Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
That said, I should be relieved he’s leaving me alone. Instead, I’m on edge.
At least now I have a reason to talk to him. As I hit the Call button, my ass cheeks tremble, my thoughts returning to the sensations he elicited when he was inside me, when I was begging for him to come. The way it felt when I exploded all over myself. It was so rough, violent even. Perfect.
When the phone trills a fourth time, my chest knots up. How dare he expect me to be available to take his call when he won’t answer?
“Hey, beautiful,” I finally hear from the other end.
His voice is a sedative. The knots in my chest relax as desire sweeps through me, as though every nerve has been brought to life by the timbre of his voice.
I notice I’m catching my breath, and before I have a chance to say anything, he asks, “Did you miss me already?”
As is his power, just as quickly as his answer brings me ease, this comment stabs at the issue I’ve been having all week.
“Apparently you didn’t miss me at all.” Why do I sound so damn mad about it?
“Who said that?”
“You didn’t even try to reach out.”
“Phone works both ways.”
I tense my jaw. “Maybe you just needed to fuck me and get it out of your system.”
There it is. My real fear. Now that he’s claimed my hole, not that he’ll need it all the time, but that he’ll never need it again.
“If you think what we did got you out of my system, you’re dead wrong.”
All my anxiety dissolves in an instant, heat rushing to my face, like some fucked-up delayed response to the things he did to me that night.
“You have a weird way of showing it,” I snap.
“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me for a long time, so I was giving you space.”
I hate him even more when he’s right.
I swallow the choice words I want to give him, knowing they’d reveal too much about how curious he’s made me. How I wouldn’t have minded if he’d torn down my door again to claim what he wants.
“Thank you for the space. So anyway, I was chatting with my brothers about our business plans, and I thought we should get together and review them.”
He snickers, like this is all a ploy to be near him again.
“Well?”
“Sure, you can come over, and I can fuck you again.”
“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted.”
“Well, I’m learning you don’t like to say what you want.”
My gaze skips around the room as if to make sure one of my brothers didn’t somehow come in and overhear what I’m talking to him about, or worse, what I need from him. And maybe also like I’m waiting for Dad’s ghost to materialize and say, “You’re not the leader I thought you were.” That should be enough to convince me to stop myself, but whatever’s going on between us is a moving train, hurtling toward a disastrous wreck I’m powerless to stop.
“No sex,” I spit out. “Just business.”
“Boring.”
“I’m serious, Killian.”
“Then I’ll respect your wishes.”
“Now who’s the liar?”
Again with his damn snickering.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just you, beautiful. Now how about tonight?”
It’s strange how much I enjoy hearing him say I’m beautiful. I shouldn’t like that as much as I do.
“Tonight? Why not now?”
“I have business matters.”
I must not be doing a good job disguising my frustration because he says, “Don’t worry, Log. I still want you as much as ever.”
Fuck, what it does to me to hear him say it.
“I’ll be available later,” he says. “And I’ll do my best to respect your no-sex rule.”
“What? I didn’t say anything about a rule.”
“Be here at eight.”
He’s hung up before I have a chance to object further.
I’m unsettled by the discussion. I shouldn’t be. He said exactly what I needed to hear, that he won’t make this about fucking me again. But now getting what I wanted feels like he’s trying to punish me, leaves an ache in my belly, my hands trembling.
That’s fine. It needs to be only business anyway.
It’s two in the afternoon now, which leaves six hours of doing fuck all other than stressing about seeing him again.
There’s this dread in me that he was serious about the no sex. I wonder if it’s just that I like proving him wrong, like when I swallowed his load. I don’t ever want to let him have things his way, but I find myself heading to the pharmacy, to the hygienics aisle, blushing when I see the enemas on the bottom shelf. Some asshole is perusing the deodorant display nearby, and I wait for him to grab his product and leave before snatching a box of condoms and the enema. I tell myself I have nothing to be embarrassed about, that the cashier wouldn’t know nor care what it’s really for.