Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“It’s fine,” she snaps. “Just…” She takes a breath like she’s steeling herself. “Just do it.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I snarl. “You need to relax.”
As soon as I say this, I wish I could take it back. I’m talking to her like an ass.
“It’s hard to relax when you’re a virgin!” she snaps, sitting up, her breath coming quickly.
A virgin… Oh, fuck.
I won’t ever be able to let her go now. When I saw her, I knew she was mine. I knew nobody else could ever claim her. I knew I had to have her, but there was a thought, deep down, that she could never be just mine. Everybody has a history, but now, I see it clearly. She belongs to me, just me.
“Lie down,” I snap. “I’m taking your virgin hole. I’m fucking owning your tight slit.”
She lies back slowly, nodding and biting her lip, but I can feel the tension in her body when I push against her again. Maybe it’s the environment and the fact it’s her first time. The savage part of me just wants to drive deep, push into her tight hole over and over, fuck her hard until she pushes past the discomfort and starts creaming down my shaft.
Yet I can’t hurt her. I never could. Using all my self-control, I step back, shaking my head.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
She leaps to her feet, grabs her bra and top, and roughly pulls it back into place. Tears are in her eyes—the last thing I ever want to do to my woman. She looks down at the paintings on the floor, then roughly rubs her face.
“I…” She rubs her face again when more tears start to fall. “Just… just leave, okay? Just get the hell out of here!”
She screams, waving her hands at me. I try to step forward, to take her shoulders gently. I’ve pushed her too hard, too fast. I should’ve taken things slower with her, giving her a chance to get used to this connection. Even now, it’s hard to control myself with her naked thighs on display.
She takes a step back. “I mean it. Just go. Please.”
I hate leaving her here when there’s so much up in the air between us, but I can’t see a way to fix this rift, at least not now. Yet I know she’s mine. I know she belongs to me. I know she’s the only woman I ever want or need, but she’s deadly serious. She glares at me like she hates me.
Turning away, feeling like a failure, a coward, I head for the door. I can still taste her on my lips.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Samantha
“Are you okay, sweetness?” Mom asks later that day while we’re eating dinner together.
I’m not sure how to answer that. I take my time chewing my food, giving myself time to think. The steaminess with Fletcher was even hotter than I could’ve imagined. When he laid me down on the table and went between my legs, the orgasm was otherworldly. I’m still sore from it now like my body wants more. No, it’s not like it wants more. It does so badly, pestering me to go find him.
When it, I, the sex, didn’t work—when it failed—it just made me feel so inadequate. He wanted me. We were ready to make it happen, and then I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I know I don’t owe him anything, but I wanted to do it so badly. I wanted to be with him. I still want it, even if I yelled at him to leave.
When he saw the naked painting, he started to burn with possessiveness. It was all over him, the heat, the belonging. He said I couldn’t ever do it again, as though we’re going to become some long-term thing.
“You’ve been quiet,” Mom says, dragging me from my thoughts. I haven’t replied. I’ve just sat here, wondering what I could’ve done differently. “We can talk if you like… about anything.”
“Anything,” I repeat, pushing my pasta around the plate. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Try me,” Mom says.
I look up to find her smiling at me. There’s an almost desperate quality to the smile. I can read the expression fairly easily. Recently, she told me, “Sometimes, I regret how old I was when I had you. I would never regret having you, but I wish I’d been younger, more able to connect with you.”
She’s been trying to do just that lately, and I’ve done my best to engage, but talking about college is way different from admitting I got steamy on this very table earlier. That’s one reason the house is spotless and smells so fresh. Another is that it was easier to focus on the cleaning than what happened between me and Fletcher.