Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
He reaches for my hand, but I immediately pull back. “Jewel. A deal is a deal, is it not?” he asks, raising a brow. A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel like I’m breaking out in a rash.
I don’t want it.
I know it’s a façade, but even so… I don’t want to belong to anyone.
“Now that my mother knows about us, it’ll only raise suspicions if you’re not wearing a ring. Fight with me, not against me, if you want your guns back,” he says. I try to swallow the lump that seems lodged in my throat.
“Get on your knees,” I find myself saying.
“Sorry?” His eyebrows shoot up. It’s as if the command is so foreign, and he’s never had a person in his life tell him what to do. So I lean into it comfortably.
“On your knees. If you’re proposing, you’ll do it properly,” I tell him, hoping my demand will be enough for him to end this ridiculousness.
He seems to contemplate the power play for a moment, then slowly drops to his knee, and my heart stops. Eli stares up at me. He opens his mouth and then closes it. Just when I think he won’t do it, he clears his throat and looks at me with determination. He holds my left hand in his as he lifts the ring between us. “Jewel Diamond, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I can’t breathe. And for once, he actually asked. Didn’t command or demand.
“I’d rather not,” I say, attempting the most neutral tone possible and failing miserably.
His jaw tics. “Work with me here, not against me,” he says again as he slides the ring onto my finger. I expect to go up in flames the moment it touches my skin, but nothing happens. In fact, I can’t look away from it. I also notice the way Eli strokes my hand as if trying to offer comfort.
It might as well be a collar around my neck.
“Would you like me to do something else while I’m down on my knees in front of you, fiancée?”
I smile as I feather my fingers through his hair and pull him up so he’s standing. He chuckles as I tug on his hair. “No. I would like you to leave now, fiancé.”
When I release him, he takes a step back but doesn’t leave. I’m too preoccupied staring at the ring to berate him about it.
He sits cross-legged on my bed expectantly.
“Get your boots off my bed; that’s disgusting.” I smack his foot.
“It’s not so nice, is it?” he cockily says, and I realize he intentionally did it because I put my feet on his dashboard last night. “We need to get our basics in order before we publicly announce our engagement. My parents have been wanting me to marry for a while now, but with how suddenly I’ve organized this myself, they might be slightly suspicious. Under no circumstances can they know this is a temporary arrangement. We need to get our story straight before dinner with my family because they will grill you.”
“I know enough about you,” I state. “Where you like to go, who you like to fuck.”
He grabs my wrist with lightning speed and pulls me onto his lap. His fingers feather through my hair and then twist, keeping me in place.
“Yes, we’ve established how you like to watch,” he says in a gravelly voice, and I try to slow my racing heart. My fake fiancé shouldn’t have this kind of effect on me, especially because I hate everything about him.
His cock thickens and gradually pushes more firmly against my ass. Electricity dances along my skin as I think about how he had me pinned against the wall last night. How his fingers felt inside of me at Lucy’s. My gaze dips to his lips. Nope, I can’t do this again. When I look back into his eyes, I realize he’s staring at my lips as he says, “What’s my favorite meal?”
I can’t even think straight as his cock continues to strain against his pants and against me.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” I whisper.
“One day, it’ll be your cunt,” he says, and heat flashes straight to my core.
It’d be so easy. Too easy to slip into this tension and let him ravish me. But I can’t let him win.
Can I?
“You wish,” I say, but it’s barely a whisper.
He kicks up an arrogant smile as he loosens his grip around my hair but keeps me in place. His hand trails to my exposed midriff and finds the edge of the tattoo. He runs his thumb over it, and goose bumps erupt over my skin.
“I cooked it for you the other day,” he says distractedly, clearly more interested in my tattoo.
“The chicken?” I ask, and he nods.