Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
I’ve only worn the black one, and it was to this year’s holiday party at Tackle. Some people wore red and green, and others wore white and blue. I wore black. I’ve only worn the other two when I tried them on at the store, but I feel like I should pack them. I have enough jeans, blouses and dress clothes for work events. Most of my clothes have a purpose. I only purchase things I probably don’t need on nights when I cry, listen to music, and drink wine. I should probably ask him what we’ll be doing. God, I freaking hate surprises. I can’t believe I agreed to this.
When I step out of the closet, his head snaps up from his phone, and once again, I’m frozen. His eyes heat as he drinks me in slowly, causing an inferno in their wake. He does it again as if he’s savoring every inch of me, undressing me with his gaze. I shift on my feet. I’ve been a lot of things with Lachlan, but coy isn’t one of them. I feel exposed, turned on, and slightly embarrassed by my reaction tonight. When his gaze meets mine, the fire in them licks through me and spreads into my core.
“I don’t know what to pack,” I say, my voice low and needy.
He stares for another second, then tosses his phone on my bed, as he stands and makes his way over. My breath hitches as I watch him, and it occurs to me that this is a terrible idea. The money sounds great, but I don’t know if it’s worth the risk. I don’t think I’ll survive him, this time. He stops right in front of me. I stare at his black shirt and shut my eyes briefly to inhale his scent. Butterflies swarm my belly when I open them and find him watching me with that look in his eyes. The way he looks at me makes it difficult to breathe. When he reaches me, neither of us moves. I keep my eyes on his, heart pounding erratically, as I continue the staring contest that I’m only interested in, if it ends with his lips on mine.
It doesn’t.
He breaks away and moves into my closet. I step out fully. Thankfully, not shaking. At least my body knows when to behave itself. I pivot to look at him. The walk-in closet isn’t big by any means — something that’s demonstrated by Lachlan, who can easily reach every corner without moving. He grabs the three dresses, heels, jeans, tops, and a few other things that he carelessly drops into my suitcase. He knows that shit drives me crazy. I can have a messy stack of books on my nightstand, but my clothes need to be neatly folded. He’s doing it on purpose. Asshole. I don’t react. Finally, he moves to my underwear drawer, and everything inside me comes to a screeching halt.
I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Vibrators are normal to have and use, but I know he’ll be mean. The old Lach would have teased with a sparkle in his eye, a smirk on his lips, and promptly used it on me. This one. . .I don’t know what the hell this new Lachlan will do. I fight to remain calm and resist the urge to stop him. He pulls out every single pair of panties I own and studies them. I only have three nice panties, which immediately go in the bag. He tosses some of my others behind his shoulder, not even caring where they land. He does the same with the bras. His brows shoot up when he reaches the back of the drawer, and I know he’s found it. This is going to be a jolly good time, I just know it. He takes it out and examines it. It’s purple and gets used often.
I sigh. “Go ahead. Make fun of me.”
“Why would I make fun of you?” He looks at the vibrator in his hand, at me, and back at it. “Why does it look like a cactus?”
“Are you. . .” I start to laugh, but stop and step in to grab it. He holds it out of reach like we’re in fucking middle school. I shoot him a glare and cross my arms, as I take a step back. “Lachlan.”
“Lyla.”
“Please put it back.”
His smile is slow, cruel. “I will, if you answer a few questions.”
“Questions?” I ask, somehow managing to sound nonchalant. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head. His smirk is pissing me the fuck off. He must see it, with the way his eyes twinkle in ruthless amusement. I’d expected him to make fun of the thing and then of me for needing one, but questions? He knows damn well that answering questions about sex makes me uncomfortable. Chalk it up to trauma. I can have sex, but I don’t necessarily want to discuss it. Lachlan is the only person I’ve ever felt comfortable speaking to about it, and he knows it. I know he must remember that.