Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Him.
I take the knob and turn it, pushing my way inside, going against every ounce of sensibility in me.
He has Allison now.
The curtains billow in the breeze.
He doesn’t want me to want him.
The room is dimly lit. The terrace outside dark.
I’m leaving.
There’s music playing, a slow, haunting track. I’m ruined.
I swallow, padding toward the open terrace doors, the music getting louder.
I can hear the lyrics.
“Oh God,” I whisper, chills rippling through me, so much so, I hug myself, coming to a stop on the threshold of the terrace. Standing. Listening to Tamer sing Beautiful Crime.
I lose my breath when I see him shirtless in a chair, staring into space, the smoke of the cigarette resting in his limp hand on his knee gusting messily in the breeze. Messy. This whole situation is messy. And if I don’t turn and walk out, it will get messier.
His elbow is wedged into the arm of the chair, his fingertips on his forehead holding his head up.
Despair. Despondency.
Regret.
It’s pouring out of his weary body.
Because of me.
Leave.
I swallow back the renewed emotion climbing into my throat, trying so hard not to snivel and disturb him.
I fail.
He slowly cranes his head back, his eyes lifting to mine.
And something slams into me. Something powerful. Something I’m incapable of describing. He holds my eyes for an eternity, looking at me like he both loathes me and admires me. I don’t know what’s happening. Where this insane connection came from. I didn’t ask for it to happen, it just happened, and despite everything I know—and much I’m sure that I don’t know—I’m struggling to fight it. Resist it. When he was worshipping me, the world as I knew it no longer existed.
And that’s a dangerous feeling for me to have.
My eyes begin to burn from staring at him for so long, and I see his shoulders lift with an inhale as he finally breaks the deadlock, turning away, taking a drag of his cigarette.
Leave.
And yet my legs refuse to take me away.
I tentatively move closer, the breeze wafting his cologne toward me, the heavy, familiar, manly scent mixing with his cigarette smoke and swirling around my head, making me dizzier. Intoxicated.
Leave.
Rounding the chair, I stand before him, my breathing quick. He doesn’t miss it, his gaze on my chest—watching me struggling to be near him—before his eyes slowly climb my neck to my face. I see the wave of contempt drift across his face. But I stand firm. I don’t wilt.
“I would say thank you,” I say quietly, “but I know you won’t appreciate my gratitude.”
His lip lifts at the edge. Not in a smile. A sneer. “You can thank me, Pearl,” he whispers, taking his half-smoked cigarette to his mouth and pulling hard, exhaling slowly as he leans forward, his eyes dangerous slits, “when my face is between your legs licking that sweet cunt until I’m drunk on it and you’re screaming for more.”
I subtly breathe in my hurt, but I remain stoic. Unmoving.
“Only then will I truly appreciate your gratitude.”
I won’t give in to his need to be a bastard. To treat me like an object. He’s obviously forgotten in the heat of his anger that I’ve experienced him at his best, and his best was the worst he could have given me. Because I liked him, and I know everything else I see now is an act. “You don’t shock me, Brad,” I murmur, seeing the confusion he’s trying to conceal behind his steel façade.
“What would it take to shock you?”
“You admitting that you can’t stop thinking about me.”
“No,” he growls, showing nothing but disgust.
“No, you won’t? Or no, you don’t think about me all the time?”
“I don’t care about you, Pearl.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Come here and say that to my face,” he grates, flicking his cigarette away angrily, leaning forward some more. Threatening. But he doesn’t get up from his chair. I can’t help but think he’s trying to anchor himself. Restrain himself.
He’s a fucking joke.
So I go to him, the fronts of my legs touching his. I look down at him as he tilts his head far back to look up at me. “You’re a liar,” I whisper.
The mixture of anger and defeat on his handsome face twists it, and he slumps back in the chair. I step back, giving him space to absorb his unspoken confession. I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stop myself. Can’t seem to find it in myself to walk away from him. From this.
I push my hair over my ear on one side, biting at my lip ring as he pinches the bridge of his nose, sucking air through his teeth. He looks like he’s going to explode, cursing quietly under his breath over and over.
I back up some more until I’m against the glass pane of the balcony, reaching back and holding on, if only to stem my shakes. And I watch him, something inside willing me to see this through to the end.