Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“It will always be okay,” I assure her.
I get to have her in my bed.
I lead her into my room and wait for her to climb onto the bed. The light blue shorts and T-shirt she’s wearing has me struggling not to stare at her legs, ass, and the clearly visible curves of her breasts.
Who would’ve thought blue balls would take me out at the age of thirty-eight?
When I bought clothes for her, I made sure there was a variety because I didn’t know what style she preferred. At first, she lived in sweaters and slacks, but since coming to the island, she seems to be growing more confident.
I lie down beside her and switch off the light again. Not letting the chance pass me by, I turn onto my side and reach for Ciara, pulling her close to me.
Lying face-to-face with her, I push my arm beneath her head while brushing her hair away from her shoulder with my other hand.
“Better?” I ask.
Her eyes shine in the dark. “Yes.”
Unable to stop myself, I grip her tightly to my chest. I place my hand behind her head and rest my cheek on her hair.
Ciara’s arm moves over my side and she presses her body fucking hard to mine.
Fuck this feels good.
I rub my hand up and down her back before gripping her hair in a fist and practically squashing her in my arms.
The love I feel for her overwhelms me, and I press a kiss to her head, a tremble shuddering through my body.
Her breathing speeds up, and it sobers me right the fuck up. Pulling back, I ask, “Too much?”
She shakes her head, closing the small distance I put between us. When I wrap her tightly against me again, she whispers, “It just feels very comforting and safe.”
“Good,” I murmur, soaking in how fucking incredible this moment is.
It’s been a month since I found her, and even though she still has to start therapy, she’s made a lot of progress. I plan to bring up the group meetings or one-on-one sessions with our resident psychiatrist when we return home.
Her voice trembles when she asks, “Have you found him?”
“Not yet. But I will,” I assure her.
“Will you kill him?”
I pull back again, and staring into her eyes, I brush my hand over her cheek and hair. “Do you really want to know?”
When she nods, I reach for the bedside lamp and switch it on again. Picking up the stack of tarot cards that’s lying beside my phone, I say, “Usually I let the person choose a card before I kill them.”
Ciara reaches out and takes the cards, slowly looking at each one, then she says, “I like the black and gold.” Her eyes dart to mine. “What does each card mean?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “With ‘The Devil’ and ‘Judgment’, I get to choose how they die.”
She holds up a card. “Strength?”
“I fight the person until either one of us is dead.” Her eyes widen, and it has me quickly adding, “I’m really good at fighting. You don’t have to worry about me.”
I watch as she glances through them again, then she shows me another card with a gold pillar on it.
“The Tower means I throw them off a building.”
“Why do you make them choose? Why not just shoot them?”
“Some people deserve more than a bullet,” I answer honestly. “By them choosing a card, I leave it up to fate.”
Ciara nods, and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth when she looks at the card with the Grim Reaper printed on it.
“Death,” she whispers.
Before she can ask the meaning, I say, “That one’s too gruesome for your ears, mi sol.”
Her eyes flit to my face again. “Are you going to let Nolan choose a card?”
I stare at her for a moment, then ask, “Would you like to pick his card?”
She glances through them all, then stops on Death again. “Is this the worst card?”
“Yes. The person will suffer for weeks.”
She hands me the stack while keeping one for herself. “I choose Death.”
My lips curve into a smile. “Good choice.”
I’m going to have that fucker’s limbs removed one at a time until he loses his mind.
I set the pack of cards down on the bedside table and switch off the light.
When I turn back to face Ciara, she snuggles against my chest again, gripping the tarot card in her hand.
“Try to sleep, mi pequeño sol.”
She rubs her cheek against my skin. “Night, Santiago.”
“Night.” I begin to trail my fingers up and down her back, and a few minutes later her breaths even out as she falls asleep.
Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of holding my woman in my arms. I keep dozing on and off until my alarm starts to sound from my phone.
I quickly turn it off, and before I can turn back to Ciara, she scoots closer and stretches out, throwing her leg and arm over me. She hugs me as if I’m her personal pillow, and it has a grin stretching over my face.