Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“I’m impressed,” I murmur, turning to grab a bottle of water out of my overnight bag. “Not one of her most played songs.”
“I don’t know the song, but I recognize her voice. Which one is it?”
“It’s called ‘My Tears Ricochet.’”
“Love song?” he teases lightly.
I shake my head. “Post-love song.”
His amusement dissipates instantly, but he merely nods. “You can go back to bed. I need to take a quick shower.”
I unscrew the cap. “Did everything go okay?”
“Yeah.”
I take a long drink of water, then make my way back toward the bed. “There’s bottled water in my bag, and I left the open bottles of alcohol from yours on the counter—in case you’re thirsty.”
“Thanks.”
I nod, crawling back on the bed and burrowing beneath the stark white bedding.
Feeling like I should stay awake, I do try to. I even leave the music on and focus on the lyrics to try to keep myself conscious, but I lose the fight.
CHAPTER 10
CASSIE
The room is still dark when I’m jostled awake.
I don’t immediately know what woke me, but then I feel the foreign sensation of lips trailing across my neck, weight on my pelvis, warmth pressed against my chest.
Panic surges first, this scene too familiar to the nightmare I woke up in last summer. I remind myself of the differences to keep the air from abandoning my lungs. His touch is tender, not violent. I didn’t expect this, but that’s not the same as not wanting it.
I know it’s Tor’s palm squeezing my breast, not Tim’s. I know it’s his face I’ll see if I open my eyes.
I decide against opening them, though, just to be safe.
My heart begins to race, unconvinced the differences aren’t some cruel new trick my mind is playing to lull me into opening my eyes and reliving the same old haunting scene. There are differences, but I don’t know how I got here, so I don’t know if I can trust them.
My music is still playing. That’s evidence that helps ground me in the reality of this moment because my dreams don’t have a soundtrack.
This isn’t a bad memory tricking me into reliving it as a dream. I was awake in a motel room waiting for Tor, thinking about Russell, and catastrophizing about tomorrow…
Tomorrow. When the time Tor bought me finally runs out.
More reality.
All I have is tonight.
Tor Walters dragging his teeth along my jawline, then kissing the side of my mouth.
It’s surreal, but it’s happening.
Despite all he’s done for me, I don’t move this fast.
If this were any other night, I’d stop him, but I’m going to jail tomorrow and prison after that. I’ll likely spend the rest of my life there, and I doubt there will be a lot of opportunities for meet-cutes. I’m not a virgin in the technical sense anymore, but I’ve never had sex I really wanted to have, either.
I don’t want to go to prison kind of a virgin.
So, I tilt my neck, allowing him access.
When his hand slides down the front of my panties, I gasp against his shoulder, but I don’t ask him to stop.
He uses his fingers to spread open my pussy, and a long moan slips out of me. Sensations swirl, making my legs tremble. His finger finds my clit like it’s been there before, and I groan, sliding an arm around his muscular back to hold him close.
He sighs against my neck, kissing and then biting as his finger rubs expert circles around my clit. My thighs tremble again, a broken cry slipping out of me as a need that I don’t even understand grows larger inside me.
“Christ, you’re sensitive,” he murmurs against my skin between kisses.
“Is that bad?” I gasp.
He chuckles, caught off guard by the question. “No. It’s not bad.”
He withdraws his finger, though, and I feel the absence immediately. He moves before I can feel too disappointed. His hands find the hem of my oversized T-shirt, and he tugs it up. I lift a little, allowing him to pull it off me.
“Open your eyes,” he demands, tossing my shirt.
I don’t want to, but I can see how having sex with someone who won’t look at you is probably weird for him, so I do.
I’m braced for whatever might get stirred up, seeing a man who looks like Timothy Walters on top of me in the middle of the night, but when I meet his gaze, all I see is Tor. Not the guy who hurt me, but the one who tried to save me.
My chest doesn’t tighten. Maybe the alcohol is helping, but I’m relieved.
I don’t sleep in a bra, and I was too tipsy to get properly dressed before bed, so with my shirt on the floor, panties are all the coverage I have left. The lights are off, but enough moonlight spills in through the window for him to gaze at me appreciatively.