Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Hmmm…” I study the sharp angles of his face in the dim light, trying to decide whether he likes the attention. The sadness bleeding into his eyes right now—raw and unguarded—tells me no. There's something hollow there. Emptied. Gutted. “Camille's fiancé. That's a good place to start.”
He licks his bottom lip, slow, deliberate, before stealing my wine glass.
His fingers brush mine. “Am I though?”
Words hang between us like a loaded gun, and he's looking at me like he's daring me to pull the trigger.
“That's an interesting way to cheat.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Okay. I’ll dabble. Step into this minefield he's laying out. Why not? Two in the morning, wine making me reckless.
His whole body tenses, and when my eyes land back on his, my stomach dips.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Why'd you marry him?”
I look away. Back to the fireplace where flames dance in patterns that make more sense than this conversation.
I shrug. “Why not?”
He’s relentless as he unloads more questions. “You said it yourself—you don't cheat. So why me?”
“I don't know.” Memories claw to the surface, sharp, unwelcome things that taste like blood and trauma. I shove them back where they belong. “Why? Do you do it often?”
Snatching the glass from his fingers, my hand trembles as I rest it against my mouth.
When he doesn't answer, I look at him from behind my glass before taking a sip. It burns less than his gaze.
“Never.” Pause. “But you knew that already.”
Sure I knew. He’s had no serious girlfriends since high school, and the moment he parades someone in front of his fans, they'll either devour her or worship her.
I push up from the sofa, folding the blanket. Need distance. Air. Anything but this suffocating tension between us.
Placing it on the armrest, I go to squeeze between him and the coffee table, but his hand shoots out—catching my wrist.
Fire explodes through my veins. Not the gentle warmth from the hearth, but something feral and consuming. Something that could burn down every wall I've spent years building. Every defense. Every reason I have left to stay alive.
What the fuck is happening to me?
My pulse hammers against his thumb where it rests on my wrist. He has to feel it—this wild, desperate rhythm that betrays everything I'm trying to hide. My throat closes. I can't swallow. Can't think past the heat spreading from where his fingers circle my bones.
“Don't leave.” The words whisper against my skin, but they cut bone-deep. Through every lie I've built around my heart.
I should pull away. Should tell him to go fuck himself. But I stand there, frozen, while my body burns itself alive from the inside out.
Wind whisks through my hair, my throat swelling.
I look down to his grip, before landing back on his face. Jesus. Why. Why does this beautiful man want me as more than a friend?
Because he doesn’t know the real you.
Because he’s got mommy issues.
Because you’re fucking hot and you know it.
Every breath feels like being suffocated by hellfire, because this man. God carved him with enough perfection he could be an angel, but cracked his surface enough to make us mortals weep. Fucking weep.
His brow arches. “I won't ask again.”
“Um—”
The word dies as he tugs me forward. I tumble onto his lap, limbs colliding with hard muscle. Heat sears through my palms where they flatten against his chest.
His hands close around my ass, fingers digging in.
He turns me until I'm straddling his waist, keeping my robe intact. Every point where our bodies connect he’s marking me as something I swore I'd never become.
His.
Resting his head back, he watches me through hooded eyes. His hands slide from my ass to my thighs, fingers digging deep enough to leave marks, steering my hips above him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel. “Already dripping for me, aren’t you? Through this fucking silk.” His fingers find the rim of my underwear. ”Like it’s nothing.”
He circles the fabric into my clit, and my hips jerk up, traitorous and desperate.
I don’t get to answer. He’s already moving down, teeth scraping the column of my throat, the hollow between my collarbones, biting just hard enough to leave marks. His free hand yanks the neckline of my dress down, baring my tits to the cool air, and his mouth seals over one nipple with a groan. “Fuck, these,” he growls around the peak, tongue lashing it before he sucks hard, pulling a broken sound from my throat.
Laying me flat, he keeps going, kissing and biting his way lower, his breath hot through the damp silk between my legs. His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties and drag them down my thighs with agonizing slowness, his knuckles brushing my inner knees, spreading me wider. The air hits my bare cunt, and I can feel how wet I am, how obscene, the way my thighs glisten under the dim light.