Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 16084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Hearing him say it is so damn hot.
“And it’s all your fault,” I reply, not giving him a second to breath before locking our lips together again.
This time I keep him as long as I can. Writhing in bliss from his wriggling and shaking from my touch, and his own that sends bolts of electric joy coursing through my veins.
But when time comes to escalate this to the next level and I part from him, my jaw smashes through the damned table. In the fray of our violent make out session, his bandana came undone and fell to the floor somewhere.
The missing wrap leaves me staring at the man who hours ago stood over my dad, bloody and beaten. His face stern, eyes hard, jaw clenched, staring back at me with the same intensity from the restaurant.
“It’s . . .” I stutter the word out a few more times than I’d like, staring awkwardly at his face. “You.”
Gawking is an understatement. I’m looking at him the way one would an alien. Confused and cautious by what’s in front of me, but too intrigued by what’s on display to pull back and run.
“It’s me.”
“Oh God, what have I done?” Rising panic claws at my throat from deep within my bowls. It stifles and chokes me, as those fears that felt banished a moment ago come crushing in around me like violent high-tide waves pushing and pulling me deeper into the current.
I knew I saw him earlier on the dancefloor. Should’ve suspected that he’d make his move.
Blinded by him being a savior, I let my instincts slip. Latched onto him like a pathetic little puppy because I didn’t want to face another horrible man.
At what cost?
“Nothing,” he speaks calmly, as if trying to convince me that I hadn’t just face fucked the devil incarnate. “Everything. Fuck, Taylor, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Then don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to hear it anyway,” I sigh, feeling my heart shatter into a thousand tiny pieces in my chest.
It’s just like me to make a stupid, life shattering decision on a whim. Boasting about how I do everything in my power to stay cautious and safe, when I’ve made two terrible decisions in the span of a few hours.
Somehow, for the longest time after disappointment crushes all the fight out of me, I stay seated beside him. Further apart now, still eyeing the brute who treated my dad like a punching bag, but still here none-the-less.
Half hoping this is a dream, that I’m going to wake up any second now with the day redone. Rickon saving the day without the disgusting business earlier in the night and our happily ever after kicking off right.
The cold truth is that it isn’t.
I’ve fucked up and it’s time to face the music.
5
RICKON
Taylor stands and I let her. Can’t blame her for wanting to run, but she isn’t doing it at a galloping pace either. I can’t tell if that’s a good sign or not Then again, I should be thanking my lucky stars she didn’t smash a bottle over my head and slam the pointy bit into my chest.
Deep rooted uncertainty and doubt set in. Second guessing every word that crosses my mind in fear that it might scare her. Chase her further into the abyss and confusion. Turn this somewhat amenable reaction into one that makes her run for the hills and never look back.
Can’t have that. Not after what we’ve gotten up to.
Hell, I knew it in the restaurant, this kiss solidified it . . .
Taylor’s mine and I won’t let go of her this easily.
She turns around, considering her first step. This is my chance to bring her back, settle her mind on what happened earlier, yet I find myself staring at her body instead. Her firm ass, squeezed into the tight, nightmarish body suit.
Images of my fingers between her legs flashing across my mind, when it should instead be fighting tooth and nail for a solution to this problem. I like it to think it’s a coping mechanism, replaying the more enjoyable side of our night, rather than focusing on the torture that has befallen us.
Deep down, I know it’s a false belief. She’s hooked some depth dwelling primal side of me. Reeled it up to the surface and it’s taken full control. It wants, no, needs her in ways I didn’t know possible. Clawing under my skin to reach out and touch her. Bring her in for a kiss. Taste her tongue, skin and cunt.
Shaking my head to snap out of the daze, I grab Taylor by the wrist before she can walk off. She spins on her heels in an instant, a flat palm striking my cheek.
“Don’t touch me,” she says. Says. Not, screams. A second sign that this isn’t the end of our story yet.