Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Harsh eyes.
Completely-devoid-of-emotions eyes.
I’ve always seen him as detached, with ice in his veins instead of blood, but this is the first time I’ve witnessed it firsthand.
And that iciness? It’s currently seeping underneath my skin and hooking against my darkest part.
“Are we fucking clear, Annika?” The lethal sound of his voice hits my skin like a whip.
I can’t help the slight jump in my shoulders or the dryness in my throat, despite my attempts to stand strong.
Swallowing, I nod slowly.
“You have a voice. Use it.”
Tchaikovsky.
Come have a word with this guy because he has no business sounding so infuriatingly hot when he’s bossy and controlling.
“Yeah,” I murmur and attempt to smile. “Can you let me go now?”
“Quit that fucking habit of smiling when you’re uncomfortable. You’re not a bloody doll.”
How…the hell does he know that?
I’ve perfected my fake smile so well that no one can read through it, so why can he?
The act has become so subconscious that I don’t pay it any attention anymore.
So why does he?
A cloud of disapproval cloaks around him like a second skin as he presses closer, the length of his body crushing against mine. “Tell me, Annika. Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts?”
My chest saturates with a carnal urge that even I can’t put a name to, and I have to clear my throat to be able to speak. “You know, it was crazy after the fire, and Jeremy kind of confiscated my freedom.”
“He didn’t confiscate your phone, which you used to talk to everyone else but me just fine.”
Shit.
Considering his nature, I was so sure that he wouldn’t focus on that detail, so I didn’t pay attention to that angle.
Apparently, that was a mistake.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my wrists and the rich timbre of his voice lowers further. “Answer me.”
“Feels bad to be left on Read, doesn’t it?” I deflect, grabbing onto my composure with bloodied fingers.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“What? I didn’t realize you were the only one with Read privileges. I thought I’d try and see how it feels, and it’s safe to say, your reaction kind of sucks. Might keep it up if I’m in the mood. Also, can you speak without touching me?”
He grips me tighter, not only disregarding my last request, but also doing the exact opposite. I’m assaulted by his otherworldly presence, striking warmth, and addictive scent all while trying to remain unaffected.
Chances of actually succeeding? In the negative.
“What are you playing now, little purple?”
My heart and mind war for an appropriate reaction to his words. A part of me wants to pull out of this charade, save everyone the trouble and bury myself in my bubble.
But the other part, the part that falters at the little purple nickname, claws and bangs, demanding to be set free.
“Can you remove the little before purple?”
“You are little.” His fingers flex on my flesh and the air shimmers with his assertive intensity.
“I’m going to be eighteen soon, you know.”
“It’s not about your age.”
“Then…what is it about?”
His eyes shift, growing hot as he rakes them over my face and heaving chest. “You’re so small and breakable that I’m always craving to bite, bruise, mark, and pound the fuck out of your tiny cunt while you cry because you can’t take it anymore.”
I should be a lot of things right now, including horrified, petrified, creeped out, but standing here so shamelessly hot and embarrassingly wet is definitely not one of them.
Damn him and his surprisingly dirty mouth. It’s like I’m getting to know a completely different Creighton.
“I’m asking you for the final time. What are you playing at, Annika?”
“No games,” I murmur. “I’ve just been thinking about your warnings and decided to take them seriously. I won’t bother you anymore. I swear on Tchaikovsky’s grave, cross my heart and hope to die.”
His expression remains the same, short of a slight tic in his jaw. “Too late.”
“What?”
“I’m not letting you go.”
My heartbeat skyrockets and my whole body seems to mold into his hold. “But—”
“Shut up.”
“Shouldn’t you want me gone? That’s what you’ve been campaigning for since we met.”
“Shut the fuck up, Annika.”
My lips purse and I tighten my thighs. This controlling side of him affects me in ways I refuse to admit and rushes to places I refuse to name.
He releases my hands and steps back. My stomach sinks as I consider that maybe he thought things through and decided it’s not worth it, after all.
But Creighton doesn’t leave.
Instead, he shoves a hand in his pocket, and I realize he does that when it seems like he’s stopping himself from doing something.
Like a storm that comes to an abrupt ending.
“Sit on the table.”
My gaze flicks to the only table in the space—my small desk that’s pushed against the wall with a stack of paperwork on top.
“W-why?”
“Quit asking questions. When I say sit on the table, you sit on the fucking table.”