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)
All this time, I thought I’d rather free fall into a pit of violence and die in a crash than dedicate myself to one person. I really, really never considered myself monogamous. But it’s been so easy with Bran.
In fact, I became possessive of him early on—since I saw Clara’s claws on him—and I needed to have him all for my-fucking-self.
So imagine my fucking surprise when I realized I’m not opposed to commitment if it’s to him.
Some would argue I’ve been the one chasing him for that purpose from the beginning. If he’d stayed in the closet for another fucking decade, I would’ve probably shoved myself back in again if it meant being with him.
I’m that in love with this asshole. Who hasn’t been much of an asshole these past few of days.
Arms resting on the railing, he cocks his head to the side so that he’s watching me. “What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
A full-blown grin curves his lips. “Wow. You’re that obsessed?”
“Yeah. It’s not even funny anymore.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “You don’t have to think about me when I’m right here.”
“Tell that to Kolya. He doesn’t seem to listen to me anymore.”
He laughs, the sound long and so happy, I feel an immense sense of pride that I’m the reason behind it.
Watching my lotus flower smile is a glamorous five-star experience that instantly makes me happy as well.
“Are you enjoying my struggle, baby?”
“It’s just funny whenever you treat your dick as if it’s a separate entity.”
“Considering that he listens to you more than me, he very much is.”
He stares at my crotch and whispers, “Behave, Kolya. I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Uh, baby. Kolya has a very important question. Can later be right now?”
He chuckles and teasingly hits my shoulder again. “Behave, both of you. We’re in a public place.”
“Fiiine.”
“Stop sulking. How old are you? Five?”
“I was just thinking, we can go back to your room so I can eat you up before your dad comes back from work.”
“Nikolai Sokolov.” He mock gasps, pretending to be offended. “Are you only using me for sex?”
“Says the guy who woke me up with his lips around my cock at five in the fucking morning.”
His smile drips with seduction. “Well, I had to convince you to go on a run with me.”
“You don’t have to bribe me. I’d run with you anyway.”
“Does that mean I have to stop waking you up that way?”
“Like fuck you’ll stop. In fact, you should use that currency some more.” I pause as a gust of wind blows my hair in my face. I left it loose on purpose since Bran is obsessed with it. He often plays with the strands or tucks them behind my ears like right now. “Why do you love running so much?”
“It’s a habit.” His eyes get lost in the lake. “It started as a coping mechanism. Wake up at five, run at five thirty, shower at seven, breakfast at seven fifteen, studio at seven thirty, school at nine, friends or activities after school, shower at eight, studio at eight thirty, sleep at ten thirty. Keeping my life going according to schedule forbids me from having alone time and, therefore, getting stuck in my own head.”
“Is that why you fight so much for control?”
“Yes. I love patterns, methodical decisions, and living according to a plan. They make sense and keep me in check.” A small sad smile crosses his lips. “Which is why you’re a massive glitch in the matrix. You’re everything I can’t stand and wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole.”
“Baby, it’s because we’re drastically different that you couldn’t stay away.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late. I love how you couldn’t resist my dripping charm.”
“More like shameless flirting and constant pushing.”
“That comes with the charm.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You know you love it.” I wink. “Besides, you let go around me, and I’m so fucking proud of that. I want you to know that you can give up control and trust that I’ll never use your vulnerabilities against you.”
“I know,” he whispers, but the sad note in his voice throws me off, but only for a second before his face returns to normal.
I realize the topic is closed before he speaks. “What do you want to do? Any other touristy things? Maybe a pastries tour? I know a few hidden Italian and French bakeries around North West and Central London.”
“I thought you hated the touristy things and even kept apologizing to many people and whispering, ‘He’s American, sorry.’ I can’t believe they nodded in understanding and had the audacity to look like they were pitying you.”
“Well, you talk too loud and keep making eye contact with strangers until they nearly shrivel and die.”
“I thought they were stunned by my handsomeness.”
“More like appalled by your unwanted attention. We don’t do that in London.”