Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
His body goes rigid under my hands, and for one terrible second, he doesn’t respond.
But then, he does.
He kisses me back. His hands come up to my waist, and his grip tightens on my hips like he’s barely holding himself together. There’s a heat in him that feels almost electric, like his body is shaking under the strain of restraint.
It makes me want more. Makes me want him more.
I press closer, my heart racing and my breath shallow, and I chase whatever this pull is that won’t leave me alone. Recklessly, I ignore all the red flags and things that should most definitely be freaking me out, and I chase whatever is causing this blooming, undeniable, overwhelming need for him.
His mouth moves against mine, hungry and controlled at the same time, like he’s fighting himself with every breath.
In this moment, I want to give him everything—my mouth, my tongue, my body, my heart, fucking everything that is mine.
But then he breaks the kiss and steps back as if he’s been burned.
“Stop,” he says, voice rough. “We can’t.”
The rejection hits harder than a slap to the face.
I stare at him, my chest heaving up and down in erratic waves. “You don’t get to decide that either.”
“Yes, I do,” he snaps, anger flaring now. “When it comes to you, my willpower is already hanging by a fucking thread, Kylie. You have no idea what you’re asking for when it comes to a man like me. When it comes to what is pulsing between us.”
The implication hangs between us, heavy and frightening and intoxicating all at once.
It’s all too much.
My eyes burn with emotion, tears threatening to flow down my cheeks at any moment.
But the most shocking part is that all I want right now is to launch myself at him again and give him every part of myself.
Never in my life have I ever felt like this about anyone.
And that’s beyond terrifying. It makes me feel like I’m the girl in the horror flick who runs up the stairs when the psycho with the mask arrives at the front door.
Immediately, I turn and head for the bathroom, yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind me. I twist the lock hard enough to make it rattle.
“Kylie,” Rook calls out, and tears start streaming down my cheeks.
“Leave me alone,” I call through the door. “I need a minute without you deciding things for me.”
The shower is on before he can say anything else. I remove my clothes, quietly sobbing the entire time, and step beneath the steaming spray.
Hot water pelts my skin, and I brace my hands against the tile, shoulders shaking as everything I’ve been holding back finally spills over.
Fear. Anger. Confusion.
And underneath it all is something worse—want.
I want him. I more than want him. It’s as if I can feel my want and need for him pulsing in my veins. It feels as if each pounding beat of my heart is for his ears and only his ears. It’s as if my mind and body are at war. It’s as if I’m fighting every sane instinct inside myself not to run out of this shower and beg him to make love to me.
It’s as if…deep down, I’m willing to do anything to be his.
And that is the most petrifying realization I’ve ever had.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, water streaming over me, and press my palm to my mouth to muffle the sound while I cry.
I don’t know what he is.
I don’t know what this is.
I only know that nothing in my life has ever made me feel this unsteady and grounded at the same time.
And that scares me more than being taken ever did.
Rook
The bathroom door stays shut.
At first, I tell myself she just needs a few minutes. Then an hour passes. Then two.
Steam curls out from under the door, carrying the faint scent of soap from her second shower, but also the scent of something sharper. She’s scared and confused, and I’m hating every fucking second of it. I hate that I can’t comfort her. I hate that I’m probably handling this all wrong.
I could read her mind if I wanted to. I could let myself get inside her head and hear everything that’s rolling around there. But I just…can’t invade her privacy like that. No matter how badly I want to.
I don’t move from where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, hands braced on my knees like if I shift, the whole situation might fracture again.
I don’t knock. I don’t speak. I don’t try to coax her out of the bathroom.
I give her space. I learned a long time ago that hovering doesn’t help. It just reminds people they’re not alone when what they need is the illusion of it.
Eventually, I stand and step into the hallway, grabbing the tray of soup and bread and bottles of water I ordered earlier from room service. I could’ve ordered anything off the menu—burgers, pizza, steak—but I decided to go with something light. Something that doesn’t ask a lot of her.