Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Then I do away with her underwear. Push her legs apart. Lick her until she's groaning my name.
After she comes again, I unzip my slacks, pull her body into mine, fuck her.
No, it isn't fucking.
It's more.
A part of me pours into her. A part of her pours into me.
Our bodies tangled, our lips locked, our hearts beating together.
She tugs at my hair as she comes.
It pulls me over the edge.
For one perfect moment, the world is a place of love, bliss, light.
And this—
Our bed, our room, our apartment.
Our fuck.
This part is real.
I'm not sure about the rest, but I know this part is real.
After, we wash separately. Danielle takes the master bathroom. I use the one in the hall.
It's smaller, but it's plenty grand. Stainless steel and modern tile. A wide mirror. A marble counter.
I run the water. Step into the shower. Try to keep my eyes off my reflection.
They still go there.
The glass is fogged. I only see my outline.
The man I used to be. A tall, broad figure. A blur.
No scars.
No memories.
No emptiness.
I soap. Rinse. Let my fingers find the scars on my chest.
My doctors warned me not to touch them. Not to slow the healing. But I never listened.
I trace the lines again.
Raised, harsh, angry.
Intense and violent, but not altogether hideous.
I can't trust her with them yet.
But soon—
Soon.
I finish. Turn off the water. Dry. Step out of the shower.
Again, my eyes go straight to my reflection.
To the scars crisscrossing my torso.
There's no denying their existence.
But maybe—
Maybe they're more than the markings of a monster.
Maybe they're proof I've survived too.
But that's not any easier to swallow.
It's not fair I'm here when Bash isn't.
It doesn't make sense.
It will never make sense.
But I can't keep drowning in grief.
I have to learn to live with it.
Somehow, I have to learn to live with it.
I dress and meet Danielle in the main room.
She looks up from her phone. "We're already popular." She shows off her texts.
A message from Liam.
Briar says the ring is pretty. And you have great tits.
Briar wants me to say I added the part about the tits.
But that's bullshit. She said it. She just said it more politely.
Way to nail that down, Adam.
Even Briar agrees. Though she has "choice words" about my phrasing.
"I don't think Simon has seen it," she says. "Or maybe he doesn't like me."
"He likes you."
"Really?"
"He wouldn't bother with the interrogation if he didn't like you."
"I guess I get it. Older sibling things." She looks up at me. "I think this is my most popular post ever."
"Everyone loves a wedding."
"I told Remy too. In case he follows me. I'm going to go over there tomorrow. If that's okay with you." She presses her lips together. "We're behind on Blood Borne."
"I can't believe the woman who gushes over Raise the Red Lantern also watches a vampire soap opera called Blood Borne."
"Blood Borne: Legends of the Vampire Clan." She smiles and motions come here. When I do, she rises to her tiptoes to kiss me. "Do we have time to go again?"
"No."
"Can we be fashionably late?"
"Yes."
"But…"
"You hate being late."
"I do?"
"I've noticed."
She smiles. "I do. But…" Her fingers brush my tie. "Okay. Fine. And I have the hair and the dress and…" She curls her fingers around my neck. "After dinner?"
"Angel, what do you think I'm going to say to that?"
"Some bullshit that means maybe?"
I nod.
"I can't believe you treat your fiancée this way."
"Yes, you can."
She nods yes, I can and takes my hand.
I lead her downstairs. To the limo. Tease her on the ride to the restaurant. Up the elevator. Into the lobby.
I take her coat. Lead her to the bar.
And there he is, exactly as planned.
Cole Fitzgerald, sipping an old fashioned, staring at the ring on Danielle's finger as if it has the power to destroy him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Danielle
"Miss Bellamy." Cole Fitzgerald rises from his seat at the bar. He forces a smile. "What a coincidence."
No. There's no way this is a coincidence.
He's here.
Somehow, Adam beckoned him.
It's strange, yes, but it's what I asked.
And it's still what I want.
I want to rub our engagement in the smug asshole's face.
Fuck him and his judgmental stare.
Adam is more handsome than Mr. Fitzgerald has ever been. He's more handsome now.
I don't care if other women disagree.
He's beautiful.
And he's mine.
My fiancé.
Our engagement isn't traditional. He didn't propose because he's madly in love with me.
But we have an agreement. An understanding.
And I care about him. I'm going to do what it takes to protect him. Whatever it takes.
"It is." I wrap my right arm around Adam's waist. Bring my left hand to my chest.
Bingo. Mr. Fitzgerald's eyes fix on the rock.
It's hard to miss. Especially when he's staring at my cleavage.
I don't blame him—my boobs look fantastic in this long-sleeved red wine dress—but I am using his leer to my advantage.
"I'm glad one of Adam's friends is here to see this." Fuck subtlety. I hold out my left hand. "We've just gotten engaged."