Total pages in book: 200
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
“What do you mean to me?” he demanded out of nowhere.
“What?” I could barely catch my breath, much less follow his train of thought. Not with him this close.
“What. Do you. Mean. To me?
“I-I don’t know.”
“Then how can you be sure you mean anything at all?”
“Because of the way you look at me,” I said without thinking. His head jerked back, and he blinked. I’d actually startled Houston Morrow. I lowered my gaze to his chest, expanding with every hard breath he took. “You look at me like I’m someone you never thought you’d see. You want me, but you can’t have me, and that pisses you off, so you punish me.”
We stood there for maybe thirty seconds, just sharing the silence before he broke it. “Braxton?”
“Yes, Houston?”
“When I look at you, I see something in my way. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Pretending that didn’t hurt was impossible, so I let him see my pain. “I’m not your enemy, Houston. I don’t want to hurt you.” When my fingers stretched to reach out to him, I curled them, keeping my hands to myself. “Any of you.”
He stared into my eyes, and I watched the internal struggle whether to believe me in his. “Maybe not now,” he partially conceded, “but you will. It’s what we do to anyone who gets too close. We make them hate us, and then we hurt them before they can hurt us.”
Pushing aside the ache in my chest, I let my anger rise.
And then I harnessed it.
“Is that what you did to each other? No wonder Rich and Loren hate you.”
He paused, and then his eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to guess how much I knew. By the time his expression cleared, I already knew I’d gone too far.
“I don’t cry over spilled milk, Fawn.” Lifting his forefinger, wet from the condensation, he traced the edge of my tank’s low neckline. On his third pass, the tip of his finger brushed my breasts. The cherries teasing my taste buds told me it wasn’t a mistake. “I’d rather clean up the mess.”
Tipping his can, he poured his energy drink down my tank until it was empty, and the purple bra I wore underneath was visible.
That. Is. It.
When my fist collided with Houston’s lip, I didn’t care about the consequences. He didn’t look surprised, either. He smiled—busted lip and all—like I’d given him exactly what he wanted. I’d proved his point. Eventually, you want to hurt them because that’s what they do. They make you crave it.
I went to hit him again.
This time he caught my wrist and squeezed.
“The first one was free. You’ll have to work for the rest.”
I smiled up at him as he waited for me to beg. “That’s the beauty of everyone underestimating you,” I told him. “They tend to drop their guard.”
Twisting just enough, I brought my sharp heel down on his foot.
“Fuck!” he barked.
He was wearing sneakers today. Lucky me.
Houston’s grip loosened enough for me to get away. I made it a single step before he caught me and forced me back under him. I was a little dazed from my back hitting the bus—enough time for him to recover control of the situation.
“Let me go.” I tried to wiggle free, but it only drained the energy from me.
“Or what?” he taunted. “It’s not like you’ll get another shot at me.”
Immediately, I stopped fighting and forced my body to relax. “That’s what you said last time.”
I winked, and Houston responded by crashing his lips against mine. As I tasted the sugar and citrus on his tongue and the cherries on mine, I heard his drink can fall to the ground.
Now both of his hands were free.
They gripped the hem of my skirt before shoving it up until I could feel the wind curling around my inner thighs and failing to cool the heat between them. Eventually, I came to my senses and broke the kiss.
“Houston—”
“No,” he cut me off and pressed his forehead against mine. “Don’t you say another word.” We were so close that with each breath he exhaled, I inhaled. We stayed like that until desire overwhelmed indecision. And then he gripped my panties in his fist. “Goddamn you, Braxton.”
One brute tug and they were gone.
My skin smarted from where the fabric had torn, but I was quickly distracted by his fingers. Pushing them between my lower lips, Houston drew my arousal like it only answered to him, and then he pushed inside of me.
“Oh, fuck, I—”
“There’s a condom in my back pocket,” he informed me. “Get it.”
His thumb found my clit, lighting up the nerves like it was the Fourth of July. He didn’t stop even when speech was no longer possible. Since I couldn’t find the words to argue, I snaked my hips, riding his hand.
And now, we come to the part of my story where I alter not just my ending but three others as well.