Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I’ve laid my claim.
I’ve given it a voice, and I’m still not done.
Mine tonight. Mine tomorrow. Mine forever.
It’s like a mantra with a mind of its own, one that makes me harder, hornier, and so possessive. When we’re collapsed next to each other again, I reach between her legs and hold my seed inside her.
Fuck yes, I’ve lost it all.
I still don’t know how the hell we make this work.
But we will.
If I fail at keeping this magnificent woman in my life, then I’ve lost everything.
17
Dancing Gold Stars (Delia)
Summer drifts on in a haze of passion and tension.
I should be happy.
Ever since the night he barged in and told me the truth—told me he loved me—I’ve been in pieces.
By day, I’m making good progress on my paper, thrilling the professor with every update...as much as a high-strung boiled egg like Thosser can be thrilled, anyway.
At night, Chris waits outside my balcony, rapping softly on the glass.
Always waiting with the same feral green flame lashing in his eyes.
Always biting my bottom lip until I let him in like it’s our very first time.
Even with all the recent trouble simmering in the background—on pause rather than resolved—I’m so grateful we have our secrecy.
Evie’s still a broken mess, possibly too messed up to notice what’s going on. Which is surprising, considering she wanders the house late at night.
Sometimes I hear her light, aimless steps scuffing the floor outside my room.
When I have Chris in my bed, that always scares me.
I worry we’ll make too much noise at just the wrong time, or she’ll freak and break down my door, igniting a shitstorm of epic proportions.
Dad’s been strangely distant, too. He practically lives in his home office whenever he’s home at all.
When he isn’t, he leaves the house staff to send hourly updates on Evie’s condition.
He’s still worried sick about her, and I hate it.
I also hate that he won’t open up and share his struggles, his fight to heal her that must be eating him alive.
School is all he talks about with me over the odd breakfast.
A couple times, he teases me about some hot new guy intern working for him as his PA, and I blush.
Of course, I pretend to laugh it off, paying the weakest lip service to a date with this fraternity kid in business, who I have zero interest in meeting.
I won’t go through with it, though.
He sounds like a nice guy. Totally not the kind of dude who deserves a black eye or broken nose from Chris going full jealous Neanderthal.
The Fourth of July creeps closer quietly.
We barely tear ourselves off each other to drive up to a lookout point high above the city to enjoy the fireworks.
Brilliant pops of color hang above the city, smearing their light across the Golden Gate Bridge and the waters below.
I’m in the bed of his truck, cuddled against Chris, my mind spinning with future possibilities as we take in the show.
“You getting any big ideas?” he asks, the light from another brilliant shower of sparks gleaming in his eyes. “Bet you could take a night like this and paint something beautiful.”
“I don’t know. My stuff is more dreamy and moody. Not too realistic,” I say shyly.
“You paint what you feel,” he says matter-of-factly.
Am I that obvious?
Does he just read me that well?
Wow. Even when we’re here, fully dressed and having a sweet moment, he manages to make me feel completely naked.
But I can’t help but smile at the gentle admiration in his eyes.
God, he really loves me.
That’s as insane as it is wonderful.
I’m almost afraid how hard and how fast I’m falling for him, deeper than I ever knew was possible.
“See? You don’t even deny it, princess,” he whispers, raising my chin softly with his fingers until I meet his eyes. “I know you. And you know you never have to hide that heart from me.”
I push my face to his chest, speechless and a little choked up.
Because what he’s saying is too true.
With him, I’m safe.
I’m seen.
I’m not just an afterthought in Dad’s busy life or the broken, sad girl who’s rich enough for classy friends, but not the girl they ever connect with.
“Are you really leaving soon?” I ask, trying like hell to hide the tears welling in my eyes. His cryptic hints about some upcoming mission have had me scared for weeks. “I’m scared for you, Chris.”
We both know what I mean by leaving.
“Don’t be. I’ve been sent off on snipe hunts worse than this and always come back in one piece. It’s what I do,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine.
But for just the faintest second, he hesitates.
It’s like I can smell something new mingled with his delicious, manly scent.
Fear?
That’s what truly ices my veins. If this man has even the slightest doubts about coming home, how can I possibly believe he’ll return to me in one piece?