Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
There are thin slats on her closet door, allowing me a slightly obscured view of her.
I hope to hell she can’t see into the shadows where I’m hiding.
My chest is too tight, and fear dances down my spine at the prospect that she might hear my short, sharp breaths. I suppress a shudder.
It’s inherently wrong to feel afraid of Karolina.
She takes her phone out of her bag.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Panic spikes through me, sharp enough to pierce my racing heart.
Her head jerks up, and I flick the switch to completely silence my notifications. After a moment, the tension eases from her brow, and her attention returns to her phone—she must’ve decided the vibrating sound was nothing to worry about.
She’s messaging me: Bones. Her illicit, faceless pen pal.
Not the real me.
Not the man who’s completely obsessed with her. Not the man who’s been hopelessly in love with her for years.
I scowl at her message.
Karolina
Are you free to chat?
Fuck, no.
Even if I weren’t hiding in her closet, I’m not ready to talk to her as Bones yet. I want her to accept me as Rand.
I could’ve been kinder to her during our first lecture this morning, but I let my residual anger over her cruelty get the better of me. The memory of her suggestion that I find someone else to play with at the kinky manor still torments me.
Plus, I’d seen that idiot boy, Rich, attempting to flirt with her before class. His proximity to my Karolina had frayed my already raw nerves.
I’ll have to find a way to make it up to her. As Rand.
For now, messaging her as Bones isn’t an option.
She sets her phone down on her small nightstand and runs a hand through her long brown hair. It’s a nervous habit of hers, one I recognize from my years of studying her.
She wants me to answer. She might even need me.
I grit my teeth. She probably needs an orgasm.
She sighs again and tugs her light blue sweater over her head.
My jaw locks tight enough to ache, and I barely manage to hold in my frustrated growl.
She’s so close that when she tosses her sweater carelessly in the direction of the closet, I catch the faintest hint of her lightly floral scent—rose and peony. Her porcelain skin practically glows in the low lighting, and her hair gleams with subtle auburn threads.
She deftly unbuttons her jeans and steps out of them. Her movements are graceful as ever, even though she left ballet behind years ago.
She’s wearing a pale pink, cotton bra and black lace panties that hug the perfect curves of her ass. The combination of innocence and sex kitten is so purely, perfectly Karolina.
She’s only a few feet away from me. I could close the distance between us in two long strides, toss her down on the twin sized bed, and pin her delicate body in place for the erotic torment we both want.
My cock stiffens, straining against the confines of my jeans. I gnash my teeth, frustration and desire a potent cocktail driving me to the edge of madness.
I hadn’t expected her to come home so soon. I should’ve known that her reserved nature might make her leave before the bars close, despite the fact that her course mates are likely staying out partying.
Following her is my favorite pastime, but I had to leave her unsupervised tonight so that I could install the cameras in her flat.
An awful thought occurs to me, and possessive anger heats my chest.
If a guy tried to hit on her while I wasn’t watching over her…
I take a breath and remind myself that she came home and immediately messaged me.
When she finally accepts that she won’t get a response from me, she pouts and reluctantly walks to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
Within minutes, she returns to the bedroom. She’s removed her light makeup, and she’s even more stunning in her natural state. This is the real Karolina: the innocent young woman I’ve coveted since before she established her polished, if modest, sense of style.
She’s adorable in her comfy pajamas, despite how alluring she was dressed in nothing but her underwear. The flannel set is covered in a pattern of delicate pink bows that are reminiscent of her past ballet aesthetic.
The satisfaction that warms my chest at the sight of her like this does nothing to dull my raging desire for her.
She slips under her duvet and turns off the bedside lamp. The room is cloaked in darkness until her phone illuminates her face, hooding her eyes in shadow.
I can’t see what she’s looking at, but it’s not difficult to guess the nature of her reading material when she starts shifting on her tiny mattress.
Fuck.
She must be indulging in a particularly spicy scene in her newest dark romance novel. We’ve been reading it together, even if she doesn’t know that I mirror my eBook library with hers.