Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“No. Neither of those,” he finally answers, but the look in his eyes stays the same and the fire in my cheeks trickles down through me and I can’t get my usual handle on how to proceed. Everything feels off, different, and for the first time, I care what he thinks of me and not just for the usual reasons.
I straighten my back, keeping my head high as his hungry gaze makes me dizzy, then just as quickly, for the first time since we started walking, he looks away, like I repulse him. He walks faster, just in front of me now, and I see the tension in his back. The way he jerks his head back and forth like he’s trying to crack his neck.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
He doesn’t stop and the sound of water is getting louder, a blast of cooler air swirls around my hot skin and I can’t seem to make sense out of the fear that somehow I’ve disappointed him. Or, were my first thoughts correct, is he going to hurt me? Do something terrible to me?
I count my breaths until he finally turns, and his eyes connect to mine, and what I see there shoots a bullseye directly to my ovaries.
“No. It’s just…” He stands perfectly still for a long moment, and I see the conflict in his eyes. “I’ve never thought of being called Daddy. Until now. Until you just said it.”
I swallow hard, his tone cuts through me and it’s like he’s revealing something to me and himself. When he speaks again, I’m holding my breath, lungs burning, pressure building in my eardrums.
“Who do you call Daddy?” he asks, more like an accusation than a question, and I stumble as the flutter in my belly lowers until it’s directly between my legs.
“No one. I’ve never used that word for anyone before.” It’s the truth and for some reason, I want to give him all my truths. I want to have someone that wants to hear it.
“Good.” He steps forward, his body only a few inches from mine as he looks down. “I like hearing you say it.”
I swallow hard as he brushes my hair from my cheek, leaving erupting nerve endings in the wake of his touch. His jaw muscles strain and I try to figure out what to say next, but he takes over.
“What’s your favorite thing to do, little sprite?”
My heart thrums in my chest, calling me by a nickname feels intimate and my answer comes out in a burst. “Dance. It’s my favorite thing to do.”
“And you do it very well,” he says with a half-smile on a sharply-drawn breath. “I want to know all about you. Everything you have to tell, I want to hear it. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“No. It’s been a long time since anyone wanted to know things about me. How I feel, what I like…”
He growls, deep and frightening, his lips curled like he’s just tasted something horrible. Then he presses his lips together before he speaks. “That’s going to change.”
His words are solid, making the world feel less unsteady, and I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I know I want more of it. Whatever it is.
His hand reaches for mine and he turns us toward the narrowing path ahead. His touch sends an eruption of electrical pulses up my arm and as much as I’ve always retracted from the touch of a man, his hand makes me feel safe somehow. Like he’s leading me into something wonderful and new, and I realize I haven’t been this happy in a long time.
And something inside me says maybe he hasn’t either.
I take sidelong glances at Merrick as we walk. The sound of the rushing water fills the summer air and I enjoy the view of his masculine silhouette, the way his chocolate-brown hair loops behind his ear, the way he walks, so confident, so in control. His biceps fill the short sleeve of his uniform shirt, the fabric straining around the girth, and I lick my lips thinking about what I saw under the fabric of his pants earlier.
The path turns uneven, and I have to squeeze his fingers to keep my balance as we step upward on some makeshift steps created from the roots of trees and worn boulder-sided rocks.
“Be careful, take your time.” He rumbles. “If you get hurt…” His voice trails off and that pained look returns to his brow.
When we finally crest the small incline, my breath is taken again as the path opens and a cool mist from what must be a thirty-foot waterfall spills into a crystal-blue pool of water that looks like a Monet painting.
“Wow,” I exclaim on a little excited jump. “It’s like a secret place just for fairies and unicorns.”