Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Unlike me, he has nothing to hide.
Unlike me, he owns everything about himself, faults and mental issues included.
And for once, I want to rip a page from his book and be as open as he is. As forward as he is. Even if it’s only this time.
Steam swirls around the bathroom and I’m thankful for the fog that covers the mirror as I turn in the direction of the shower.
Nikolai’s clothes are all over the floor as usual, but I don’t give a fuck about that.
My breath hitches when I see him standing beneath the showerhead, facing the wall as water cascades in rivulets down the intricate ink on his back, sliding to the dips in his arse and over his muscular tattooed thighs.
He tilts his head back to rinse away the shampoo and his black hair gets glued to his neck, reaching the blades of his rippling shoulders.
My lips part as I watch his closed eyes beneath the stream, the sharp line of his jaw, and the dark shadow of his stubble.
He’s, hands down, the hottest man that ever walked the earth. I just can’t keep my eyes or hands off him.
I’m walking on air as I reach the glass door and pull it open.
He doesn’t seem to notice as he grabs the shower gel bottle and smiles a little when he sniffs it.
I stand behind him, getting soaked in a second, slide my arms on either side of him, and grab the bottle—or start to.
He swings around fast and slams me to the door with his forearm to my throat. My dick twitches and holds an immediate standing ovation.
Christ. Why do I love it so much when he gets rough?
Nikolai’s grip loosens when his eyes meet mine. “Baby? What are you doing here…oh, fuck me. Don’t tell me you’re joining me in the shower?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” I coax his arm away and he releases me but only because I take the shower gel from him.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“No, I couldn’t. I need to touch you.”
His lips part and I catch a glimpse of his cock thickening. “Holy fuck. I expected your usual shut up.”
“Not today.” I squirt the body wash on my palm and lather it over his shoulder blades, enjoying the rippling of his muscles beneath my hands.
I quickly come to the realization that I really love washing him. Why the hell haven’t I done this before?
Oh, right. Because you’re broken and trying hard not to look like it.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Love it when you touch me.” He groans, his palms landing on my hips, stroking and feeling me up.
It’s the sweetest distraction.
“You do?”
“You must know how much of a glutton I am for your touch, baby. I’m so hard, I’m bursting to be inside you.”
I smile, but it falters when I reach his pectoral muscle and find a new tattoo in the spot he left blank on purpose.
My hands freeze as I study the artistic patterns of the lotus flower and make out the elegant font beneath it that reads Property of B. King. He had it inked on the spot that he said was for something special.
“Fuck…” I breathe, pressure forming behind my eyes as I look up at him. “When…did you get this?”
“After that night when I came to see you outside the mansion.”
“When you were on your high?”
“It wasn’t an impulse, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve been wanting to do it for some time.”
My heart aches, and I want to say so many things, but all I manage is a choked, “Thanks.”
He narrows his eyes, and it looks so erotic with water cascading down his face. “You’re not panicking?”
“Why would I?”
“Because this means I love the fucking shit out of you, baby. I can’t live without you and you’re not allowed to leave me.”
My lips part and I watch him with a lump in my throat and my heart thundering so loudly, I can hear it over the buzzing in my ears.
“Hello?” He waves a hand in my face. “You going to say something? You’re starting to freak me out.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” I whisper the words that feel as if they’re being pulled from deep in my battered soul.
“Then don’t.”
He says it as if it’s simple. And it is simple for him. I wish it was the same for me.
I wish I could be the man he deserves.
I wish I could say the words back and not be flooded with the black ink and nausea.
Since I can’t, I get on my tiptoes and seal my lips to his. For the first time, my kiss is gentle, imploring, wanting to explore him, to express the burning feelings I can’t say out loud.
My fingers slide in his hair and I pull him closer until our chests press together, and we kiss under the water stream.