Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
I pull on a white T-shirt she loaned me and grab the pair of Hawke’s pajama pants I stole, but before I slide a leg in, I stare at them and then look at my still barely visible reflection in the mirror.
I’d hurt anyone who hurt him. It’s the only thing I’m good for, but I’m good at it.
He needs to toughen up, though. Women are going to roll all over him if he doesn’t stop worrying so much. He needs to learn. To stop overwhelming himself with these panics and just feel it. To know what it’s like to want nothing else but her.
And maybe I want that, too. For just one thing to feel good in my life.
I set the pants down on the bathroom counter, pull my hair out of its clip, and smooth it down around me. It’s still a mess, and I don’t really care.
I head out into the hallway, turn left, and enter the great room. The scent of popcorn lingers in the kitchen, and I see him, slouched on the couch with his back to me, playing a video game.
Above the screen, high on the wall, the painted words reach out and grab me by the neck.
Let us live…
I’m a blip in the universe.
But I’m here.
We’re here.
For now.
“Hawke?” I say.
“Yeah?” He battles hordes of enemies for supremacy of some old, Gothic city.
I inch closer, stopping at the island behind him. “You said you never feel at home with them. With the girls you date, you never feel safe, right?”
His character stops on screen just as a beast charges him.
My heart pounds, but I force out the whisper. “Do you…feel safe with me?”
Hawke
Huh?
I turn my head, my fingers paused on the controller as she rounds the sofa and comes into view.
My stomach drops, and my chest caves. Um…
Her dark hair spills around her, mostly swept over one shoulder and hanging over her right breast, and I drop my eyes, seeing black underwear, no jeans, and the tight, white shirt that doesn’t cover much below her belly button. Glowing skin, big, brown eyes, lips pink and clean of lipstick or gloss.
“It looked like it didn’t go well with your ex today,” she says, “so I was thinking…” She looks down, struggling to breathe. “Do you… I mean, would you like to…touch me?”
The controller slips out of my hand and into my lap, but I don’t move. I can’t speak.
Is she…?
Blood rushes between my legs, and she climbs over the arm of the couch and sinks into the seat. “I realize I’m not blonde. I’m not content on the sidelines, and I don’t fucking giggle,” she tells me, “but I’ve got girl parts and I’m sleeping down the hall from you, so it makes it easy.”
“I…” I don’t know what to say.
I mean, in a different situation, I might like to touch her. Sure. But I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea.
“No sex,” she says, turning toward me. “No pressure. We’re not dating. That’s not what I mean.”
I listen.
“You don’t have to worry about impressing me,” she goes on. “And I don’t have to worry about impressing you. We can just…practice.”
“Do you need practice?”
I feel like she’s doing this because she feels sorry for me. She’s trying to help, but I don’t want to use her.
And I definitely don’t want pity.
But she tells me, “I don’t really like sex.”
I narrow my eyes.
“I want to like it,” she says. “I want someone who explores. Someone who lets me explore. Someone who’s patient. And nice.”
Has she never had that? How have people treated her? I want to ask, but I’m not sure I want to know about some guy not treating her right.
“I just want to touch you.” She stares off, not looking up at me. “And maybe see if I like it.”
Is she lying? I feel like she’s thinking she’ll act like she’s the one who needs help when she’s actually just handling me.
But I don’t have time to voice my doubts before she’s reaching over and picking up the controller off my groin and tossing it onto the ottoman.
Rising up, she swings a leg over my lap, and I rear back, sucking in a breath as she straddles me.
Oh, shit.
She places her hands on my shoulders. “Turn off the game,” she says. “Turn on some music.”
“I’m not sure—”
“Do it now, Hawke.”
Yeah. Okay. I grab the remote control, press the Input button until I get to the home screen and find the music streaming app. A playlist starts, “Throne” drifting out of the sound system.
She holds my gaze, and warmth spreads underneath every inch of my skin. Her weight settles on me, the heat between her legs carrying through her panties, through my jeans, and over my thighs, down my legs.
God… My eyelids start to flutter, but I stop it.