Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
What? Am I? Who says?
He arrives at Monday’s page and finds my ten o’clock appointment with Mrs Kent. Locating an eraser from my desk tidy, he slowly rubs it out, looking up at me when he leans down to blow the fragments of rubber from the page. He’s really enjoying this, while I’m sat back in my chair watching him trample all over my work diary, at the same time trying to gage how serious he is. I fear he’s completely serious.
He proceeds to put a big, black line through Monday as well. What is he doing? I glance around the office, noticing my colleagues have got bored of the Jesse and Ava show, knuckling down with some work instead.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask calmly.
He pauses, looking up at me. ‘I’m making my appointments.’
‘You’re not happy enough controlling the social aspect of my life?’ I’m surprised at how calm I sound. I feel completely ram raided. This man has untold front and confidence. ‘I thought you didn’t make appointments to fuck me?’
‘Watch your mouth,’ he cautions me. ‘I’ve told you before, Ava. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘For what?’ My voice is barely a whisper.
‘To keep you,’
He wants to keep me? What? For sex or more? I don’t ask that, though. ‘What if I don’t want to be kept?’ I ask instead.
‘But you do, by me. This is why I’m having such a hard time trying to figure out why you keep fighting me off.’ He returns his attention to my diary and sets about putting a line through every day for the rest of the academic year.
When he reaches the end, he slams it shut and stands. His confidence knows no bounds. And how does he know I want to be kept by him? Maybe, I don’t. Christ, I’m trying to lie to myself now. I’m going to have to buy a new dairy. I mentally applaud myself for backing up my appointments on my email calendar, a precautionary measure in case I lost my diary, not because some unreasonable control freak might erase them all from my planner.
‘What time will you be finished work?’ he asks.
‘Six-ish,’ I can’t believe I’ve just answered that without a second’s hesitation.
‘-ish,’ he mouths, putting his hand out over my desk. He wants me to shake his hand? I reach up, mentally demanding my hand not to tremble, and place it gently in his. The familiar fizzle flies through me when our hands connect, his fingers brushing gently over my wrist as he slowly strokes down the centre of my palm.
My eyes fly up to his. ‘See?’ he whispers, before pulling away and striding out of my office, collecting an envelope from Sally’s outstretched hand on the way.
Holy fucking hell! My heart is convulsing in my chest, and I’m breaking out in an uncomfortable sweat as I sit at my desk, frantically fanning my burning face with my coffee coaster. How does he do these things to me? Tom looks over at me with wide eyes and a whoa stare. I blow out a long, lung full of air in an attempt to regulate my hammering heart. He wants to keep me? What? Keep me and control me, keep me to love me or keep me to fuck me senseless? He’s already fucked me pretty senseless. He must have, because I keep going back for more. No, I don’t keep going back. I keep getting forced back. Is he forcing me, or do I go willingly? Oh, I don’t even know anymore. Oh Lord, I’m a fucking mess!
I start folding away my drawings of The Life Building before pulling my email calendar up so I can start transferring my appointments back into my diary.
Oh, I’m in some major deep shit. But he’s totally right...I do want to be kept by him. I’m completely addicted.
I need him.
Chapter 28
I’m the last to leave the office. I set the alarm, lock the office door behind me and jump out of my skin when I hear the familiar scream of a high powered engine. I turn around, seeing Jesse pull up to the kerb on his bike. I sigh, my shoulders slumping dramatically. I don’t even know if I’m pissed anymore. Mental exhaustion has engulfed me. But I do know that I’m grateful Patrick has already left the building.
He takes his helmet off, dismounts from his bike and approaches me looking like he’s had a perfectly normal day. I feel defeated as I look up at him.
‘Good day at work?’ he asks.
I gape. He’s so thick skinned. ‘Not really.’ I answer on a frown, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
He observes me for a while, chewing his bottom lip, the cogs kicking into action. I hope he’s thinking about how unreasonable he’s been.
‘Can I make it better?’ he asks as he reaches for my arm and slides his warm palm down until he’s clasping my hand.