Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I stare at the stack of boxes, one of them containing his expensive watches. I smirk at that. But in total, there are only six boxes. It’s a depressing thought to know I own so little. I could literally buy a house or maybe even a private island, yet I’m always ready to pack and move at the drop of a hat to the next place. For the next thrill and hit. But for how long?
I take a sip of the champagne, still not enjoying its taste.
Where would I move to after this? After New York?
A very dark notion of loneliness sinks in, and I try to clear my throat as if that’s what’s lodging the heavy weight in my heart.
Loneliness. What an interesting concept. I’ve worn it as a badge of honor up until this point. If I make it out alive after this situation with Eli, how will I move on?
I close my eyes, realizing my error. I’ve already let this asshole get under my skin. But I’m not foolish enough to let myself cling to a notion of hope. Hope for what? A happy family? Of killing joyfully together? Of family dinners with his family and having a place to call home? I’d given up on all of those things the moment my father died, and I took my first shot blowing out someone’s brains. I don’t deserve any of that. I made sure of it.
But never in my life did I think I’d want those things.
Never have I allowed myself to selfishly live amidst the real world instead of remaining a phantom on a lonely path.
I mean, I thought I’d been living. But I hadn’t even been drunk until the other day. I don’t have friends with whom to celebrate achievements. Well, maybe Sage, but I still keep her at arm’s length, so it’s easy for me to get up and leave at any given moment. Is that really living?
I can’t remember the last time my brain just shut off, and I enjoyed myself. It was definitely before him. I want to argue that I still hate the man, but deep down, I know the truth. The question is whether I’m willing to die for it.
And yet, I finish the glass of champagne and start to undress, leaving only my heels on as I head toward the shower.
The water is already running, and when I step into the bedroom, I’m not surprised to see the bathroom door open, the invitation obvious.
Presumptuous asshole.
I walk in, slipping out of my heels as he opens the shower door expectantly. He flashes that arrogant smirk that I want to slap off his face as much as I want to kiss it. His cock is hard, and his callused hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me under the water with him.
I’m still on my period, but Eli doesn’t care about that. In fact, he fucking loves it.
I slide my fingers over his chest, admiring his muscles. Eli’s body is exquisite, like a sculpture made by a master artist. The ridges that run down his stomach are perfectly defined all the way to his very hard cock. I smirk at the scar from the knife wound I gave him when we first met and my initials carved into his leg that are scabbed over.
I don’t know why, but it fills me with a small amount of smugness. That no matter how this ends—most certainly up in flames—there will always be a small part of me etched into him.
Shouldn’t I be at least satisfied by that?
“Jewel?” he says my name, tilting my chin up to study my face. Those beautiful, ethereal eyes that are so breathtaking look into me like he can see all of me. But there are parts of me he doesn’t see at all. Parts I’ve hidden from even myself up until now. And I’d rather keep it that way.
“This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just two adults enjoying each other’s bodies in a temporary truce,” I tell him.
His hands run down my collarbone, breasts, and stomach until they land possessively on my hips.
“If you say so,” he replies with a grin before pulling me close. He fists my hair possessively, and before I can say another word, his mouth finds mine. He tastes like a mixture of water and greedy lust.
I hate to admit that I like the way he kisses me—with such ferocity that it’s like he can’t get enough of me. I kiss him more softly as if I want to worship the moment. Because I do. Having a powerful man want me like he does is intoxicating, to say the least. But I can tell I’m savoring it for other reasons. It isn’t my place to be by his side as much as I want it to be.