Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
I stare at her for a long moment, something grinding in my chest. I don't know what the fuck it is…but I know I don't like it. I don't like the thought of hiding her, either.
Frankly, it feels dirty, like we're doing something wrong. I'm not entirely sure what this is yet, but it damn sure isn't dirty. And it damn sure isn't wrong. She's got me all fucked up in the head over her, feeling shit I've never felt.
Is she still worried people will think she's sleeping her way to the top? Fuck, maybe. But anyone ignorant enough to say some dumb shit like that about her clearly hasn't spent five minutes with her. She may be playful and say a lot of wild shit, but there's no mistaking her intelligence or her authenticity. There isn't a manipulative bone in her body. She's all heart and fierce dedication.
People like her don't sleep their way to the top. They don't need to do it. They get there through their own merit…and they do it without stepping on people along the way. Anyone who says otherwise is a jealous fucking idiot who couldn't hack it.
"You nervous people are going to judge you, Emilia?" I ask, trying to get to the root of the problem so I can solve it.
"Yes. No." She huffs a breath, carefully avoiding my gaze. "I just think it's better that he doesn't know. That's all."
Yeah, that's bullshit. There's something she isn't telling me, some reason she wants to hide this that has nothing to do with her anxiety about being judged. This is something else, I'd stake my life on it.
I set my clothes aside and climb from the bed.
"What are you doing?" There's no mistaking the nervousness in her voice.
I don't answer as I stalk toward her.
She carefully backs away, eyeing me warily.
"Cute," I grunt.
"What?"
"You thinking you can get away from me. I move a helluva lot faster than you do, princess."
Her gaze flickers toward the bedroom door.
"Try to run if you're feeling brave," I say casually. "See how far you get before I have you over my knee, turning that perfect ass red."
Her gaze flies back to mine. "You wouldn't."
I smile, still stalking toward her as challenge wars with more immediate needs in her eyes. She's a hell of a drug. Even now, she's desperate to defy me, to rile me up just because she knows she can. Just because she can't fucking resist. Emilia Lariat wasn't born to behave. She wasn't created to meekly fall in line. This gorgeous little princess was made to defy kingdoms and bring me to my fucking knees.
I'm two steps from her when she darts toward the bedroom door.
I let her get within inches of it before hooking an arm around her waist. She moans as I gently shove her up against the wall beside it, crushing her tits to the cool plaster. My hand slides down the crevice of her ass.
"Nash," she moans.
I slap her right cheek. Hard.
Her head flies back, landing against my shoulder.
"Told you what would happen, princess," I rasp, raking my teeth down the tendon in her neck as I swat her other cheek. "You run; I chase. And you pay when I catch you."
"We d-don't have time!"
"Then I suggest you tell me the truth." I nip her ear, grinding my cock against her round ass. Christ, I want to haul her up to her toes, spread her legs apart and fuck her from behind just like this. "Why don't you want your father to know about us?"
"For reasons."
"Better share those reasons if you don't want him to catch me fucking you dirty against the wall, Emilia."
She sobs my name, pushing back against me in blatant invitation.
I slip my hand between her body and the wall, growling at how wet she is. She fucking loves this, as much as she wants to pretend otherwise. This right here is exactly where she wanted to end up. And I'm too goddamn hooked on her not to give her exactly what she wants.
What is she doing to me?
Ruining me. She's ruining me is what she's doing.
And not a single part of me cares one goddamn bit. Let her do it. She can have whatever pieces of the wreckage that she leaves behind. I'm pretty fucking certain they'll all belong to her anyway. Hell, I'm not entirely sure they don't already belong to her.
"Nash, please," she pleads. "Please."
"What do you want, Emilia? Tell me."
"Fuck me!" she cries.
And that right there? That tells me she's ruined too. She may not want her father to know about us, but she's too damn helpless to the storm raging between us to push me away. She wants me, just as badly as I want her. Enough to risk getting caught. Perhaps, enough to risk everything.