Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Betty brings some dinner. Blackened cod, steamed asparagus, creamed potatoes, and two warm soft rolls of bread. There is a glass of cold wine to go with it. I eat and drink alone, which I quite enjoy.
Night falls although I only know it because of the time on my watch, as the vault is constantly bathed in the soft artificial light of the gallery lamps. Feeling exhausted but satisfied with the progress I’ve made, I put the painting away safely, tidy up my workstation, and step out of the room. The mansion is quiet now, the corridors dimly lit, the gardens outside dark but still fragrant. The floral scent drifts in through the slightly open windows in the hallway.
In my suite, I strip off, have a cold shower, and slip into bed, letting the silk sheets of the bed invite me to sink into them. I lay back, my eyes closed, and let the events of the day wash over me: the reading of the will, the ridiculous stipulations, the video from my father, the confrontation with Axel, the hours spent restoring the painting, the brief, unsettling glimpse of Axel’s gentleness in the garden.
And then, despite my best efforts, my mind sticks on the image of Axel. I cannot help it. Thoughts of Axel, of his strength, his control, his rare tenderness, worm their way through my conscious thoughts, teasing me, taunting me. The rush of sexual desire and my suppressed curiosity about him collide, and I feel a dangerous heat spread through me like fire.
I keep my eyes closed, inhaling deeply. I cannot stop thinking of him, cannot stop imagining him, cannot stop the magnetism that he seems to exert over me despite all my attempts to resist his pull. I shouldn’t want him like this. He’s complicated. Dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with touch. He unsettles me. Challenges me. Heavily dislikes me. But maybe that’s why. Because when Axel looks at me, I don’t feel underestimated. I feel like an equal. The idea settles low in my chest, warm and consuming.
The mattress is soft beneath me, inviting me to relax and give in to the temptation. Fuck it. Why shouldn’t I allow myself this small indulgence in private? It’s just a fantasy. I don’t want to date Axel in real life. It’s just a momentary fascination.
The images and sensations swirl, dangerous and delicious, leaving me flushed and undeniably alive in a way that nothing else has managed to make me feel in months.
I slide my hand slowly over my stomach, not rushing, just enjoying the feeling of my own caresses over the warmth of my skin. I can feel my body responding to my touch. I move my hand lower and imagine it’s his, larger, rougher. An expert on women’s bodies. I imagine it is his firm thumb that is tracing lazy circles around my clit. He watches my reaction like he’s collecting it for later.
“You’re not as composed as you pretend to be, Jo,” he says, and his voice is not hard and horrible, but low and teasing, full of knowledge. He knows exactly what he is about to do to me.
“I’m perfectly composed,” I whisper.
It’s a lie, of course. Because the truth is, I’m not and have not been ever since I set eyes on him. It is burned into my mind the way he looked at me that first night we met. Like he was assessing me and finding me lacking, yet beneath that dismissive expression, there was something more, a spark of pure lust. And I think of the way I keep catching his eye whenever we are in a room together. For that to happen, he has to be looking at me too. And sometimes, I catch him looking at me like if I showed even a flicker of interest, he’d close the distance in a single stride, press me up against the wall, and take me like a man unleashed.
Tear my clothes off me. Ravish me.
The thought sends heat curling through me, and I up the pace of my fingers around my clit. I shift under the covers, my thighs brushing together, and the friction makes my breath catch. My pulse pounds. I press my lips together to stop myself from crying. All I can see is Axel standing at the end of the bed, his jacket discarded, his tie loosened, his eyes dark and unreadable.
He’s not touching me yet.
He’s just watching me with his slow-burn eyes.
I know he could make me unravel, and he knows it too. He knows he would enjoy watching how hard I try to maintain control while my body betrays me. He tilts his head slightly, a totally sexy smile playing at his lips.
“Still pretending you don’t want me?” he murmurs.
My spare hand drifts over my rib cage, my fingers curling into the fabric of my vest top instead of skin, gripping something solid so I don’t float away entirely. I arch slightly into the mattress, chasing a sensation that isn’t quite enough.