Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Goddammit,” I mutter, looking down at my clothes and finding them covered in blood. “There’s no time to go home…”
The front door of the house opens. My chest seizes.
There’s Ayla. She backs out through the opening and locks the door, not seeing me right away. My dick begins to stiffen at the sight of her, even faster than usual now that I know how juicy she gets when I finger her. How she sounds moaning from pleasure. And she’s wearing my favorite skirt today, on top of everything else. That red denim one with the zipper in back that runs right between her ass cheeks. How many times have I dreamed about lowering that zipper and letting the skirt fall to the ground? Thousands? Millions?
It's warmer than usual out today, so she is wearing a white satin tank top today with thin straps. I’ve never seen it before. It must be new. Black lace outlines her tits in a tempting triangle. And if she thinks she’s going anywhere dressed like that, she’s wrong.
My blood heats, throat going dry.
I have visions of dragging her back into the house and forcing her to change, but somehow, I manage to restrain myself.
Calm down.
You want her to forgive you, not hate you even more.
Ayla turns around at the top of her stoop and gasps, stopping short. Her hands lift to her mouth to cover it, her eyes furiously scanning the yard. I wonder what it looks like from her perspective, hundreds of roses covering her front lawn and footpath. Maybe it comes across psychotic, but that can’t be helped. That’s what I am when it comes to her.
“Flynt,” she breathes, her hands dropping away from her mouth. “What is all of this?”
“Do you like it?” I sound like I’m suffocating.
She seems too overwhelmed to answer. “That’s…my car. Did you tow it here?”
“No.” I take the keys out of my pocket and approach the stoop, holding them out to her, thankful the blood has dried on my palms, so I don’t get it all over her keys. “I drove it here. It’s fixed.”
Her eyes well with moisture. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She swipes at her cheeks. “You said it would take weeks.”
“I sped up the process,” I say gruffly, my chest on fire at the sight of her happiness.
When she finally tears her eyes off the car, she looks down at me—and much to my dismay, horror transforms her perfect features. “Flynt!” She drops her backpack and scrambles down the steps. “Y-you’re bleeding.” Her fingertips race over my upper body, searching for the source of the injury. “There’s blood everywhere.”
“It’s okay.” Having her this close to me makes me feel like I could explode. Just burst into fragments. “It’s dry now.”
“It came from your hands,” she says miserably, picking them up and examining them. “You didn’t take care with the thorns.”
“I didn’t take care with you, either.” I drop to my knees in front of Ayla, burying my face in her stomach, my arms wrapped around her legs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
After a second, her fingers slip into my hair, stroking me. “You didn’t have to mutilate yourself in order to be forgiven.”
“I’d have done way worse, if necessary,” I say, half of my words slurred, because the feel of her fingers moving in my hair is incredible. “Tell me I’ve made you happy.”
“You’ve made me happy,” she whispers.
I moan my relief into her stomach. Merciful angel. She has spared my life.
“Now come inside so I can bandage those cuts on your hands.”
I’m already shaking my head no. “I can’t go inside.”
“Why not?”
Even after yesterday, she doesn’t understand, does she? I’m out of control where she’s concerned. “I don’t trust myself not to rip off your skirt as soon as we’re through the door.”
“Oh.” Her pupils expand as she puffs that single word. “Would you feel better if I just brought the first-aid kit outside?”
All I can manage is a curt nod.
It takes all of my willpower not to grab her as she turns and disappears inside. Don’t follow her. Don’t you dare. By the time she returns, I’m shaking from the effort of remaining at the bottom of the steps. I watch through bloodshot eyes as she sets down the tin box and gestures for me to sit down beside her.
“What exactly are you going to do?” I ask, eyeing the orange bottle in her hand.
She cuts me a measuring look. “Disinfect your cuts and then—”
“But…it’s a waste of time. They’ll heal on their own.”
Ayla pauses in the act of uncapping the bottle. “Why would you think tending to you is a waste of time?”
My shoulders feel jumpy. “I’ve always healed on my own.”
For a long moment, she stares up at me in the early morning haze, trying and failing to hide her sympathy. Then she takes my wrist and tugs until I have no choice but to drop down onto the step beside her. “No one has ever bandaged you up before?”