Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“Tell me why you changed all of a sudden. Why did you fuck me one last time, then tell me to go. Did you want to get rid of me? Are you only doing it because you knew you didn't have a choice?”
“Tatum. This has to stop.”
“Why can't you tell me? I know you're holding something back, damn it. I know you too well.”
“If you thought coming over here was a good idea, you don't know me at all.”
“Tell me it wasn't real. Just once. Please, Romero. Say the words. Say it wasn't real. You'll be doing me a favor.”
I have to, don't I? I have to set her free. There's no point to any of this—all either of us will get is pain and misery.
Why can't I say it when I know it’s the only way? I struggle to find the words, to force them out, to do right by her for once. It's the right thing to do. Like she said, I'd be doing her a favor.
I would also be lying. I've already lied for too long. To her, to me.
She gasps when I take her by the shoulders and push her up against the door.
Tatum doesn’t fight, though.
And when I crush my mouth against hers and take what I’ve gone too long without, I know I’m hurting us both, no matter how right it feels. But it’s not enough to make me stop. I doubt anything could.
CHAPTER 34
TATUM
I didn’t come here for this. Really, I didn’t. I wanted to tear his head off, to hurt him, to make him explain why he hurt me. He deserves a punishment – or so I had told myself before being in the same room with him.
Now, I need to push him away like he pushed me away. I can’t keep letting him do this to me. Hot and cold, on and off, with no warning or explanation. And even though I know he won’t want me when this is over – and he’ll probably make it all out to be my fault — I don’t fight him off.
I can’t.
Not when something deep inside screams in relief at the first touch of his lips. I’ve barely existed the past few days without him. I’m alive again, alive and whole and burning.
I drink in kiss after kiss, greedy for more. Soaking him in and running my fingers through his hair, clutching him close. Taking everything I can get. Giving him everything I have.
We are a tangle of arms, legs, and tongues before he pulls back, panting. Searching with eyes that blaze with desire. Searching for what? A reason to keep going? A reason to stop?
This is my chance. I need to end this.
As usual, my body does the opposite of what my brain tells it. I take his hand and place it on my chest. “Touch me,” I beg. “Please. Touch me.”
He shudders and releases a shaky breath before molding his hand around my breast, massaging, and working my nipple into a taut peak with his thumb. Who am I kidding? I can’t stop this. I’m too weak for him. Too needy for this.
And then he kisses me again — rough and demanding. And I give it all back to him. My nails rake over his skin until he takes my wrists and pins them over my head, then grinds his body against me until all I can do is whimper and try to part my legs so his erection will touch the place where the heat is worst, where my body is begging for relief. I’m so wet it’s soaked through my leggings and plasters the thin cotton to my skin.
“Why do you do this to me?” he demands between searing kisses against my neck. “How do you do it?”
I don’t know, just like I don’t know how he does this to me. Every time, he pushes me away, but I come back for more because I can’t live without this. I’m powerless against it, just like there’s no escaping his firm, unforgiving body holding me against the door.
Not that I’m trying very hard to get away.
Romero takes my wrists in one hand and traces a slow line down my body with the other. Once he reaches my pussy, he chuckles against my ear but says nothing. Cupping my mound instead and pressing his fingers against my slit.
I arch, gasping, as every thought is wiped away and replaced by sensation. Deep, all-consuming pleasure makes me rock my hips and bear down on his hand. He teases my mouth with his tongue, thrusting it inside before pulling back until I try to reach forward, moaning when he won’t give me what I want.
But his hand still moves, fingers running in tight circles over my clit. “Yes… More, God, more…”
“Give it to me.” His low, throaty voice works its way into my brain and adds to the tension building in my core. “Give it to me. Come for me.”