Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
She turns around and starts wiping between her legs as I take care of my own cleanup. When she finally raises those stunning eyes to me, I know she’s mad.
But selfishly, I love it when she’s mad. It makes me want to fuck her all over again.
“So let me get this right. You want what’s between my legs but don’t want me?” she says.
I want her. Of course, I want her, But not the way she wants me to want her. I can’t allow myself that luxury of an alternative world where she could be mine. But, fuck, I wish I could rein in my impulses. The moment she stepped into the club in that red dress, I wanted to tear it off her. I was lucky I was able to restrain myself enough to not actually do it.
I wouldn’t even give a shit as to who might notice what’s going on between us. But she wants us to remain a secret. I just want her. But I can’t tell her that. Can’t give her hope. And I’m a selfish bastard for calling her in here. But I was fucking jealous. I either had to mark and fuck her or kill that fucker. Both are unreasonable reactions. Both were equally tempting.
“I want you,” I growl, meeting her eyes as she stares me down. My response only makes her angrier. I won’t let her move on, but I won’t give her what she wants, either.
I’m the actual fucking worst.
The more I push her, the more I hope she’ll finally end this thing. It’ll be like cutting off a limb, but I’ll manage… I think. I’ve overcome addictions before. I just don’t have the self-control to stop supplying myself with this one.
She laughs, the sound menacing and vile. That’s my girl.
I can sense it coming before she even says it. And although I knew it’d feel like a noose around my neck, it does nothing to lessen the impact of her words.
“It’s over between us. This was the last fuck you’ll get from me,” she says, as I throw the towel in the trash and then zip my pants up. Her dress is already perfectly readjusted, the slit running up the side showing off her sexy fucking legs. Everything about her is perfect.
We’re both hypocrites. She tells me she needs more. And in the next breath, she’s telling me we’re done. And I do everything I can to solidify her resolve for her.
I smile, and I can tell it absolutely fucking infuriates her. “Is it?” I ask cockily.
She slaps me across the face. Hard. My cock twitches excitedly, but I make sure not to react. She’s furious, tears welling in her eyes as that savage rage boils over. “Yes, it is. And forget about texting me. We’re done.”
She turns then and throws the towel over my head, missing the bin. She curses and pulls open the door, poking her head out first to make sure no one is there before she slips out.
A fucked-up mix of relief and nausea sets low in my stomach. I want to chase after her, but I know better than to do that. I don’t deserve Billie. I never did. We only got together because she had a need. And maybe I did pity her a little at the start. I know what it’s like to be trapped in a cage, not of your own making. My brother and I never deserved to be on the streets, barely surviving. And I saw the same frustration in her gaze—frustration at her brother’s suffocating overprotectiveness.
I pick up her discarded towel and toss it in the trash, and then I wait a while for the red on my cheek to fade. When I exit the bathroom, one of the dancers is standing there, and she smiles at me.
“Heeey, handsome,” she says, slurring a little. I’ve seen her before but never cared to remember her name. “Need a hand in there?” She flicks her gaze to the bathroom. I ignore her and push past her, a cold disdain radiating from me because I don’t crave any woman other than the one I just purposely pushed away.
I notice Billie at the bar talking with Ivy and that Matthew prick. She looks like nothing happened, and I try my hardest to distract myself from glancing in her direction or doing something I’ll regret, like killing Matthew. I liked him before, and even worked with him twice. But the moment he held out his hand to Billie in introduction was the moment I swore I’d kill him one day.
Eli is sitting on a couch, Jewel perched on his lap, as they talk with Hawke, who has a blonde sitting on his own lap. He frequents this place enough that he has a favorite dancer. I don’t have the heart to tell her he has favorites everywhere.