Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Yes. Just like that, Bishop. I love you,” she whispers, meshing our fingers. “I love you so much.”
Pleasure tips her head back into the pillow, eyes pinned to the ceiling above, mouth falling open with a silent sob, tears running down her cheeks and into the corners of her mouth. She clings to my shoulders, burying her head between my neck and my shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me. God, Bishop, don’t ever…”
“I love you, Sof.” My throat is raw with emotion. My body slave to the want, the love, the unrelenting rhythm driving us both. “I won’t go. Promise.”
Love and lust crest between us, climbing and climbing until we crescendo. She splinters around me, her tears wetting my neck and shoulder. I drop my head into the pillow by her hair, cupping her head, twining our bodies so tightly it feels like she’s drawing my breath and I’m drawing hers. Like her heart beats in my chest, and her heart beats in mine. I know in that moment, she’s the fire burning in my chest, and I’d chase her down. I’d follow her anywhere.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sofie
Trevor, we should get up.” I lift up on one elbow, running my nail between his pecs. “It’s late.”
“Is it?” He groggily opens one eye. “That must be why I’m starving.”
“Me, too. I wonder if there’s any—”
A heavy knock on the door cuts me off. The wrinkle between my eyebrows matches the one between Trevor’s.
“I hope you’re decent,” a muffled voice says testily through the door, “because I’m coming in.”
Stil steps into the room, a hand shielding her eyes.
“I hate to interrupt this love fest, but—”
“You stayed here all night, Stil?” I pull the sheet up over my naked breasts and shoulders.
“Of course I stayed,” Stil snaps, dropping the hand from her eyes. “Well, hello there.”
I follow her eyes to Trevor’s bare chest above the sheets. I yank the covers over him up to his chin while he just chuckles.
“Keep your eyes to yourself and off my boyfriend, hussy.”
“Oh, so now you claim him.” Stil’s smile widens, eyes ping-ponging between Trevor and me.
“What’s it look like to you?” I toss my head back, laughing like a lunatic because the happiness reaches into madness. Reaches into idiocy, it’s so far beyond what I can contain. Trevor’s eyes laugh back at me, and I think he’s as happy as I am. I think that’s how this works.
“Well, as delighted as I am for you both,” Stil says, eyes sobering, “the world is waiting. You gotta get up, Sof.”
“Waiting?” I slink down lower into the covers. “Get up for what?”
‘’Breakfast, for one.” Trevor gestures to Stil. “Maybe you could get on with this so I can go cook us something.”
“I want a Denver omelet,” I whisper from beneath the sheet covering my mouth.
“Geena’s been calling you all morning.” Stil walks closer, phone in hand, carefully averting her eyes from any parts of Trevor uncovered. “I can’t hold her off much longer.”
“What’s she want?” I mumble, hoping it isn’t more fallout from the disastrous perfume release. “Is it about yesterday?”
“In a way.” A hint of a smile touches Stil’s lips. “Apparently, someone very important saw the press conference yesterday.”
“Half the world did.” I swallow the embarrassment working itself into my throat at the memory of the word “whore” scrawled behind me.
“This is a volunteer from Kyle’s campaign.” Stil gives a dramatic pause, lifting her penciled brows. “Who wonders if you meant it when you said you would stand with anyone who came forward against Kyle Manchester.”
Trevor and I go still at the same time, our eyes finding each other’s across the sheets.
“Is she saying—”
“She won’t say any more than that to anyone but you.” Stil extends her phone. “Thus Geena calling every five minutes to see if you’re still in here fucking.”
That makes twice in a week I’ve blushed, a record for my cheeks. Trevor just laughs, shaking his head and leaning back against the headboard, completely unabashed. If the media could see their “saint” now.
“Have her come here to the apartment.” I need to shower. My hand flies up to my hair. “And wash my hair.”
“Wash your hair?” Stil leans forward with her hands on her hips. “Just wash? Oh, it’s a rescue mission, baby.”
“It can’t be that bad.” I run my hand over the choppy strands.
“You look like the Bride of Chucky, and that’s an insult to her.” Stil narrows one eye, assessing the mess I made. “Lucky for you I graduated from the best cosmetology school in Jersey.”
She heads toward the bathroom, signaling for me to follow.
“Jersey?!” I mouth to Trevor, eyes wide and panicked.
An hour later, I’m clean, and Stil has unbotched the botched haircut, turning my head to various angles so she can admire her handiwork.
“Much better. It’ll do for now.” Stil lays the shears on the marble counter. “You should have done this years ago.”