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)
“Why?” she asks, puzzled, and I can’t blame her. I’m quite befuddled by all this myself. I’m acting out of character in so many ways.
“I don’t see straight when I’m near you.” She knocks all rationality right out of me, has me thinking stupid thoughts and behaving like a total nutjob. And I adore her for it.
Taking one of the fancy face cloths from the shelf by the sink, I run it under the tap, hating the idea of wiping myself away from her. When I turn, I find her legs are closed tightly. She’s feeling awkward, and with a small frown, I separate them again. I never want her to feel uncomfortable with me, which is a ridiculous claim, given my recent behavior. She’s still here, though. And now she can never deny how incredible we are together.
“Better,” I mutter, placing her palms on my shoulders while I reluctantly sweep the cloth across her skin, cleaning her up and flicking a glance up every now and again, each time catching her regarding me carefully. I would bet my bottom dollar on what she’s thinking.
Age. She’s wondering how old I am.
“I want to toss you in that shower and worship every inch of you, but this will have to do. For now, anyway.” As soon as I get her back to my rental, there will be plenty more worshipping. Her issue with age will be lost amid my capabilities and her craving. I give her a quick kiss, resenting having to cover her. “Come on, lady. Let’s get you dressed.” I love that she lets me do it all, and I love how she tenses and spasms when I can’t resist another taste of her neck. She’d better get used to my lips all over her, because I don’t plan on putting them anywhere else ever again.
My shirt is handed to me, and I shake out the creases as best I can. “There really wasn’t any need to screw it up, was there?” I grin as I dress myself, and she watches closely.
“Your jacket will cov—” Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” I snap my belt, and grin when she flinches, only because she seems alarmed by it. Absolutely no idea. Thank God. “Okay, you ready to face the music, lady?” I signal for her hand, and she wastes no time giving it to me. Smart girl. “I’d say quite loud, wouldn’t you?” I break out in a full-on, blast-her-back smile when she darts her wide eyes to me.
But she’s distracted from her shock when she catches sight of her face in the mirror. I don’t know why; she looks just flawless. “You’re perfect.” I unlock the bathroom door and pull her out, scooping up my jacket as we pass.
As we take the stairs, I know I have a certain spring in my step, my body feeling the lightest it has in as long as I can remember. I look across to Ava. All because of her. But my contentment falters when I feel her trying to pull away. Instinct tells me to keep hold of her.
So I do.
“Jesse, let go of my hand.”
“No,” I fire unreasonably and shortly.
I stop when she does and turn to look at her on the step above. She’s nervous, her earlier blissed-out state gone. I’m tempted to take her straight back in that bathroom to remind her of what we just shared together. She can’t have forgotten already. She can’t possibly think we’d walk out of there and that would be the end of it.
“Jesse, you can’t expect me to parade through here holding your hand. That’s not fair. Please, let me go.”
I gaze at our hands, seeing the evidence of the firmness of my grip by the bulging veins. I’m not hurting her, I’d never hurt her, but I have a solid hold and I have no intention of letting go. “I’m not letting you go,” I whisper sullenly. “If I let you go, you might forget how it feels. You might change your mind.” It sounds irrational, but that’s how it is. And it scares me. It scares me to think that she could rob me of this. That it’s out of my control.
“Change my mind about what?”
“Me.” I can feel her eyes scanning my nervous form, confirming my fears. She could never appreciate this unshakable fear I’m developing, and she doesn’t give me time to explain. Or, at least, try to. My arm jolts, she’s suddenly free, and I watch, feeling a mixture of anger and agony, as she escapes me, running into the arms of some girly twat at the bottom of the stairs. Who the fuck is that?
I’m only mildly uncomfortable with the rage flying through me as I charge down the stairs, watching another man all over her. For the most part, I’m consumed with an unreasonable need to reclaim her and ensure she never has the opportunity to escape me ever again.