Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 104138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
So, I weaned myself off the medication, and it worked. My energy levels peaked to the point I could work through the night and still deliver kick-arse management skills during the day. Not only that, I wrote a new book, which I’ve just signed the publishing contract for, in just two weeks.
I’m not stupid enough to think these levels of productivity will last. I can already feel it waning. The tiredness is setting in, the need for more sleep. So as soon as the new book has completed the editing and publication process, and my staff have adjusted to the changes I’m implementing for the magazine contract, I’ll start taking my meds again.
I’ve got this.
Chapter Nine
~Theo~
I haven’t been able to take my eyes off James’ face the whole time we’ve been lying in his bed, although he’s barely looked at me. The things he’s just revealed leave me feeling quietly terrified, yet I’m also completely in awe of him. All I can think about is that broken teenage boy, alone in his room with no one to hold him, no one to help him.
How was that allowed to happen? He was a child. I don’t care how good an actor he says he is, somebody should’ve seen.
“I’m sorry, Theodore.” The sound of his gravelled voice makes me realise I’ve been silent for several minutes. “It’s too much. I’ve said too much.”
“It is too much. What you’ve been through is too much. The lack of support you’ve had is too much. But the fact you trust me enough to tell me everything you just did, that you let me in, showed me who you are…No, James. That’s not too much.”
“I’d convinced myself you’d leave,” he says, palming my cheek. “Part of me still thinks you should.”
Part of me wants to, but I’m bound too tightly to him, to every side of him, to the strong and assured CEO, and the vulnerable, breaking man hiding beneath the surface. But I have no experience with mental illness and, honestly, it petrifies me. What if he’s dragged into that blackness again? How do I get him out? What if he really is a good liar and I don’t notice his demons strangling him until it’s too late?
Can I live with so much uncertainty? Will a relationship entail me scrutinising his every move, every expression? How sad is too sad? How happy is too happy?
Am I strong enough?
I have no idea. All I know is when I uttered the word love it was an accident, but it wasn’t a lie.
I love him.
I’m in love with him.
And it scares the ever living hell out of me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, hitching myself closer to him and burying my face in his neck.
His stubble grates against my cheek as I kiss the throbbing vein in his throat before I inch lower, pressing my lips to his chest. His taut muscles are littered with scars. Most are faded, silvery lines. Some are thick, raised, and some are tiny circles that spark soul-destroying images of him extinguishing cigarettes on his flesh.
Tears sting like grains of salt in the back of my eyes as my lips travel across his skin, kissing each mark in turn. Angling my head, I look up at his face and his expression twists into curiosity, maybe even fear.
“How can you stand to do that?” he asks, his stare intense.
“Kiss you?”
“Kiss…them. They’re hideous.”
“They are part of you, and you’re beautiful.”
I peck feather-light kisses up to his neck before crawling onto my knees and straddling him, taking his face in my hands. “So let me kiss you,” I whisper against his lips. “Let me love you.”
A small gasp seeps from his mouth. “You don’t know what that means, to love someone like me.”
I run my tongue over his bottom lip. “Too late.”
His warm breath covers my face like a blanket and for a second I pause, enjoying the closeness.
“I need to feel you inside me, James,” I say, breathless. Curling my fingers around the base of his neck, I dip my tongue between his lips, kissing him, loving him.
Working my hands between our bodies, I tease open the button on his pants, reaching inside and closing my fingers around his perfectly hard cock.
“Fuck, Theodore,” he groans against my jaw.
Breaking away from his face, I shuffle down the bed, un-popping the buttons on my shirt with one hand before shrugging out of it and tossing it to the floor. I release his cock just long enough to remove my pants, my dick springing to attention, and he raises his arse off the mattress and does the same.
The sight of him steals my breath for a moment. He’s stunning. All of him. Even the parts he’s ashamed of. To me, I see scars of courage. Inflicting them gave him the strength to survive the pain that’s plagued him all his life. I’m grateful to every one of them because he’s still here, with me.
Running my hands up his colourful thighs, I admire the Japanese artwork decorating his skin. Now I know his secrets, know him, I wonder if his ink is another way of transferring the pain. The thought makes my chest tighten.
Leaning forward, I grasp the base of his cock and it twitches in response. I’m eager to feel it buried inside me, but first I need to taste him. I pepper soft kisses along his balls, sporadically nipping the loose skin with my teeth, gently, but firm enough to make him moan.
His fingers land on the back of my head, stroking through my hair as I clamp my lips over his swollen head, swirling my tongue over the freckle on his tip.
“Christ, Theodore…”
“I love this little freckle,” I tell him, kissing it once more. Keeping my lips moist, I slide them up and down his thick shaft, my hand caressing his balls. I suck, lick, and tease him until his hips grind into the mattress, revelling in every gasp, groan and strained breath that trickles from his throat. He asks for me to turn around so he can play with me at the same time, and I do, but I’m not giving him the power this time.