Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 34243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
The moment this happens, it’s all over.
And the moment he kisses me, I knew it would be like this.
Deep.
Hard.
No-holding-back demanding.
And it’s impossible to resist.
I’m not even surprised to hear myself whimper against his lips as my body softens under his in surrender. I can’t even muster the energy to get mad when I hear him release a rough low growl in satisfaction, like a predator claiming its prey. There’s just no point wasting energy on lies. It is what it is, and there’s at least one truth that we can both agree on.
I’m his.
Completely.
Absolutely.
Irrevocably.
He’s marked me for life, his claim reaching all the way to my soul, and that’s why all I can do is wrap my arms around him with a sob as the kiss deepens. All I can do is kiss him back as the whole world melts away.
His hands do what they expertly do, and my clothes disappear layer after layer, and I’m once again shaking under his burning gaze—
“Look at me.”
And the moment my eyes lift to his is the same moment his hand slips down, and a gasp tears out of me.
Oh.
Oh—
I was not ready.
He gives me no warning. He gives me no time to adjust, no careful build-up, no mercy. Just the sudden presence of his hand there—warm and certain and demanding in a way he wasn’t the first night—and my body jerks against his like a string being pulled tight, and a small helpless sound catches in my throat.
“You’re mine, Tiara.”
His voice is low and rough in a way I’ve never heard it.
“Say it.”
I don’t want to.
I don’t have any plans to.
I can feel my mouth opening anyway, working on something that isn’t quite a breath and isn’t quite a word.
But when I actually feel him about to withdraw his hold—
“P-Please—”
How shameful it is that it’s the threat of not touching him that makes me start losing my mind?
“Then say it!”
I don’t want to.
I don’t.
I don’t.
But the moment I feel cool air replace the heat of his touch—
“I’m yours.”
The words come tumbling out, and they hang in the air between us—quiet, small, impossible to take back. I can hear the shake in my own voice. I can hear how much it cost me, and I don’t know if he can hear it too, but I know from the way his face changes that he heard at least something.
Triumph glitters in his eyes.
And I don’t know—I just don’t know what to feel anymore about anything. I can’t even think. Because he’s good as his word, he’s touching me again, and this time, his fingers are moving me, claiming yet another part of my body.
Oh—
His eyes don’t leave mine as my own body starts to move. I find myself clutching his shoulders as pleasure starts to build, tightening and tightening and tightening, and my head tips back against the pillow, and my legs are trembling against the sheets, and somewhere in the dim corner of my mind I can hear myself making sounds I don’t recognize—
A cry spirals out of my throat as his touch reaches all the way inside of me, so, so deep that he’s still a part of me as I shatter.
Arkane.
I collapse against the pillow, my chest heaving. He’s above me, watching me come back, and his eyes are on mine.
I really am his.
I feel the truth of it, the same way I felt it last time.
But this time there’s a second thought right behind the first one, and I can’t stop that one either.
But what about him?
Why am I not as sure that he’s also mine?
Chapter Ten
THE REST OF THE SUMMER passes like a patterned dream.
I’m either with his family or Arkane himself, if he’s not busy with grad school. And even though not a single photo of us shows up on the papers, it doesn’t really matter. The whole of San Antonio knows.
I’m Arkane Young’s girlfriend.
By day.
But by night, though—
I didn’t make the same mistake again. I don’t even bother locking my door. And I think...even though no one says a word, everyone knows.
Not just the fact that we sleep in the same room, but that I’m still...you know. I could be wrong, but I think it’s an agreement he’s made with his parents. Maybe.
Either way—they know. And they’re okay with it.
But me, though?
The more time I spend in his arms, the more my confusion grows. When he touches me, I don’t just shatter. When he touches me, I see it in his eyes. I feel it in the way his kisses can be both gentle and demanding, rough and tender—
He wants me as much as I want him.
Needs me the way I need him.
And even though I’m too much of a wimp to say the words out loud—
I want to believe that his heart feels the same thing my heart does.