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)
And he may think he's like Nikolai for wanting me to himself, but if that makes him like Nikolai, then maybe I am too. Because I don't want to share him, either. I like it when we're alone together, just the two of us. The rest of the world doesn't intrude. It doesn't exist.
Maybe this is a cage. I don't know anymore. But if it is, it feels a lot more like a home than anything ever has before. And day by day, I find myself a little more reluctant to leave it at all. There's safety here, and peace. Perhaps that's enough.
"You sleep in here from now on. No more hiding from me in the guestroom. I don't like it."
"Okay," I whisper as he lays me on his bed and then takes a step back.
His gaze sweeps up and down my body, satisfaction stamped all over his handsome face. He reaches behind his head, yanking his shirt off.
My stomach bottoms out at the sight of him without his shirt. Just like every other time I've seen him like this, he takes my breath away. His body is the type of perfection most people are never disciplined enough to find. His muscles are cut, defined…the product of years of control and hard work. His golden-brown skin is beautiful. The tattoo that runs up his arm, ending a mere finger span from his neck, makes him look lethal.
My breath shudders from my lips in a strangled exhale when he drops his pants, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers that mold to his thick, powerful thighs. His erection tents the fabric, jutting almost obscenely from his body. There's a wet spot on the front. His legs are covered in coarse hair, the muscles there sculpted too.
This man was made for loving and made for war, there's no denying either.
He stalks toward me like a lion stalking prey, his lips curved into a smirk. "Now your turn."
"Um…I…" I flounder, suddenly nervous.
He notices. He crawls up the bed toward me. "Shh, bebé," he whispers, planting his fists on either side of my face and tipping his head forward until our lips are a mere breath apart. "I won't ask you for anything more than you're willing to give. I just want to hold you tonight, skin to skin. Okay?"
"You might not…" I take a breath. "You might not like what you see. I'm not, um… I'm not beautiful like you, Octavio. I have scars. Everywhere." Admitting to this man that my body is far less beautiful than his has humiliation climbing up my throat and staining my cheeks. But he should know the truth before he takes my clothes off and realizes that for himself. He should be prepared.
He freezes over me, barely seeming to breathe. "Do you know why I call you conejita, Faith?"
"Because I'm scared of everything."
"No." He smiles at the annoyance in my voice. "People think rabbits are jumpy because they're timid and afraid, but they aren't. They move quickly and dart away because it keeps them alive. They startle easily because they honed that reflex to survive living amongst dangerous predators. You're a survivor, just like they are. You may think you're afraid of everything, but I've seen you react without hesitation to help others. You were willing to face down a group of men who tormented you for years, just to help me. You're more powerful than you think you are, and there is nothing about you that doesn't please me."
"Okay," I whisper, my entire body melting into the bed.
"If leaving your clothes on makes you feel safer, leave them on. But your scars don't make you anything less than perfect. Not in my eyes, Faith. Not ever."
Any embarrassment I felt vanishes in a puff of smoke, unable to stand against such grave sincerity and sweetly spoken devotion. This man…Lord, this man is going to break me wide open and own every piece of me.
"I want to be skin-to-skin too," I confess, completely fearless and unafraid for the first time in my life.
He smiles at me like I just gave him the sun and then leans forward to brush his lips against mine in a lazy pass. Before I can wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, he pushes backward, coming to his knees above me. He holds my gaze as he reaches for the hem of my hoodie, moving slowly as if to give me time to change my mind.
I won't though. I meant what I said.
He removes it carefully, tossing it off the side of the bed. His gaze rakes across my naked torso, but there is no pity in his eyes when he looks at me, no horror or revulsion. The only thing staring back at me is a powerful mix of pride and desire that makes me feel wanted, needed…sexy.