Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I closed my eyes with my ear pressed against his chest. One slow beat, followed by another. Why was I sad? And why only two hours?
“You would tell me, right?” I asked, throat dry. “If something was going on?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Probably not. Would you if the situation was reversed?”
I wanted to say yes, but the minute I opened my mouth, something stopped me. Would I? If something was going down, would I rely on him? Would I confess? Or would I try like hell to shield him from everything?
I thought back on all the shit our Family had been through over the last two years, over all the almost deaths our Family faced. How many funerals? How many killings?
Would I protect him?
And what if protecting him meant hurting him?
“Do you love her?” I asked. “Jenna? Do you love her?”
“Of course not.” He said it so quickly I almost hit his chin when I pulled back to look up at him. “I’ve only ever loved one person.”
I’m so confused, I have so many questions, but his expression seems dark, forbidding. “What happens after two hours?”
“One hour and thirty-nine minutes,” the math genius corrects me. “And can you just look into my eyes and know that this means everything to me that I might not be able to—” His voice cracks. “I might not, I can’t. I mean.” It was the first time he stumbled over his words like really stumbled.
And not just that.
He looked pale.
His skin felt hot.
His eyes were super dilated, and his voice had a desperate tone to it. When had Maksim ever begged me for time? Or anyone? If anything, he was the one that procrastinated or waited until the very last minute to do something. He also never asked for favors.
I looked at him.
I truly took inventory.
And I knew, deep in my gut, something was very wrong.
Something that he wouldn’t tell me.
He wouldn’t give me the truth.
But he would give me time.
I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his mouth. He moaned and jerked me against him.
I had my answer without any words.
Friends didn’t kiss friends that way.
Boyfriends and girlfriends didn’t even kiss each other that way.
No, that was a kiss of desperation, meant for soul mates, so no matter how much I’d hate him and myself once the time was up, I would give him one last thing.
He already had my heart. What were another ninety-ish minutes?
I tried to play it off.
Most girls would. It was so easy to lie to yourself and say that it wouldn’t affect you, that you were different, that the situation was different. Justifying circumstances might be the easiest thing to do when you were blinded by love.
So why not give in?
He had been my person, my one person who got my sense of humor, who understood my obsession with all things science, insects, nature. Who listened when I spoke and didn’t say, “oh well, that’s just Izzy.”
I wasn’t “just Izzy” to him.
He wasn’t just Maksim to me.
Maksim caressed my cheeks. “Don’t cry. I don’t think I’ll survive if you start to cry, Iz.”
I swallowed as a tear slid down my cheek. “Let me cry for you if I want to. You decided the time. I’ll decide how I react to it.”
“Smartass.”
“Smarter than you.” I sniffled.
“Kiss me like you’re saying goodbye, then hold me like you’ll never let go,” he whispered, his voice quivering. “When you think it’s not hard enough, squeeze more; when your lips are swollen, keep kissing me, and when it breaks your heart into a million pieces, let me know so I can put them back again before I leave this room.”
“Wh-what’s going on?”
He linked his fingers with mine. His smile didn’t reach his eyes when he touched his forehead against mine. “I don’t want to screw you, Izzy.”
“Okay?”
“I want to make love to you, with you, and then I want to hold you until the alarm on my phone goes off. Think we can do that?”
“Sure.” I sniffled again. “Because you’re really fast anyway—”
He barks out a laugh, then tosses me over his shoulder and onto the bed. I bounced a bit before he grabbed my dress and pulled it over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra—the outfit wouldn’t allow—and I still had my tan heels on along with my sheer nude thong.
“You should definitely buy more of these.” He gripped the edge of the fabric and snapped it against my thigh. “Like a billion more.”
“Can you count that high?” I teased, knowing he was the math genius after all and would probably attempt it.
“I would if you bought that many,” he countered.
I leaned up on my elbows. His eyes were drawn to my breasts, hungry, waiting to suck them. He was a total boob guy, and it always made me laugh how distracted he got by them.