Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
As he rubs me possessively, it’s like two tracks open up again. On one track, I’m experiencing the pleasure, the sheer physical sensation of his hand against my sex, the emotional victory of knowing this man wants me. On the other, I’m back there, the place I’ve locked away in my mind, with him—the man I’ve vowed to never think about.
“You’re drenched,” Luke breathes. “I can feel it through your jeans. You’re going to take my dick. You’re going to cream all over it. You’re going to do any damn thing I tell you to.”
I try to moan yes, try to encourage him.
There’s this feeling deep, deep inside that wants everything he’s saying, wants to collapse into his ownership, so I don’t have to decide how to handle this. His hand rubs quicker, grinding my panties against my clit.
I wish I could make the thoughts stop, but it’s all happening so fast. It was only last night I met this man and learned about the mafia, all of it.
Wait, I try to gasp, but my moans make it difficult to speak. It’s like I’m listening to another woman letting out her pleasure, a woman who doesn’t have to worry if she’s good enough. Or if she’ll start shaking or crying or dropping into an abyss called high school.
“No,” I say, pushing against him. “Stop, stop, stop.”
I shove him in the chest. He stumbles back, probably more from shock than from the impact. His lips glisten from the kiss. His eyes are still full of animal focus. For a second, I think he’s going to leap on me, going to force his hand down my pants and rub at my naked sex.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want this,” he snaps.
I could tell him why I pushed him away, but I don’t.
“Is this what you think I am, Luke? A woman you can screw in public when I didn’t even know you liked me that way until just now? And with Dad waiting for us, wondering what’s going on, maybe thinking you’ve killed me like you were going to kill him? Is that what I am to you?”
I yell the last question.
“What you are is the sexiest woman alive,” he growls.
“Why would you say that?” I whisper, shuddering, as it all returns to me.
It’s a song stuck in my head, only the lyrics are sensations, and the melody is the sound of agony.
“Because it’s the truth.”
I search for any sign of dishonesty in his eyes, any sign he’s saying this…
Why?
Why would he kiss me if he didn’t want me? Why say this?
“We should get back to Dad,” I snap, “unless you want to pounce on me again.”
“Ah, so it’s all my fault. You didn’t enjoy it at all.”
“Enjoy it,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I think we’ve got more important things to consider than what we enjoy. Don’t you?”
I turn and traipse through the forest.
“You can talk about it,” he says, walking next to me.
“No, I can’t,” I snap. I can never talk about that.
Except there’s this niggling deep within, arising from the same place as my conviction that I might give myself to Luke one day, might let go of my doubt and throw myself into his arms, and not back down, not let doubt and anxiety rule me.
The niggling tells me that Luke’s right. He’s ready to listen, this man whose lips I can still feel on mine in a phantom taunt, this man who was going to execute my father in his head.
But he changed, stopped himself. He’s trying to be better.
“Maybe when you explain why you really didn’t kill Dad,” I snap.
Luke flinches, walking a few feet away from me, close enough to touch. My body aches from what we did before, the pressure of his hand between my legs, my lips calling out for another touch, for more closeness, for heat that will never stop.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Do you really expect me to believe you just decided like that?”
I remember the way Dad gasped, wondering…
I don’t want to push Dad. He’s gone through so much, raising me alone and giving me the life he never had. Now he’s going through the stress of trying to keep it together again.
Luke says nothing, withdrawing into himself. He clenches his hard jaw and stares straight ahead. It’s difficult to believe he’s the same man who, minutes ago, called me the sexiest woman alive, who pried open my secret place and probed at the truth hidden there.
“Silent treatment?” I snap, though I don’t want to leave things this way. “That works for me.”
Dad’s waiting at the car, his cell phone in his hand.
“I was about to call the cops,” he says, rushing over.
“That would’ve been a mistake,” Luke says gruffly.
“What happened?”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Don’t worry. I had a panic attack. That’s all.”