Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"I…" My mouth won't work. My tongue feels thick and heavy, like it's cloven to the roof of my mouth. My knees tremble, threatening to give out beneath me.
"Believe me," he whispers, his voice a rumbling growl of sound that liquefies my insides. "When you kissed me, I never wanted you to stop. It was the best damn moment of my life. But I was trying to be good, Faith. I was trying to do what's right for you. I can’t be selfish and take what I want when you deserve freedom."
"I…don't understand."
He leans back until his sepia gaze collides with mine. Nothing but sincerity burns in the dark depths of his eyes. "I don’t want you thinking I’m like Sanders, willing to use my position to get what I want from you. And I don’t want you thinking I’m like Nikolai, another man out to cage you. But you're right about me. I’m more like them than I want to admit.” He swallows hard. “I don’t care that you’re my responsibility. I’m losing my fucking mind in want of you anyway. Every minute of the day, I think about you in my bed. And if I get my hands on you, I’m not going to want to let you go, conejita. I’ll want every goddamn piece of you. I promised you freedom, Faith. And I've tried so damn hard to be good and give you that. Cristo, it’s what you deserve. I know it is. But I’d snatch it away from you anyway, just to make you mine."
"Octavio." My mind spins again, trying to make sense of what he's saying, trying to fit it into place with what I know about him. That he thinks he's anything like Agent Sanders breaks my heart. How can he not know that I've never once compared him to that horrible man? That I would never compare them? He isn’t like Nikolai, either. He isn’t a monster. "You're nothing like them. You are a good, honorable man." I swallow hard, tears welling in my eyes. "You're the best man I've ever known."
"If you knew the things I think about doing to you, little angel, you might not be so quick to defend me," he murmurs. "You might be horrified."
I stare up at him. "Do you think about taking me against my will?"
"Never," he swears.
"Do you think about hurting me?"
"I would tear my own heart out first." Guilt flickers in his eyes. “But Cristo, Faith. I think about fucking you until you can’t move, little bunny. Making you come until you’re so delirious with pleasure that you’ve forgotten your own name. I want to make you feel so fucking good that you forget pain even exists.” His tongue skirts along his bottom lip. “And I want to keep you right here, locked up in this house with me so I don't have to share you with anyone. I want you all to myself, every fucking minute of the day.”
My core clenches, heat flowing through me. I reach out, placing a hand against his scruffy cheek. "You're nothing like he is, Octavio. I may not have…experience…but I'm not naïve. I know what men think about, what they want. I…" My cheeks heat, though I'm not sure why when he just told me he feels the same way I do. "I think about…things, too. With you."
“What kind of things?” he asks, his voice a dark purr of sound.
“Things,” I whisper.
His eyes practically glow. "Te extraño. Quédate conmigo esta noche, conejita. Te quiero en mi cama. Por favor." He kisses my cheek again, his scruffy jaw gently abrading my sensitive skin. "I miss you. Stay with me tonight, little bunny. I want you in my bed." His lips sweep toward my ear as he translates. He always translates for me even though I don't need him to do it. I think he likes saying it in both languages, likes giving me his words every way I can understand them. "Please."
I whisper the only answer I'm capable of giving him. "Yes."
He pulls back again. Another growl rumbles in his chest, stark need etched across his face. "I'm going to pick you up now," he warns me, his expression fierce and so damn soft at the same time.
He wraps one arm around my waist, using the other to sweep me up into his arms. I wrap mine around his neck, resting my head against his shoulder. He holds me like I'm priceless as he carries me out of the living room and then down the hall to his bedroom.
He may think he doesn’t know how to be gentle or give me what I need, but he’s wrong. He’s given me nothing but that since that night at Ilya’s. Every touch, every word, every day, he’s been more patient and caring than anyone else has for my entire life.