Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“It’s beautiful,” she says, so quietly it’s almost for herself.
“It is,” I say, but I’m looking at her.
She shifts, angling her body toward me, the strap of her dress sliding half an inch down her shoulder. “Why do I feel like this is the part where you tell me a secret?” she asks.
I swirl my wine, let the silence draw out. “I don’t have secrets,” I say, then reconsider. “Or maybe I do, but none I haven’t told you already.”
Her lips part, and I can see her tongue press the back of her teeth before she says, “There’s something you want to ask me.”
I smile. “Yes. There is.”
“Then ask,” she says, all challenge.
I set my wine on the sill, turn to her, hands on either side of the glass. She’s so close I can smell the heat of her skin, the floral of her shampoo.
“Andie,” I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I’d like. “You know I’m older than you. You know that my daughter is literally your classmate.”
She nods, biting her lip.
“And?”
I meet her eyes directly, my blue gaze flashing. “How much do you know about men? I need to know.”
Her face doesn’t move at first. Then she looks away, blinking, and crosses her arms over her chest, as if to hide the pulse jumping in her throat. “I know enough.”
I shake my head. “I don’t mean that. I mean—have you ever been with one? In the way that matters?”
She goes still. For a second I think she’ll lie, or laugh it off, or say something cute. But she just stares at the river, then at her own feet.
“No,” she says. Her voice is so small I almost don’t catch it. “I haven’t.”
I exhale, slow and careful. All the fantasies I’ve ever had about her collapse into something new: not just want, but hunger laced with a kind of reverence I haven’t felt since I was seventeen. Oh fuck fuck fuck. I’m so fucked, and I can feel all my so-called rules flying out the window.
She glances up, blue eyes pools in the city glow. “Is that bad? Does that freak you out?”
“No,” I say, and it’s not a lie. I want to pick her up, put her on the kitchen island, and fuck her until she forgets her own name. But I also want to go slow, so slow she has to beg for more.
She waits, watching, maybe bracing for rejection. I let the silence grow teeth.
Finally, I put both hands flat on the glass behind her, lean in until our faces are inches apart. Her eyes are big pools of blue, innocent and pure.
“I want to be the one,” I say, and it comes out almost a whisper.
She looks at me, then away, then back again. “You’re not like other men.”
“No,” I say. “I’m not.”
She uncrosses her arms, hands resting now on the cold marble. “Will it hurt?”
I almost laugh, but I see the nerves, the edge of real fear. I shake my head, gentle. “Yes, maybe a little at first. But then it’ll feel good, I promise. I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”
She shivers, and I can tell it’s not from cold. I move a fraction closer, so she’s pinned between my arms, our hips almost touching.
“Is this what you want?” I ask. “Not what you think you’re supposed to do. What you want, Andie.”
She nods, eyes wide and unblinking.
I lean in, mouth to her ear. “Say it, then.”
She closes her eyes, swallows hard, and says, “I want you to be my first. I want it to be you, Thomas.”
The way she says my name nearly undoes me. I step back just enough to see her face, and she’s not scared anymore. There’s something else there, raw and alive.
I take her hand and raise it to my lips, kissing each knuckle, slow and deliberate. Her fingers tremble, but she doesn’t pull away.
“It will be good,” I promise. “And you’ll never forget it.”
She lets out a breath she’s been holding since the elevator.
I release her hand, but don’t let go. Instead, I draw her toward the master bedroom, slow and unhurried, the city watching us like an audience. I catch our reflection in the glass: her small and gold, me looming over her, all angles and shadow. For a second, I want to stop and memorize the way we look together. But I don’t. There’s a bed, and a window, and a world of firsts ahead of us.
I take her there, knowing I’ll never get enough.
I lead her into the bedroom with a hand at the small of her back. It’s as spare as the rest of the place—just a king-sized platform bed dressed in gunmetal silk, a single wooden nightstand, and the same endless window as in the living room. From here, the city is all sodium arc and deep shadow, but the glass throws our reflections back at us: me, a huge, ominous shadow; her, a gold specter at my side.