Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
“Ivy? I know you’re in here.”
That sounded like …
Frowning, I crawl out from underneath the desk. “Max?”
Like all the other guests, he’s wearing an eerie-looking white mask that belongs to the Phantom Society house, which covers only half his face. But it doesn’t suit him at all.
He shuts the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”
It’s only after I said the words that my eyes slide down his body, and I notice the giant bouquet in his hand.
Oh God.
CHAPTER 33
Ivy
“I was looking for you, but then your neighbor said you were here, and—”
“You went to my house?” I interrupt.
He approaches. “I wanted to tell you—”
I raise a finger to interrupt him. “Please … don’t.”
“Ivy …”
My eyes tear up. “No. Get out.”
He raises a hand, the hurt on his face palpable. Visceral. Deadly to my own damn heart.
“I know what you’re doing here.”
“You only think you know,” I scoff.
“Please. You have to stop this,” he says, still getting closer and closer. “Before you get caught.”
“No.” My fists ball. “I need this money. You don’t understand how much I’ve already sacrificed.”
“Then tell me,” he says, still clutching that damn bouquet. “Please, let me help you.”
“Why would I trust you? Silas and Heath are your buddies. You made your choice,” I scoff. “You let them use you to trick me with marked money and force you to your knees to tell me you love me to fool me? So that you could fuck me too? What a cruel joke.”
“It’s not a joke,” he says, holding up the flowers in front of my face. “I have fallen in love with you. And I came to find you because I wanted to give these to you because I wanted to apologize.” He swallows, and it feels like my lungs cannot drag in the air I so desperately need. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I’m sorry for betraying you. I’m sorry for taking part in their games. For making you confused, for—”
I slap him.
It only registers with me the moment a red mark appears on his face.
But then he leans in and pecks me on the top lip so gently it melts my heart. “Being obsessed. For making you feel something you don’t want to feel. For falling deeply, madly in love with you.”
More tears well up in my eyes, but it’s the gentle, soul-crushing smile on his face that kills me.
And I throw my arms around him and kiss him so hard we nearly fall, but he catches himself on the desk, dropping the bouquet on the floor.
Still, I don’t stop kissing him, pouring out all of my frustrations and needs into this one single kiss of desperation … desperation to feel like I’m not alone, like my desires matter. To feel loved. And here he is, offering it on a silver platter like he’s never wanted anything else than to please me.
How could I resist?
I’m still angry, still burning with fury over being used like a toy and seeing the one guy who made me think he cared to take part in it. But this boy has done something to my heart that neither of us can deny. And I’m done playing games, done feeling like I owe anyone an explanation for my wants and needs.
I kiss him with everything I have left in me despite my brain telling me I shouldn’t and my whole goddamn life being on the line. I kiss him because if I don’t, I will never remember how to breathe.
“Oh fuck …” he murmurs beneath that mask, still kissing me. “Ivy, please, you have to stop.”
“Why?” I ask.
He opens his eyes while kissing me. “Because I want you so badly, I can’t even fucking breathe.”
I smile against his lips. “I know that feeling. Don’t hold back,” I whisper.
His hands slide across my waist and cup my ass, and the groan that follows makes my body heat lightning fast.
How is it that he’s so easily wound me around his finger?
Suddenly, he spins me around, shoving me against the desk before kissing me all over my neck, my clavicles, my chest, and every inch of skin his lips roam across, as though he’s worshipping the mere presence of my body in his hands. And something about that is so damn sexy that I return the kisses with equal amounts of yearning, kissing and licking at his top lip until he shivers in my arms.
“I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you, I want you, God, I want you.” He says it so many times it almost feels like he’s reciting a mantra. “Can I have you? Please, can you be mine?” He’s whispering between kisses and touches filled with devotion, and even though I shouldn’t, I desperately want to believe him.