Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
When I stand, I go all dizzy from hunger as the blood rushes into my feet and legs, and suddenly I stagger, grab onto the desk, and knock over a few cans of paint.
“Are you okay?” Erick appears in the doorway. I look over, blinking rapidly. “Hellie. Are you okay?”
He comes over. I smile at him. “Fine,” I say. “I’m fine. Just forgot to eat.” Which is when I notice that he brought me breakfast at some point earlier, and I just never bothered to have any.
“Come with me.”
“Wait. The mess.”
“Marina will clean it up, don’t worry about it.” He pulls me away from the studio. “You need rest.”
“But the painting.” That’s all I can think about: the painting. The light, the dark. The minute strokes. I want to get everything perfect, so perfect nobody could ever tell the difference, so perfect there is no difference.
Erick leads me into my room and pushes me onto the bed. “Stay.”
“Hey,” I protest, glaring at him, but fuck, these sheets are soft. “You can’t just throw me around.”
“I definitely can. Don’t move, I’m getting you something to eat.”
“Fine. Whatever.” I mutter curses at him, not really feeling any of it. Just saying noises to say noises, as a way to keep my dignity intact. Because if I’m not struggling then what am I? Just some total pushover, giving in to her alpha captor like it’s no big deal, and I can’t have that.
He returns a little while later and I jerk awake. “Eat. Drink.” He sits next to me, gets me upright, and places a tray in my lap. There’s a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a big glass of water.
I devour it. I gulp it down. When it’s all gone, I shove the tray away, feeling more myself. “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”
“I definitely do.” He puts the tray down on top of my dresser and faces me, arms crossed over his chest. His gorgeous face is etched with worry. Does he care about me or about the painting? I genuinely don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. I am the painting right now. “You’re skipping meals.”
“You’re the one forcing me to do ten days’ worth of work in three. Remember that?”
“You don’t have to kill yourself to do it.”
“Actually, I kind of do, dude.”
His lips scrunch up. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Dude? You don’t like it, dude?” I say it again, sing-song. “Dude, dude, dude.”
“Get in the bathroom. You reek.”
“Excuse me?” I glare at him. “Now you’re just being rude.”
“I’m serious. Smell yourself.”
I’m about to bite off a killer insult, but instead I do a quick, very feminine sniff, and he’s right. I am beyond ripe.
“Get it started,” I grumble, annoyed that we’re doing this again.
The shower turns on. I stand, very aware of what happened the last time, and I’m smart enough to stay clothed until there’s a door between us. I clean myself off, taking my time, relaxing in the warm water. When I’m done, I towel off, and step into my room to get dressed.
He’s still fucking here, sitting at the end of my bed, and he stares at me with a deep, soul-sucking intensity.
No, scratch that. It’s not intensity.
It’s hunger. Like some sort of galactic hell-demon searching for a planet to chew on.
I’m his latest snack.
“Drop the towel, lie on the bed.”
“What the fuck?” I grip the edge tighter, holding it against my body. “Erick, absolutely not.”
“You need to relax. You’re a mess. Drop the towel, get on the bed.”
“Stop it. You’re going too far.” I shake my head as he stands. Did I mention that he’s big and beautiful? Because the guy unfolds himself, standing up to his full height, his muscles flexed and lovely through his tight button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show vein-roped forearms. “Look, I get it, I’m tired and strung out. Let me have another four hours of sleep. I’m in good shape.”
“You’re right, the painting’s coming along. I actually think you’ll finish in time. But you need to relax. You’re a mess.”
“Seriously, stop insulting me, please.”
“Take off the towel and lie on the bed.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else I am going to force you down and that won’t be fun for either of us. No towel. Face down.”
I stare at him, frowning. “Face down? You’re not—”
His smirk makes me want to jab a brush down my own throat. “I’m going to give you a massage before you get some sleep.”
“Oh.” I blink a few times. “Oh.” I had other things in mind. “Oh.”
“Did your brain just break?”
“No! I’m fine. I just—I’m fine.”
“I’m good at this, okay? I knew this girl—”
“I don’t need details.” I walk to the bed, still in the towel, but climb on face-down. I wriggle free, but leave the towel draped over my ass. “Best you’ll get.”