Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Now was the time.
This was what I’d been waiting for.
She was vulnerable, shaken, but not broken. She’d never been broken, but now, she had more glue along the hairline fractures and more courage than tears.
“Talk to me.”
Her eyes met mine, drying from whatever she’d suffered while we played.
She sat taller.
Towering over her, I commanded, “I’ve been patient long enough, silent mouse. I’ve given you things I’ve never given anyone. It’s time to return the favour.”
She squeaked silently as I reached for her throat.
I was aware of her fear of having her neck touched, but I didn’t let her globe-wide eyes or flinch stop me. She had to learn I would touch her wherever I damn well pleased. She had to trust I wouldn't hurt her like he had.
Clasping my fingers around her throat, I murmured, “Your tongue is healed; you have a working voice box, so sound can come out of your mouth. I know it. I won’t beat you. I won’t force you. I won’t even touch you. But you will talk to me.”
Letting her go, I spread my fingers. “See? I’m going to put them behind my back. I give you my word. I won’t touch you.” I smirked. “For the next ten minutes, at least. If you behave and do what I say, I’ll keep my hands to myself for a little longer. Do exactly what I say, and I don’t touch you at all.”
My jaw lowered. “Don’t do what I say, and I’ll have to break my promise. Do you understand?”
Her eyes shot darts while her neck contracted as she swallowed.
“Good.” Bracing myself, I pushed my legs farther apart and locked my hands behind my back. “Now you know the rules. Let’s begin.”
WHY MUST HE continue calling me mouse?
That wasn’t his to use. Every time he said it in his carnally cruel voice, it sent me careening back to a teenager who wasn’t worse than any other teenager but was woefully naïve.
I didn’t want to be naïve anymore.
I wasn’t naïve when it came to the world of men.
I knew what Elder wanted. I’d felt it the entire time he made me conjure awful sounds from that beast he loved so much. His erection had scalded my hip as if it had a furnace cranked to a thousand degrees.
But if he was going to have sex with you…he wouldn’t have promised not to touch you.
The logic didn’t soothe me; it only made me more confused.
“Tell me your real name.”
Did he honestly think I’d just blurt it out? That two years of silence would be forgotten because he played me one song and stood with me in a storm?
The residue terror from him touching my neck, from kissing my neck, overflowed. I’d done my best to keep it in check but if he was about to force me to speak…I wouldn’t let him win the battle.
It was my decision if he deserved my voice.
He doesn’t—not after that awful cello.
I stood up, chin cocked.
His face darkened. “Answer me.”
I crossed my arms. No.
“Pim.”
Don’t Pim me.
The power and freedom from spending the night wrapped in thunder gave me reckless courage. The music he’d forced into my ears kept echoing on repeat, making me twitchy and wild. Two extremes, slinging together to meet in a mess of frustration, fear, and fury.
So much fury.
I was done playing his games.
I was done playing anyone’s games.
I’ll make the rules from now on, you hear me?
I’d come here looking for the man who played with me on the deck. I’d invited myself into his quarters, hoping he’d kiss me again. I didn’t come to be pushed and pushed, and I definitely didn’t come to talk.
I came for fun.
And you just made me cry.
Elder stood between me and the door. I wanted out. I wanted to run and write to No One. I wanted to toss away his bronze genie lamp because he’d lied about granting me wishes.
If he had the power to do that, he would’ve taken away my repulsion of touch and kisses and sex, and I could stand before him with heat rather than ice. I could feel his cock against my hip and melt rather than freeze.
After three weeks of living with him, I thought I’d be better. He’d promised me he’d find a cure.
You’re a liar.
Standing, I stepped forward.
I’m over this!
His eyes tightened, but he didn’t speak as I took another step and another. My crossed arms wrapped tighter, as if they could shield me from whatever might come next.
I kept encroaching on his space—not caring I went closer to him—my goal was to push past and fly out the door before he could break his promise of not touching me (for the second time tonight) and force me to talk.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, his face cast in shadows. His eyebrows were angry black slashes, his hair tangled from playing such soul-crushing music.