Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Are you a dominant?” She rushes over her words, and I cough with a mouthful of water, having to grab the napkin and wipe my chin. A dominant? What does she know of dominants? Where the fuck did that come from? I’ve no clue, but surely it’s a lead into something that needs addressing.
Like the fact I have a mammoth building full of dominants. I’m not one of them. Truthfully, I’m always too under the influence to play like that. It requires control and trust, and it would be too much to expect a woman to trust me when I’m ten sheets to the wind. Fuck, how do I approach this?
“Ava, I don’t need that sort of arrangement to get a woman to do what I want her to do in the bedroom.” I’m full of shit. Because, ironically, I need that kind of arrangement with Ava to get her to do anything. One touch, and she’s mine to bend, whether it’s her body or her mind.
“You’re very controlling,” she says coolly, but her eyes betray her, and she glances away.
“Look at me,” I order, and she does. Immediately. I need to be crystal clear with her. I want her to know this kind of behavior from me is unheard of. She’s special. Unique. The only thing in this world who seems to be able to control me, and she is blissfully unaware of that. “Only with you.”
Is that a pleased glint in her eye? “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, wondering how I could ever explain. “You make me crazy,” I add, putting that out there too, though she’d have to be deaf and blind not to have noticed that. I look past her, seeing Luigi dancing through the tables with plates balanced on his arms. Thank God. “Here’s your pasta.”
“Lovely people,” he sings, sliding his dishes before us proudly. “Buon appetito!”
“Thank you, Luigi,” I say, also quietly thanking him for his perfect timing as Ava picks and pokes at the dish, lost in thought. I don’t think I can take any more questions, and I definitely can’t handle more halfhearted confessions. She deserves more than the scraps of information I’m giving. More than the twisted answers. I’ve got to somehow find it in myself to do the right thing by her. Even if it means the wrong thing by me? And who’s to say it’s the right thing by her? Ignorance is bliss. Does she even need to know?
Fucking hell. The weight of it all is too much. This could be a new start for me. A fresh one. No past, no sins. No chance of her leaving me so I have to face life alone again.
I think I could literally talk myself in circles over this.
“Good?” I ask when she finally takes a bite.
She swallows. “When did you buy the penthouse?”
My fork falters on its way to my mouth. She’s not done. “March.”
“You never told me why you requested me personally to work on the extension of The Manor.” She drops her fork and pushes the plate away, and I stare at the barely touched pasta.
“I bought the penthouse and loved what you did with it.” Yet nothing prepared me for the face behind the project. The face gazing at me now. “I can assure you,” I say quietly, “I didn’t expect you to come rocking up, with your perfect figure”—fuck, that figure—“olive skin”—that’s wonderfully soft—“and big brown eyes.” That I get lost in each time I look at you.
“You weren’t exactly the Lord of the Manor I was expecting, either,” she says, her lips stretching. Is she remembering our first encounter? The chemistry? The intensity? I catch a slight roll of her shoulders. She’s remembering. “How did you know where I was on that Monday lunchtime when I bumped into you at the bar?”
“Lucky guess.” I didn’t follow you there at all.
“Of course,” she huffs. She knows. It makes me smile.
“I couldn’t think of anything else after you left The Manor. I had to have you.”
“Do you always take what you want?”
Give it to her straight. Eliminate any room for doubt, just in case you haven’t already. “I can’t answer that, Ava, because I’ve never wanted anything enough to pursue it so relentlessly. Not like I wanted you.”
“And now you have me,” she whispers, her eyes moving to my lips. She wants to kiss me. “So,” she goes on, lifting her gaze to mine, “with the chase over, do you still? Want me, I mean.”
“More than anything.”
“Then I’m yours.”
Mine. Never has anything sounded so right, and when her eyes drop back to my mouth, I lazily lick my lip. She will beg for me. “Ava, you’ve been mine since you turned up at The Manor.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.” She knows it. I know it. The fates know it. “Will you spend the night with me?”