Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I place my hands on my hips and glare right back at him.
I will not lose my temper. I will not lose my temper.
“I have told you this already and I’m not sure how to make it any clearer. I’ve done the whole ‘living by the rules’ thing. I’ve lived nearly all my life under the thumb of someone else and I’ve followed every rule, every law, crossed every T, and even covered my damn cleavage so I wouldn’t be the proverbial Eve sending Adam to hell. And you know what I think now? I think fuck that. You taught me how to use a gun, so thank you very much. I took a self-defense class on my own damn time when you were locked away God-knows-where, just in case I needed it. I am not going to be controlled.” I take a deep breath and glare at him, not backing down. “And if you think I left the fellowship just to be controlled and manipulated by some other form of patriarchy? You can go fuck yourself. It matters to me that I have my freedom."
He presses his hands on either side of the bar, effectively caging me in. With his body pressed up against mine, I know that he is holding himself back.
"That's not how it works being an adult."
"Excuse me?” I snap. "Are you telling me you somehow have the rule book on adulthood?”
When he raises his eyebrows, I get the hint.
"You asshole. After everything that I went through, do you think I'm just going to jump in bed with the first guy ready to control me?"
I’m shaking, trying to stay calm, but losing the battle.
"You seem to have completely forgotten that your sister was raised in the same environment as you," he says. "And yet here she is, married to my brother. My brother, who arguably has more restrictions on her than I ever would for you. All that I want is for you to be safe. Don't you know that?"
He has a point but I’m not giving it to him, not now.
Safe, safe, safe…
I can still hear my father’s voice, telling me how we stayed within the safety of the walls to be safe. They married off children to be “safe.” All of the rules and restrictions were so we didn't fall into temptation.
I lick my lips. My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s lower and huskier. “Maybe I’m fucking tired of being safe.”
His eyes hold mine, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.
That's the convenient thing about falling in love with your best friend.
It's more than a physical connection. More than even an emotional one. There's something that transcends logic when two souls are joined at the very core.
I know as well as he does that he has the power to hurt me like no one else ever has. No one. Not the fellowship. Not even my father.
"So who’s going to cave?" he asks, delicately tracing the line of my jaw with his index finger. "I'm the one that doesn't want to lose what's precious to me. You're the one that won't surrender. Which one of us will it be, Starla?"
When his mouth meets mine, I inwardly groan and curse myself, right before I lose the ability to think.
I thread my fingers through his hair and pull. His mouth falls open and I swallow his low, dark chuckle as he grips my ass and lifts me onto the bar. The small silver packet I stole from the locker room falls to the floor.
"I thought you didn't have protection?" His voice is a low growl.
"Protection from what?" I can't help but be snarky with him.
“Starla,” he says on a growl as he grips my ass harder. My heart thunders in my chest as he grabs the condom and holds me to him and walks to the nearest private room.
My body tingles in anticipation, my pulse racing madly. I try to swallow but my mouth seems strangely dry.
When we reach the room, Timeo lays me on the bed. “Eventually, when we do this, we’ll have some fun first.”
I pretend to pout. “Can’t we have fun now?”
Shaking his head, he bends down to me and kisses my forehead. “Of course we can, but not the kind of fun I’m talking about.”
I shiver. “What kind of fun are you talking about?”
“Ropes,” he says in a low voice, lazily kissing me again. “A spanking over my lap that makes your toes curl. My hand at your throat,” he whispers, ghosting his hand over my skin where my pulse beats. “Restraints. I don’t want fun tonight, Starla. Tonight, I want to make you mine.”
His eyes fairly gleam when he looks at me, as if he’s spent his whole life searching for treasure, and now he’s found it. I’ll never forget that look as long as I live.