Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“This isn’t some casual place where you grab a pint and go home. This is where I come to forget the world exists. Where normal rules don’t apply. Or… I used to, anyway,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
His eyes narrow on me. “You sat in my club, looking like that, with a signal on your fucking arm that you were available. That our engagement means nothing.”
He points a finger at my chest. It doesn’t hurt, but I’m hyperaware of every nerve ending it comes in contact with.
“And you are anything but available. Every fucking man in that room was wondering if you were fair game. And do you know what I would have had to do if they’d touched you? If they’d come anywhere near you?”
I shake my head, speechless. Do I want to—
“I would’ve had to kill them,” he says. “Painfully. Publicly. Would’ve had to make a fuckin’ spectacle in my own club because of you.”
He leans in close, his breath hot against my face.
“You deserve to be punished for that.” His pupils are blown.
Excitement floods me as heat colors my face.
“Cavin, I didn’t know.”
“Exactly. Of course you didn’t know. Because you don’t listen. You don’t follow instructions. You block me on your goddamn phone. You sneak around behind my back. You give my men the slip and wander into places you have no business being.”
“You don’t own me,” I hiss.
He’s close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“You’re my fiancée, Erin. And that means something, whether you like it or not.”
“It means nothing if I didn’t choose it,” I snap at him.
“And yet…” he says as his hand comes up, wrapping his fingers gently, so gently, around my throat.
Oh god.
My pulse skyrockets.
He’s not squeezing. Just… holding, like a reminder.
“Yet here you are,” he whispers. “In my club. In my private room. Exactly where I want you.”
I should push him away. I should slap him and scream. But I don’t.
Because something in me—something I don’t want to acknowledge—responds to this. To him. To the way he’s looking at me like I’m something he wants to devour.
“You need to learn,” he says softly, his thumb brushing the side of my neck. My pulse beats rapidly under his finger. “You need to learn what it means to be mine. And what happens when you disobey me.”
I should be horrified, should be angry at his words. But something unfamiliar flares to life inside me.
“Cavin—”
“Shhh.” His other hand slides to my waist and pulls me close. “You came to The Craic because you wanted to see what it was about, didn’t you?”
“No. I… I came because—”
“So you’re not curious, then? Hmm?”
Why is the anger seeping out of his face? Why does he look almost curious?
“I can show you. I can make it part of your punishment.”
My breath catches.
His mouth hovers near my ear, and when he speaks, his voice is dark velvet.
“Do you trust me, Erin?”
“No. For fuck’s sake, of course I don’t.”
He laughs, low and dangerous. I draw in a quick breath to steady myself so I don’t collapse.
“Good,” he says. “You shouldn’t.”
Then his lips brush against my jaw, and my heart flutters like the rapid beating of a hummingbird’s wings.
I hate that my body reacts like this. That I lean into it instead of pulling away from him.
“I thought you hated me,” he murmurs against my skin.
“I do.” I do hate him, but… I open my mouth. “I—”
But I can’t say it.
His hand tightens slightly on my throat, and a sound escapes me—something between a gasp and a whimper that I’ve never made before in my life. I sound desperate.
Cavin goes still.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and searching.
“Well,” he says quietly, almost to himself, “that’s interesting.”
“What… what is?” My voice comes out shaky, uncertain.
“You.” His thumb traces my lower lip, and I feel it everywhere—my chest, my stomach, lower. “Responding to me like that.”
“I’m not.” But even I don’t believe it.
“You are.” Something shifts in his expression—satisfaction, hunger, maybe both. He leans in again, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath. “And I think you’re as surprised by it as I am.”
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
Because this—him, this moment, the way my body’s gone traitor on me—shouldn’t be happening. I don’t even like him. I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t feel like I’m coming apart at the seams just from his hand on my face and his voice in my ear.
I’ve never felt anything like this. Didn’t know I could.
And from the dark gleam in his eyes, he knows it too. Knows he’s the first to make me feel this way.
The bastard looks delighted about it.
His hand slides from my throat down to my collarbone, lower, skimming the edge of my neckline. He’s far too familiar with how to play my body. I’m vividly aware that this isn’t his first time, that he’s experienced because of other women, and I’m so fuckin’ jealous I can’t think straight.