposed to be providing him with a better life.
Me, who was not supposed to be lusting after him like a dog sniffing a bitch in heat.
“Excuse me,” Gabriel murmured, needing to get to the drawer I was standing in the way of. I moved back, but apparently, I didn’t move back far enough, and his ass brushed my cock as he moved in front of me to pull the drawer out.
There was no fucking way he didn’t feel how goddamn hard I was for him. My dick hardened so damn fast, I almost dropped my coffee. I only barely managed to keep my grip on the mug.
We both froze. I prayed to whatever deity would listen to me that he wouldn’t say anything. That maybe he didn’t even notice it. Hoped like fuck he just ignored it if he did and went on about his day.
But nope. Hope was not on my side, and whatever deity had listened to me decided to laugh at my request.
Gabriel quietly shut the drawer with a little snick and turned to face me, his hands empty. He swallowed thickly, nervousness shining in his eyes. But there was determination, too.
Determination for what, though? My gut twisted. What the fuck was about to happen? Immediately, I was out of my element. Standing on broken glass. This moment suddenly felt too momentous for comfort.
Something was about to change. I could feel it. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted it.
“I’m in love with you,” Gabriel blurted. I almost dropped the coffee mug. Instead, I tightened my grip even more and carefully set it on the counter beside me, my heart in my fucking throat. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gabriel couldn’t be in love with me.
I was no fucking good for him. Not in the way he wanted—no, fucking needed—me to be.
I was too old for him—fucking fifteen years older than him, to be exact. He was only nineteen—had barely even experienced the world yet. He’d been rescued from a traumatic family. Had the fucking unspeakable done to him.
I could barely handle my own shit. I was a shell of a man most days, just going through the motions. I could barely even form attachments to people. What the hell could I offer him besides protection?
His lips trembled when I didn’t say anything, his eyes glassy with tears. It fucking hurt to know I was hurting him. This pain was worse than losing Donald. It was pure, gut-wrenching agony.