Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“No, you won’t.” I kiss her softly, even as my grip tightens, possession roaring in my blood stream like an unfed lion. “Not today. And not for the next sixty years.”
CHAPTER 8
Haylo
Not today. And not for the next sixty years.
As Joel walks me out of the sorority house, leading me back in the direction of the pool, my hand locked inside of his, I’m fighting an internal battle.
My Daddy issues are winning for now. The fear of letting another man take up so much space in my life, giving him so much power over my feelings. I’d be crazy to do that. I’m not going to do that. I’ll fight to protect my peace and keep myself in full control of who I allow to come in and out of my life. I’m not going to cry ever again because a man doesn’t see my value. Or because he leaves me lonely, over and over. On holidays. Birthdays.
No. I don’t want that. I won’t have it.
And yet, I crave the clutch of Joel’s hand around my throat. I crave his mouth and attention and dominance. The way he looks at me is unlike anything I’ve experienced. It’s more than lust, though there is a lifetime supply of that. But there’s…pride and tenderness, too. When he holds me, touches me, I’m the Holy Grail and he’s been searching for me his entire life. I’m not temporary. I’m the end game.
For once, I go searching for my emotional baggage, riffling through the contents, wanting to remind myself why a relationship with Joel is a no-no. But we’ve reached the pool now and my sorority sisters are gaping at my hand, which is joined with Joel in an iron grip that allows no one to question his ownership. Of me.
I’m not supposed to like that, right?
Being a prize. The possession of a man.
But then I hear his words whisper in my ear. I’m sorry for rushing this, angel. You deserve better than to have your innocence taken by an animal. You deserve the fucking stars. Something about his reverential treatment of me makes his possessiveness feel good. Right. Healthy. I grow toward it, like a flower seeking the sun.
“Okay…” crows Monica, her gaze absorbing the sight of me at Joel’s side, probably looking disheveled. Who wouldn’t after a gorgeous man’s kisses brought her to the brink of an orgasm? I’ve never even been kissed with tongue. I used to think that made me a prude or a loser, but no, if Joel’s confident, thorough tongue is the only one I ever taste, I am definitely the winner. “Now that we have everyone, we’re going to begin the chicken fight battle. Daughters, drag dear old dad…or whoever is filling in for dad…into the pool and await the matchups!”
I squint up at him, endorphins rushing in my veins to find him already looking at me, like maybe he’s wishing he’d gone through with punching my V-card in the bathroom. My sex muscles give a happy, little cinch and my body turns toward his, as if compelled. “I don’t think you can swim in jeans. Did you bring trunks?”
A line moves in his cheek. “I did. I think I dropped them when I saw you in a thong.”
“Oops. Can’t wait to see you in them.”
“Can’t wait for you to see me out of them.”
I glance over at the pool and the grassy, surrounding area. Several fathers are changing into the trunks with the aid of a towel around their waist, disrobing undercover and yanking their shorts on afterward. Wanting to help Joel do the same, I spot a stack of white towels on one of the lounge chairs and start to walk in that direction, but I’m drawn to a halt when he snags my wrist, dragging me back into the heat of his body. “You were told not to leave my side, young lady.”
A twisted thrill curls in my tummy. “I just wanted to get you a towel.”
Without responding, he walks me to the stack of towels and nods at me to pick one up, which I do, before he escorts me to an unoccupied spot on the other side of the pool, where a pair of discarded swim trunks lays in a heap. He uses a firm hand on my shoulder and makes me sit on one of the loungers, while he stands in front of me, blocking the pool from view.
I’m given no warning when he removes his shirt.
“Wow,” I whisper, my mouth going dry.
Even though I haven’t seen Joel shirtless, I knew he was strong. But I wasn’t aware of the physique that was responsible for that strength. He’s somehow thick and toned at the same time. Big biceps and sculpted pecs have my jaw on the floor, to say nothing of the Air Force tattoo spanning the length of his collarbone. The removal of his shirt has caused his hair to muss and now I’m wishing he’d punched my V-card in the bathroom.