Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
The door bursts open, and I jump up, looking toward the door with surprise etched on my face. Dawson is standing in the doorway with a disgruntled look on his face. I don’t know what this is about. I’ve left him alone for several hours now, so there can’t possibly be anything that I have done wrong.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dawson asks, flipping the light switch on for the overhead light that blinds me as soon as it’s lit.
“Sleeping?” I say, blinking away the sting in my eyes from the sudden light.
“Why are you sleeping here?” he asks, taking a step closer. I’m confused, and he must see that because I just shake my head with a dumbfounded look on my face.
“Why am I sleeping in my bed?” I blink a few times and try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is my new normal.
“Get up and walk to my room now or I’ll carry you,” Dawson demands. His voice is low and serious, which I’ve come to learn means I can’t disobey. I wouldn’t want to repeat what happened in the living room when he accused me of insubordination.
But everything I’ve been spiraling about for the past few hours replays in my mind, and all I can do is shake my head. “Dawson, this isn’t a good idea. What’s happening between us isn’t right, and I think we need to cool things down before it gets out of hand. Both of us have a lot riding on this relationship.”
Dawson doesn’t say anything as he stares at me in silence for a moment. At first, I think he is listening to me for the first time and actually taking in what I have to say. But then he just huffs and moves closer, tossing my blankets aside. Before I can ask him what’s going on, he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like I’m some kind of a rag doll.
“What the fuck, Dawson!” I shout as I squirm against him, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. Every time I move, he just squeezes me tighter, like a cobra with its prey. As he walks through the penthouse, I just give up. Why waste my energy fighting him?
He opens the door to his room and plops me down on the mattress as soon as we get there. I just sit upright and stare at him with annoyance in my eyes.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dawson says with a casual shrug. “Now, be a good girl for me and lie down. If you try to get up, I’ll have to handcuff you to the bed.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and my stomach twists at the demand. It’s an insane thing to say to someone, but I know he means every word of it. He doesn’t want me to leave this room tonight, and he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that I don’t.
I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into living here with him. It’s confusing and terrifying, but there is a part of me that finds it exciting. Dawson has a darkness to him that I never would have expected when I first met him. He’s shown me a side of himself I should be terrified of. But something about it intrigues me.
I want to know what exactly made him this way. He’s already told me about his mom, and I know that has to have contributed to it. But there has to be more. There has to be some reason I’m so drawn to him the way that I am.
Dawson smiles at me as I do what he says and slide the covers aside to warm myself up under them. When I’m lying down in the bed, I flash him a smile that silently asks him if he’s happy now, and he smirks before walking around to the other side of the bed. He doesn’t change into pajamas, only slips out of his slacks and takes off his shirt so he’s in his briefs and nothing else. I try to ignore what seeing him like that does to me.
I’m about to roll over and close my eyes, but before I can, he pulls me closer and presses me against him. Once again, his arms wrap around me, and I feel every muscle in his body as he moves. It’s comforting while being a reminder of how much bigger he is than me at the same time. I don’t think it would hurt me, but as I’ve said, he’s unpredictable.
“Tell me about art school,” Dawson says, almost whispering it in my ear as he gently moves a few strands of hair from my face.
I look over my shoulder at him before rolling over to lie on my back. If we’re going to have a conversation, we should be looking at each other.