Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
And it was also as beautiful.
Soul-destroying.
Time and space disappeared for the moments—or was it years?—his mouth moved against mine.
My breathing came in shallow pants when he finally released me, the darkness in his eyes seeping out and covering every inch of my skin. Every inch of my freaking soul.
“Want to fuck you right now,” he growled. “Want to sink my cock so deep inside you that I’m fucking imprinted on your insides like you are mine.” The grip at my neck tightened and his hardness pressed into my stomach. “Gonna punish you for sayin’ that shit at a time when I can’t do that,” he murmured, teeth brushing my lips, pressing down so they drew blood.
Wetness flooded between my legs.
My blood stained Gage’s lips. His tongue flicked out and tasted it.
His hardness pulsated inside his jeans and his grip tightened even more, to the point of pleasurable pain.
“You’re gonna pay for makin’ me hold back right now,” he hissed.
“For wh-what?” I stuttered.
“You called me your fuckin’ man, baby. Yours.” He ground the words out like they were painful.
I froze.
I had. Without even thinking about it. There wasn’t a question. With what we shared last night, there was no option other than that Gage was unequivocally mine.
He was broken. And mine.
He’d be a battle.
One I was going to fight.
I hadn’t even realized I’d decided that until right that second. Because it was in that second that it became very apparent that everything with Gage was a battle. Merely breathing was a battle for him.
“You are mine,” I whispered, gaze never faltering. “Because you’re broken. Like me. And I want to be yours because you won’t try and fix me. Because I’m broken too.”
He turned to marble with my words, his eyes the only thing still active, still alive, still devouring my soul.
He didn’t speak.
Not for a long time.
He just kept staring. Kept sucking me into him, burrowing under my skin.
Then he released me, stepped back so I was no longer pressed against the door, but I stayed there, still glued in place by the coldness of his eyes. Of the weight of the moment.
My eyes followed him as he snatched his cut from where it was draped over the chaise lounge in the corner of my bedroom, slipping it over his bare torso.
I was about to comment on that, though seeing him wear that piece of leather against his muscled, tattooed and scarred skin was probably one of the hottest things like ever. But it wasn’t exactly a practical thing to wear in public. And not just because I was getting all sorts of unfamiliar and rather violent feelings toward other women having the same reaction I was. It wasn’t safe riding his bike with so much of that skin showing.
Skin that didn’t need any more scars.
So primarily, I was going to comment out of worry for his safety, because his safety was now inexplicably connected to mine. And some of that comment was going to be motivated by a possession I felt toward that scarred skin.
I was going to, until I realized he didn’t have any other option besides wearing his cut on top of his bare torso. His shirt, which was still lying on my bathroom floor, was covered in blood, not something he could likely wear in broad daylight.
A bloodstained shirt would raise more questions than a scarred and beautiful body, obviously.
It was once I came to that conclusion that he was in front of me once more, still silent, still taking in every part of me with his violent gaze.
I expected him to say something. Because he was obviously leaving. And he couldn’t just walk out without saying something. Without addressing everything that just happened.
But that’s exactly what he did.
Right after he surged toward me, yanked me into his arms, pressed his mouth to mine in a violent, closemouthed kiss and set me on my feet facing the door he then opened and strode out of.
Without a freaking word.
Nine
“I’m planning on a dastardly early takeoff in the morning, so I’ll say my goodbyes here.” A cloud of Chanel enveloped me as my grandmother yanked me into her embrace with surprising strength. “I approve, my dear,” she murmured in my ear. “And you know David would’ve too.”
I was frozen as she gently extracted herself, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a wink before focusing on Gage, who was at my back, most likely stoic and blank-faced like he’d been most of the night.
He’d turned up at my apartment right on time. I was worried he wouldn’t turn up at all, and I didn’t even freaking have his number to call.
After everything that had happened with this man, and I didn’t freaking have his cell phone number.
There was no way to contact him, short of humiliating myself and driving my newly repaired car over to the Sons of Templar compound. He held the control; he could’ve just left today, and that would’ve been that. Everything was on his terms.