Bridges Burned (Mission Mercenaries #3) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Dark, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Mission Mercenaries Series by Marie James
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77066 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
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Knowing I’ll never get what I want, I climb out of the bed, letting Hollis’s hand fall to the mattress. I chance a glance over my shoulder before entering the bathroom, only to find him looking right at me.

I do my best to keep my eyes on his despite the way the sheet has pulled away, allowing his body to be on full display.

“Do you know how hard it is not to just take what I want from you?”

He’s angry but I don’t know if it’s because he’s feeling like one of the monsters he claims to hate or if it’s because I’m not readily offering up what he wants.

Without answering, I walk into the bathroom, pausing in front of the mirror to take a good look at my face. It’s easy to see I’m not sleeping well, but I haven’t in a very long time. Lying all night in the bed with him isn’t some miracle cure, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m afraid of what he’ll do or if it’s the terror that Alessio will find me. If I thought for a second that I’d have a quick, easy death, it would be easier to come to terms with it, but I know better. I know Alessio’s methods, how he dispenses punishment for wrongdoings.

Knowing there’s nothing I can change, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and start brushing my teeth. I hate the cinnamon toothpaste he has, but I’m not in a position to complain. Knowing him, he’d take it all away, and I’d rather my mouth feel like it’s on fire than go without.

I’m not surprised when the bathroom door opens. He never asks permission to invade my space. I also don’t feel like I have a right to ask. If anyone is invading space, it’s me. He asked me to leave, and I refused. He doesn’t want me here, and I know he’s doing what he’s doing, pressing the boundaries, until I finally walk away.

I keep my eyes on him as he walks over to the toilet, flipping the lid, and using the bathroom.

It’s personal and uncouth, masculine the way his ass cheeks flex as he takes care of business.

I immediately avert my eyes, bending to spit when he flushes.

I freeze when I feel the warmth of his body against my back. It’s a tiny bathroom, but if he were careful, he could get back out without touching me at all. This is intentional.

I don’t straighten in fear immediately, rather, I scoop water into my mouth and rinse before straightening to find his eyes on my reflection, his body pressed to mine. The stubble on his chin scrapes along my shoulder, and I do my best not to shiver. He grins, somehow sensing the effort.

“You haven’t paid for your toothpaste,” he says, taking a step back.

The toothbrush falls into the sink, but I know better than to pull my eyes from his.

“This is your payment.” Warm, rough fingers trail down my back, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth when I arch into the touch rather than pull away.

I hate myself for not being able to control my body’s reaction to him. I should be terrified, standing here naked, but that isn’t what I’m feeling at all. I’m needy, desperate, aching for more, just like I was last night before he woke up. I fed that part of me in the darkness, but I’m not sure I can do the same in broad daylight.

“This is payment for the toothbrush,” he whispers, his eyes locking me in place as he lowers his mouth to my skin.

My mouth falls open as parts of my dreams from last night come true.

He licks and bites at my shoulder before crouching lower to taste the skin on my back and down my spine. I’m entranced by this man when I should be bolting from the room.

He stands again, his huge hand circling my waist and spreading across my stomach, my bellybutton in the dip between his index finger and thumb. I watch it, mesmerized by how big his hand is, focusing more on the way it could protect me rather than the terrible things it could be capable of.

“Payment for the water,” he whispers, his voice full of gravel and need as his hand travels even lower.

“Not inside,” I tell him before he can brush his fingers over my pussy.

Instead of agreeing or even pressing the issue soundlessly, Hollis pulls his hand entirely away.

I meet his angry eyes in the mirror. “What’s the fucking difference in me taking it and that bastard taking it?”

“You taking it will get me killed,” I answer.

He doesn’t flinch. The reminder that I’ll be killed doesn’t seem to bother him at all, and for some reason, especially now with this level of intimacy, it feels like a slap in the face. Being wanted and irresistible because I’m me is different from being wanted because I’m accessible and convenient.


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