Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
CHAPTER SIX
Sergio
Why, why, did a woman as beautiful as her have to come into my life? Last night, I was completely fine being engaged to a woman I’ve never met as a means to an end.
Just fine.
Last night, I’d made up my mind that love is a fickle thing and the temptation of fools.
That was before Eden.
What existed before Eden on Planet Earth? A wasteland…
I sit her in the chair and turn abruptly before I do something impulsive and fucking foolish, like kiss her.
I gather the supplies and make sure she obeys, her question echoing in my mind like I’m haunted.
And what might you do to someone who disobeyed you?
The woman’s wearing bruises from the fists of another man.
She can’t handle what I’d do to someone who disobeyed me. I could no more put her over my knee and spank her pretty ass red than I could fuck her.
I turn away so she doesn’t see my heavy breathing or the goddamn hard-on I gave myself just by imagining such a thing.
“You okay?” she asks sweetly.
No, baby, I’m not. Until now, I had no idea I had a kink for wholesome, beautiful women who look like they stepped out of a fairy tale.
I thought she was pretty before she got all tidied up. There’s something about her Goldilocks hair and beautiful blue eyes behind her glasses that make her look like one of those little fairies, the ones that grow out of the centers of flowers.
Who knew I had a thing for modesty, too? God.
She wears a loose-fitting, pale blue top that brings out the color of her eyes. Jeans that hug her curves. Her pale skin is covered, not a speck of cleavage or thigh showing, and yet she’s so utterly feminine, so perfectly wholesome, I want to protect her and keep her safe.
She’s married.
Yeah, she’s fucking married to a man who beat her.
I’ll find out who he is, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t make that mistake again. Mario’s already working on it. I won’t tell her that.
I’ve known men who’ve hit women before. Weak-assed pussies who couldn’t hold their own in a fight. I’m not a womanizer, and I’m not a woman worshipper, but hell if I’m not somewhere in between.
I’d never lose who I am to a woman I loved, because love is a fleeting feeling and who I am matters in this family. I respect my brother Ricco, but the man had to step down as leader of our family because of his sick wife.
Loving a woman means giving something up. It isn’t possible to love a wife and my family in equal measure.
Jesus. Why do I fucking care about love?
I’m engaged to be married.
Yes, sir.
She knows I like it when she calls me sir.
She has no fucking idea.
I lift my phone and send Timeo a text.
Get me a fucking submissive tonight.
I need to get this aggression and testosterone out before it chokes me, and I do something I regret.
Sure thing. Preferences?
No brats. No hard limits.
Consider it done.
I take a piece of cotton and wet it with saline. Try to think of a way of cleaning her up without having to touch her again. Then shake my head at myself because do I have no fucking self-control?
“Give me your hand.”
I nestle her hand in my palm. “This might sting,” I say, hesitating to hurt her.
“I know. Do it.”
I grit my teeth and swipe the blood off her palm. She doesn’t even flinch.
Brave, then, too.
Of course.
“Does it hurt?”
“Doesn’t feel good, but I’ve felt a lot worse than that.”
I bet she has.
“Looks like there isn’t much of a cut after all.”
“Good, because I have a meal to cook tonight.”
“You do.”
I place a small bandage on the cut and release her hand. Throw out the trash. When I turn back, she’s already back at the stove, stirring something in a pot, as if being too close to me makes her uncomfortable, too. Or is that just my imagination?
“Thank you for your help,” she says, her back to me. “I have a lot to do to get ready for tonight.”
Is she dismissing me?
I stand and put my hands in my pockets. “Right.” I don’t want to leave. “Anything you need?”
“I’ve got everything I need, but thank you,” she says. “When should I have this ready?”
We talk about details, but the whole time I wonder if I’ve imagined her pulling away from me. I want to reach for her. I want to tuck her against my chest and hold her. I want to kiss her until she moans and show her everything that waits for her just on the other side of right.
Being with someone I actually want to be with might be the most dangerous thing I could possibly do.
No. I can’t be with her at all. I’m afraid I’ll break her, that she’ll bow like a ship in a storm when I unleash myself on her.