Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
He pushes his face into the side of my neck and breathes deep, making me shiver. And I hate the way I react to him. It isn’t fair—a childish statement, but true nonetheless.
“I’m such a what?” he asks, calm as can be.
“I don’t know. But if you start going on about my scent again…”
“Why do you keep not finishing sentences?” he asks. “It shows a real lack of commitment on your part.”
If my heart still worked, it would be racing. I growl in frustration and the bastard actually laughs. Then he drags the flat of his tongue up my neck. Which shouldn’t turn me on. But I am now a mass of nerves, and every damn last one of them is titillated by the jerk. Dammit. All of this tension simmers inside of me, pushing me to fuck, or fight, or I don’t know what.
The backs of his fingers move restlessly against my skin, where he’s still got ahold of my tank and bra. “All the times I have thought of you with your hand between your sweet thighs,” he says.
“You don’t need to be thinking about that. It has nothing to do with you.”
“But it’s not enough for you, is it?” he asks. “You need me.”
“The ego on you…holy shit.”
“You don’t just smell good, Skye, you taste good, too. Yours was the sweetest blood I’ve ever had. I think it’s time you took your clothes off.”
I bark out a nervous laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t want to have sex with me. You said so. What happened to a newborn’s infatuation being a horrible inconvenience and all that?”
“Like I said, I changed my mind.”
“Change it back again. I’ll wait.”
“I tried, you know,” he says. “I attempted to convince myself this infatuation with you was foolish. But it didn’t work.”
“It’s only been a few days. Try harder.”
“No. Be as angry as you like. I am, without a doubt, the most selfish creature walking the face of this Earth. Because no matter what is best, I refuse to give you up. Having you with me, keeping you close, it makes me happy.”
I screw up my nose. “It makes you what?”
“Henry explained to me how obsessed people are with the search for happiness in these modern times. I am surprised to find I agree. Duty, loyalty…they don’t often keep you warm at night. But you, my dear Skye, do.”
Without another word, he tears the front of my tank in half right down the middle. The pads of his fingers glide over the lace of my bra, his thumbs toying with the hard imprint of my nipples. The way he rests his forehead against mine, keeping us as close as can be. Shit. This is not good.
What is also not good is the way everything low in my belly has drawn tight. How the crotch of my panties is wet with need. It makes it hard to remember how much I kind of, maybe mostly, hate the man. At least, I think I should?
“I miss the days when women wore skirts all of the time,” he says. “You’re going to make getting those boots and pants off you a chore, aren’t you?”
“Lucas…”
“And there you go, starting a thought and not finishing it again. It’s turning into a habit.” His hands cup my breasts over the lace of my bra. The hardening length of his cock presses against me, making me squirm. And there’s no way he hasn’t noticed. “I have just one question for you, Skye.”
“What?”
He grips the back of my neck and kisses me hard. His tongue sliding straight in and taking me over. The way he pushes his mouth against mine is punishing in its intensity. I hate the way he goes straight to my head and lights up my body from top to toe. Never in my life has anyone had such an effect on me.
When he draws back to look me over, to take in my reaction to him, it’s with a self-satisfied smile. I despise how damn pleased he is with himself.
He winds a lock of my blonde hair around his finger, and that’s when I see it over his shoulder. The painting of Ana. She stares vacantly out from the canvas with her golden hair, green eyes, and vapid expression.
And I refuse to be a poor imitation of some dead chick he pined after way back when.
No longer am I a mixture of confused and turned on. Now, I am also righteously angry.
He might have a point about my emotions being heightened. I have never hit anyone in my life. But I barely stop to think it through before slapping him hard across his perfect face. A violent red outline of my hand appears on his cheek before fading away.
“What was that for?” he asks in his annoyingly calm tone.