Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 125866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
I stilled.
She was writing.
I sat up as slowly and quietly as I could, not wanting to disturb her. She had a soft smile on her face as the pen dragged along the page, and at one point, I thought I saw her cheeks turn a bright pink.
I watched her for a stolen moment of time, emotions battling for my attention as I did.
Part of me was wrapped up in last night, in how she’d fit in with my friends so seamlessly and made it so easy to pretend she was mine.
Part of me was still existing in the precious slot of time where I’d had her writhing on top of me, her cunt on my tongue and my hands gripping her ass and helping her ride my face.
But the loudest part of me was screaming, like a man falling deep down into a dark hole with no end.
Because whatever game we were playing had been shot to hell last night.
And now, I had no idea where we went from here.
Madelyn’s pen paused over the page, her brows sliding together before she peeked over her shoulder and found me staring at her.
The moment our eyes locked, I felt both of our hearts stop.
She swallowed, and my chest tightened.
“Morning,” she whispered, and I couldn’t explain it, but just that soft rasp of her voice had me yearning to hold her.
I offered a lopsided smile. “Good morning, gorgeous.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she dropped her pen, stopping long enough to pour a cup of coffee on her way over to me. I hadn’t realized there was a carafe next to her. She must have ordered room service.
“I don’t know how you like it,” she said, the mug steaming in her hands. “Your coffee.”
“Well, you must be a psychic, because this is exactly how I like it.”
“Black?”
“No.” I shook my head, taking the mug from her hands and setting it on the nightstand before I grabbed her and pulled her into my lap. “Delivered by you in a nightgown.”
She laughed as I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her neck, dragging my stubble along the slope of it as she wiggled in my lap. When I pulled back, I kept my hands on her hips and searched her eyes for a sign of how she was feeling.
I didn’t have to look long to know she had her own internal war going on.
“Thank you,” I said after a moment. “For the coffee. But it’s supposed to be me taking care of you.”
She arched a brow. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
A shy smile found her lips, and her gaze fell to where her hands were balanced on my chest, silence washing over both of us.
“You were writing,” I mused.
Her little nose scrunched before she peeked up at me through her lashes. “I was.”
“Feeling inspired?” I smirked, squeezing her hips. “I saw that blush. Just what were you writing about, Miss James?”
She was giggling at the tease, but when I said her name, the smile slipped.
“Hearst,” she reminded me.
“Nah, fuck that,” I said. “He doesn’t deserve to have his name on you.”
“So, you’re just going to call me by my maiden name?”
“For now.”
I held her gaze even when it widened, even when her eyes darted between mine like she was trying to analyze what I meant by that.
“Did it feel good?” I asked, and I chuckled a bit when her neck flashed a deep red. “Writing, I mean.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes falling to her hands on my chest again. “Yes, actually. It felt… like coming home.”
I smiled at that. “I love your writing.”
“You only loved it because half the time I was writing about your stupid ass,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“Fair. I wonder if anything’s changed. Maybe I should go take a peek…”
“Absolutely not,” she said, and she pulled at my shoulders like she could stop me from getting up if I wanted to. But I let her, savoring the way it felt with her thighs straddling my waist.
I swept her messy hair behind one ear on a smile, and she lifted her gaze to meet mine.
A million unspoken words hung between us.
I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to ask if she was okay after last night, if she was upset it had happened.
But I knew just from her sitting in my lap that that wasn’t the case.
Which left me wondering what this meant for us now. It was clear we weren’t just pretending anymore.
But it was also clear she was guarded.
I wondered if she was feeling guilty for what happened when we were younger. I wondered why I didn’t feel the same anger and pain when I looked at her now. I wondered where that grudge had gone that I’d held onto for so long.
Because suddenly, I didn’t give a fuck what happened when we were kids.