Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Ah, that makes sense,” she says and her tongue presses against her lower lip. “What’s the catch then?”
“I want to share a bedroom while we’re there.”
She leans back in surprise then bursts out laughing. Her feet move up and down, and now my cock’s fucking rock hard, and she’s definitely doing it on purpose. I move them away before I start trying to fuck her toes.
“Oh my god, you’re using a gambit to get me in bed,” she says, howling with delight. “That’s incredible. It’s almost unbelievable.”
“I’m not using a gambit.” I tighten my jaw, glaring at her. “I’m trying to make this work. That means acting like we’re actually husband and wife.”
“And you need to sleep in the same bed with me to feel like my husband?” She pouts her lips and leans closer. I glance down and feel my blood fucking boiling. I’m annoyed at her reaction—this fucking teasing, this arrogance—but I want her so badly it’s like my cock’s trying to break in half. I glance at the outline of her tits under her loose cropped shirt and I’m tempted to shove my hands up and cup her breasts and squeeze her nipples until she stops laughing and starts moaning.
“I don’t need that, but it might help,” I bite out, ready to storm off, but too aware of my hard dick to get up.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m flattered honestly. You want to sleep with me so badly that you’re willing to cut deals to make it happen. I’m honored, I really am.”
“You’re such a conceited monster sometimes. If I wanted to fuck you, I’d fuck you.”
“Please, we both know what you want.” She leans forward, eyes like molten lust. Her lips are slightly parted, and her cheeks are bright pink. “You want me wearing just a pair of thin cotton shorts and a little crop top just like this one, no bra. You want to drag me into your arms in the middle of the night and ravish me. Come on, admit it.”
“I want to make you happy by moving to the oasis for a little while. I’m just trying to get something out of this fucking deal too.”
“And I’m what you’re getting.” She’s grinning huge now. “Say it, Brody. Admit you want me.”
I lean forward faster than she can react and bury my hand in her hair. My forehead presses to hers and she’s sucking in a shocked breath as I tighten my grip, pulling just hard enough to let her know that she’s mine. I hold her there, not moving, our bodies inches apart, looming over her and about one second away from giving in and tasting her again.
“If you make me say it,” I whisper, struggling to control my breathing. “Then I don’t know if I can hold back any longer.”
“Brody.” A small whimper. Just my name and a moan. Fuck, I could die right now. “Say it.”
I want to whisper the words. I want to say them so badly—then drag her up to my room and fuck her into a senseless stupor so deep and so perfect we end up sleeping for a whole week tangled in sweaty sheets. I want to lose myself in her, finally let myself spiral.
But there’s a war coming. I’m dragging my siblings into a fight they aren’t excited about, and if I do it while obsessing about Elena, I could make a mistake. I could let someone get hurt.
I release her hair. I step back. She stares at me, mouth open, breathing fast, legs spread, cheeks flushed. She’s so fucking beautiful, I could break.
“Pack tomorrow. We’ll leave when I get home from work.” I turn to the door, each step like walking in lead boots. “Unless you don’t want to take my deal.”
“I’ll take it.” Her voice is thick and soft. I pause before going inside. “I’ve never shared a room before. It’ll be fun.”
That isn’t the word I’d use. But I don’t tell her that. I go inside, because I have more work to do and never enough time for it all.
Chapter 21
Elena
Itry to sit still as Brody carries his bag into my house but it’s impossible. I’m bustling around the room straightening up, giving a tour at a mile-a-minute pace, and asking him about fifty thousand different questions, none of which he answers.
He stands in the middle of my living room and looks around as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. And not that I can blame him, my house is about the opposite of his. Every inch is covered with my stuff, from art I bought at various auctions and directly from artists I love, to special fancy candles, to a dozen different little knickknacks scattered across shelves, tables, counters. Basically, any surface that can hold stuff has stuff.
“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” I tell him as I compulsively fold a blanket that was already perfectly folded. “But I mean, you’ll adapt, right? And you’re not here for that long. And you’ll be at your normal house most of the time in the mornings and you’ll be in the office during the day, so really you’re only here for a little while and when you’re sleeping, which doesn’t really count, so honestly you only have to deal with it for like three hours, max.”