Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
I seal them.
“Oh, come on. Antonia went to all the trouble of making it for you. Seems a shame for it to go to waste.”
Still, I keep my lips closed.
His gaze hardens. “Open your fucking mouth, Parker, before I open it for you.”
My heart sinks. I swallow past the lump in my throat and tentatively take the straw between my lips.
I hate him watching me take a sip.
And when the flavor hits my tongue, it’s off.
My heart starts to pound harder. What did he put in my drink? I wouldn’t accept a drink at a party from him, so I probably shouldn’t take another drink from this smoothie, either.
Panic begins to shut down my brain, but I fight to keep it working for me. My brain is the only advantage I have over him. Physically, all the odds are in his favor.
Where should we order in from?
I can’t speak, but my brain tells me to say it.
Take control of the conversation. Guide him away from whatever he wants to do. That’s probably bad, so push him elsewhere like you did at the club.
But I can’t move. I’m too fucking afraid, and all I can think about is what’s in the smoothie? Why did he need to put something in my smoothie? If I ask, will he tell me?
I only took one sip, so I should be okay, right? It would take more than one sip…
Before my panic can overwhelm me, Landon pulls the straw to the side of the cup nearest him and takes a draw.
I sag against the lounger with relief. He’s not going to drug himself.
Amusement tugs at his full lips when he notices my relief. “Needed a little rum,” he says lightly. Setting the drink back down on the table, he says conversationally, “What, were you afraid I was going to drug you?”
I don’t answer, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
He shakes his head, answering me anyway. “I wouldn’t do that.” For the briefest blip of a heartbeat, I think he’s saying something decent, but then he adds, “I’d want you to be awake and completely conscious to experience whatever I’m doing to you.”
Wow.
It’s hard to take that more than one way.
My plan to call Malek starts to slip from my fingers, every system in my body working overtime to convey just one message: run.
It still doesn’t feel like the right move, but right now, I’m a sitting duck.
Run.
Don’t run.
I don’t know what to do. We’re in the eye of the storm. Any move I make in any direction will put us right in it, but I can’t just sit here waiting for him to pounce on me.
My muscles feel jittery and unreliable as I swiftly bring my hand to the side, chopping his wrist and shoving him back, then launching off the side of the lounger he’s not sitting on.
My heart thuds like a judge’s gavel deciding my fate, and as I run barefoot across the expensive tile, I hear his faster, heavier footfalls behind me.
It was the wrong move.
It was the only move I had.
Both things are true.
Neither thought is helpful.
Landon grabs me around the waist, ripping me off my path to the poolhouse and pulling me back against him.
“No,” I cry, thrashing and digging my nails into his arm, trying to make him let go.
My heart is racing, my lungs working to draw breath. His voice is low, but I can still hear him over the ruckus in my body. “You think I’m gonna let you get a door between us this time, Parker? I don’t fucking think so.”
“Let me go,” I cry angrily, fearfully. “Get your hands off me, Landon!”
He doesn’t let go, and his steely grip doesn’t ease. Instead, he tightens it, forcing me even closer to his body as he waits out my thrashing. “You go ahead and tire yourself out,” he taunts. “I’ll wait.”
Furious tears gather at the corner of my eyes. This isn’t fair.
I can already feel my muscles tiring out. The flood of adrenaline allowed me to fight harder than I would usually be able to, but even that wasn’t enough. My skin is on fire and I feel on the verge of collapse, while Landon doesn’t even seem to be winded.
His head is close enough that I reach back and grab a fistful of his hair. I want to hurt him, to make him let me go, so I pull it as hard as I can. He lets me pull until his face is next to mine, but as soon as he wants to, he stops me. I watch the muscles chord in his neck. My body must be intensely confused by all the different stimulation, because a wire seems to cross in my brain and I feel an answering wave of heat between my thighs at the sight of it.