Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
This was why I’d punished her so harshly last night. To get her to the point where she would look up at me and say, in complete and utter surrender, “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“Promise me,” I said.
“I promise.”
And that was more than surrender. That was her word.
Chapter Eleven: A Place to Hide
I kept Chere’s phone for the rest of that week, relaying messages when she needed them, making sure Simon didn’t try to contact her again using a different number. He did, twice, but she didn’t need to know that. Listening to his begging, his insistence on her attention, I realized that yes, Simon still wanted her. He wanted her back in his life because she’d always made things easier for him. I deleted his pathetic, whining messages, which were all the same. I need you. I’m suffering. Help me.
As fucked up as I was, I never used Chere in the selfish way that Simon used Chere. I gave back to her in whatever ways I could. I’m better than him. I’m better. Simon Baldwin was a low bar to measure myself against as a boyfriend and lover, but I was trying. I wanted to get better.
Simon wants to get better too.
But hell, he needed to do that for himself. He’d taken enough from Chere, and it wasn’t her business or my business if his life was starting to fall apart again. I felt secure in this line of reasoning until late Sunday night, when Andrew sent a barrage of texts.
Chere was drifting to sleep beside me when her phone started vibrating on my side table. “Is that Andrew?” she asked with a half-smile. Her friend texted her a lot, about his work, or his relationship. He could be counted on to supply a vast stream of amusing minutiae. But these texts weren’t amusing.
OMG BABES
JUST HEARD ABOUT SIMON
CHERE!!!!!
And I knew. I just knew.
“What’s he saying?” she asked drowsily.
I didn’t answer. I typed Simon’s name into a search engine and watched the slew of headlines come up about his shaky sobriety and sudden overdose. Yahoo. CNN. Huffington Post. Twitter. #RIP #SIMONBALDWIN #TOOSOON
I sat up in bed, leaning over the phone. I had the craziest urge to destroy it, like that might make this go away. My next thought was, how do I hide these texts? How do I hide the fact that this has happened? But that would be impossible. Andrew would keep texting until Chere responded. If she didn’t respond, he’d call, and if she didn’t answer, he’d come over, because this was a big traumatic fucking deal and what the holy fuck was I going to do about this?
It was eleven o’clock at night. I looked down at Chere, almost asleep, and thought, I’ll give myself one last night of peace before this shitstorm breaks wide. I texted back to Andrew, Chere’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her with this news. I’ll tell her tomorrow.
He didn’t text back. I wondered if she told him that I’d barred her from helping Simon. I wondered if he blamed me for this. I knew Chere would blame me, even if Simon’s fucking addiction problems weren’t my fault.
* * * * *
I awakened before dawn in a pleasurable haze, with Price’s fingers roving over my body. “I want you,” he whispered.
It was still dark out. He was a shadow looming over me, stroking me, bringing my body to languorous life. His touch was bizarrely gentle, at least at first. He kissed me endlessly, pinching my nipples and tracing over my hips. It felt weird not to fight him, but there was no violence in his touch, just a possessive warmth.
He made me stretch my arms over my head, and then he kissed me everywhere. He went down on me, making me twist and jerk and whimper through two orgasms as dawn started to brighten the room. I peered down at him, drifting in pleasure. Was I dreaming? Had I died and gone to heaven? God, he was so good with his mouth. “Wow,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
“Shh.”
He started kissing me again, running his fingers up and down my arm. His body felt hot against mine in the winter chill and I snuggled closer. His expression was strangely intense as he tipped my face up for another kiss.
Come inside me, please.
I wasn’t allowed to issue demands, but I arched my hips against his thick, hard erection. His intent expression relaxed for a moment into a smile.
“I know you want it,” he said in the half light. “You’re always wet for me, beautiful girl.”
I gazed into his blue eyes and spread my legs as he eased forward. He maintained the control, the careful facade for one or two strokes before he surged deep inside me. There was the violence I craved. He expelled a harsh breath and caught my lips in a smothering kiss. I spread my legs wider, letting him have me.