Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I sit back and try to calm my racing heart. Desire burns through me like lightning. I was so close to her—I tasted her—I pressed my fingers deep into her tight, pink pussy. I made her come. And she’s a fucking virgin.
“You’ll be safe with me.” The words come out husky and strangled. God damn, I can barely control myself.
“The way you’re staring at me, I don’t think that’s true at all.” She throws back her wine. “There, now I’m properly drunk. You wouldn’t take advantage of me, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Good.” She reaches out, grabs my glass, and drinks that too. “Then I’ll have to stay drunk for the next year.”
“I don’t think you can. I don’t think you want to.”
“No? Why not?”
“You felt what it’s like.” I lean toward her, burning with a need so fierce I can barely control myself. I want to crawl under the table, spread her legs, and get her off right here and now. But she’s right—she’s too drunk to sleep with, especially now that I know it would be her first time. I’m a lot of things, but I wouldn’t do that to my own damn wife, even if I hate her.
“What what’s like?”
“When I kiss you. When I get you off. Imagine if I fucked you. Spread your legs and filled you while licking your stiff nipples. How do you think that would feel, my fox?”
“Don’t start talking dirty to me now.” Her mouth’s hanging open and her chest rises and falls.
The waitress comes over and I wave her off. Silence hangs over the table. “You’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”
“But you’re not doing anything naughty.” Fallon wags a finger at me. “Promise now.”
I clench my jaw. I fucking want her so bad it’s like a wound. But I nod once. “I promise. You have my word.”
“What a good boy.” She grins and finishes the glass.
Chapter 20
Fallon
I wake up feeling fuzzy in a large, comfortable bed, surrounded by soft, dark sheets. There’s a hole in my memory that won’t resolve and a headache pounding in the back of my skull. The water’s running in the bathroom, and it takes me a minute to understand that I’m in Jayson’s room, in his bed, and he’s the one in the shower.
Bits and pieces come back. Mostly it’s a blur after leaving the restaurant. But from what I can recall, he kept his word and didn’t try anything, only helped me back upstairs, got me some clothes to sleep in, and tucked me in.
Drinking was a bad idea. Something terrible could’ve happened—I could’ve let something slip, like the whole copying fiasco, or he could’ve gone back on his word and tried to take advantage of me.
None of that happened. It was still a stupid risk.
He comes out not long later. I’m buried under the blankets desperately trying to pretend like the conscious world doesn’t exist. My mouth feels like I swallowed a hedgehog and my brain feels ten sizes too big. Jayson stands next to the bed in only a pair of black boxer briefs, a towel draped around his neck, and looks at me like I’m the most amusing thing in the world.
“Good morning, wife,” he says, a little bit too loudly. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I croak and peek at him. “Why are you naked?”
“I’m not naked.”
“You’re close.”
“I just showered. This is the part where I get dressed. I’m not used to there being a hungover girl in my bed.”
“Yeah? What do you do with your one-night stands?”
“I call them a cab.” He walks to his closet and I track his motions. Everything about him oozes sexuality, from the tattoos on his back and chest to the chiseled and expertly sculpted muscles flexing with each panther-like step. The guy’s obscenely hot and my nipples are so hard I could scream, which is a problem, since I’m in only a tank top and a pair of old shorts.
“You didn’t, you know, do anything to me last night, did you?” I struggle to sit up but keep the sheets pulled up to my neck. He doesn’t need a hard-nip show right now.
“No, and I’m a little insulted you asked.” He comes back out partially dressed in slacks and a button-down.
“Alright, just being sure is all. I didn’t think you did, but, you know.”
“Are you always this suspicious?”
“Yes, definitely, especially of the strangers I’m forced to marry.”
“Stranger being the operative word there. You don’t know me at all.”
“Need I remind you of all the family killing you did?”
“Only if I can remind you of the same.”
I glare at him. He glares back. We’ve reached a dead end, and my head hurts too much to keep the fight going. I slither back under the covers, feeling exhausted, defeated, and hungover.
He finishes dressing. I peek a few times, unable to help myself. I’ve always been a little sneak, even back when I was a little girl. I’d crawl around the house spying on my brother and my father, trying to find a good chance to pop out and scare them. I’ve mastered the art and pretend like I’m not paying any attention.