Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I hated this feeling like I couldn’t get away, and it grew worse when he set his hand on the side of my thigh. It slid inward and began to creep up.
I couldn’t say no, but I had other words in my arsenal. “Ryan, wait.”
He lifted his head and gazed at me, a lustful one that set off every alarm in my damaged mind.
“I can’t help it. I want to touch you.”
I struggled to catch my breath. “I didn’t say you couldn’t touch me.”
“But when I do, it’s not enough. Is this enough for you?”
He did not give me a chance to respond. He plunged his tongue deep in my mouth at the same moment his hand slid between my legs.
His touch was shocking, and I gasped against his mouth.
It’s not enough, my subconscious agreed.
Because of the clash going on in my head, I didn’t stop him immediately, and his knee moved between my legs. It was agonizingly hot and uncomfortable trapped beneath him, and things spun out of control when his fingers found the top button on my shirt.
He undid it.
Then another.
My knees threatened to buckle as he focused on the next button and released it, my shirt hanging open.
“Wait.” Terror swept through me. “Wait.”
He raised his head, towering over me, and his brown eyes filled with confusion.
“Please let me go,” I begged.
Time slowed as he considered disregarding my plea, but then he released his hold. Cold air washed over me as he stepped back and let me pull my shirt closed.
“I have two voices in my head. One that’s telling me to stop,” I blurted, “and one telling me to keep going.”
He said it like he was being playful, but his expression was serious. “I’d be happy to give you advice on which one to listen to.”
There was something in his eyes that was so scary I couldn’t look at him another second. With my shirt still undone, I kept it closed with one hand and used the other to push open the door as I fled the studio.
In my panic, I ran headfirst into someone’s chest. It was a hardened wall of muscle, and I bounced off it.
“Plavko,” I gasped.
His gaze slid over my undone shirt, his face unchanged. “Everything is all right?”
“It’s fine,” I lied. “You surprised me.” Why was he always around?
He said nothing, offered no apology.
I sought shelter in my room, where I filled an entire page with words before there was a knock on my door.
“Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice was muffled through the door. “Can I come in?”
“It’s your house,” I bit out.
When the door swung open, he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and looked guilty as hell. “I’m sorry. It took a full three days before you let me kiss you last time. We’re well ahead of schedule, and I’m still being an impatient asshole.”
The same need I felt in the library crept in, destroying all other thought. “Can you be patient a few more days?”
His arms uncrossed and he straightened. “Yes, I can wait until we’re married. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
Well, shit. I nodded slowly, sure I’d just agreed to something horrible. He came toward me with purpose, a dark look of satisfaction on his face.
“That makes me want to reschedule my meeting and move up the wedding.”
My heart skipped with anxiety. “Don’t do that.”
For a whole variety of reasons, starting with the fact I had no idea who I was. Or what it was about him that made me want to give him everything.
Was it love?
And could I figure it out in the next three days?
“Will you miss me when I’m gone?” he asked.
“Since you’re, like, the only person I know? I don’t know, probably.”
His smile was sinful. “I’d like to kiss you now. This is your warning.”
The force driving me to him was immediate and strong, and I wasn’t sure how much more pressure I could take.
Dr. Vorbusch’s pen hovered over her pad of paper. “Did you write in your journal?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you find it helpful?”
I shrugged. No memories had surfaced since we’d last spoken, so I was anxious to start my session this afternoon.
“What did you write about?”
“Ryan, mostly,” I said. “How I feel conflicted around him.”
She lifted her gaze from the pad to focus on me, like this was unexpected. “Conflicted?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. It’s, like, when we’re together, I don’t feel in control.”
There was worry in her voice. “You feel out of control?”
“I feel like someone else is in control. Maybe the woman I was.”
“But wouldn’t that be a good thing? Your mind pointing you in the right direction?”
“I suppose.”
The room shifted abruptly, and I blinked, disoriented. My mother was bleary-eyed on the couch, still in her clothes from last night even though it was now morning. Kara and I watched The Sound of Music, but she was less interested and kept glancing at our mother. The doorbell rang.