Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“No.”
“Fine, it’s because I have to pee.”
“Also a no. You always were a terrible liar.”
“Shut up,” I grouch with a pout. Clearly, I’m the mature one here. I hate it too. That Raiden has the ability to reduce me to this.
“You don’t really want to quit, and you don’t really hate me. This is just you throwing a tantrum because you’re pissed about something. You used to do the same thing when we were kids, so we’ll talk it out, and you’ll get over it.
I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting that being used over and over again by people who just want to get close to someone who is famous and has a ton of money isn’t something we can just talk out and get over. I want to blame it on him even though I know it’s not his fault. He’s also right. He might never have got in touch with me, but I never contacted him either, for a ton of reasons. And he probably has his own reasons too.
I hate that my more rational side is trying to make me see the logic in this. I don’t want to see the logic. I just want to stay mad. Staying mad keeps the other sensations at bay. No, it most definitely does not, my mind rebuts.
“I need to leave.” Even though I say it, I make no move to stand up.
“I’ll call you a cab. There’s no way you’re driving.”
I press my lips into a thin line. Raiden doesn’t call, I don’t call, and I don’t get up. I most definitely don’t walk out the door. Instead, we stare at each other. Whatever it is fizzling between us erupts suddenly into a full-on explosion of sparks and flames and other hot, melty stuff that I feel straight in the center of my core. I’m not sure what it is, but if I have a core somewhere near my center that encompasses a lot of things, then it’s feeling a lot of stuff at the moment.
“I want to kiss you,” Raiden says, as smoothly as if he just stated that kittens are indeed fuzzy and cute, which no one can debate.
“W-why?” I stammer. Not my smoothest moment, I know. What I really should say is no, but I can’t seem to get that little word out. I can’t seem to make myself believe I want to refuse. Maybe because all the blood just surged to my now moist lady cave. “I’m not a model.” Great. Such a great protest there.
“I know. You’re you.” Raiden’s big, smooth, warm, and strong hand cups my face, right along my cheek and jaw. Probably a little of my neck, nose, and near my eyes as well since his hands are freaking huge.
If a guy has big hands, aren’t they also supposed to have big…Stop. That’s quite enough.
I refuse to think about Raiden’s dingleberry. Great, now I’m thinking about it again.
“Me?” I squeak.
“Yes, you.”
Raiden’s eyes flutter shut, and I literally watch them close. I watch his thick lashes come into contact with his cheeks, and I watch him lean in. My stomach does a thousand cartwheels, and I know the bus is speeding toward me because I wasn’t smart enough to look both ways. And I’m about to be turned into overcooked spaghetti all over the street. But I’m all about the frantic, searing, and slightly angry clash of lips, teeth, and tongue that accompanies it.
Regret is always guaranteed. I’m just not sure which I’ll regret more though. Doing this or not doing this.
CHAPTER 7
Raiden
I thought I knew a lot about a few things. At least, my track record says that’s the case, but right now, I feel like I know a shit ton about nothing at all. Or maybe just one thing. I’m pretty sure even though I’ve dated models and actresses, Zoe is out of my league. She’s not in the same zip code as I am. She’s not even in the same universe. She’s gorgeous, confident, and not afraid to tell me to go fuck myself, even if she’d never use those words. She’d probably be polite and tell me to kindly remove myself out of her presence and take a hike to a secluded place before stimulating myself with my own hand, I guess.
But when she makes no such protests, I lean in and as soon as her soft, rose petal lips meet mine, the world starts spinning. I’m pretty sure I’m now drunk on Zoe and that the whisky doesn’t have anything to do with the way my blood is suddenly boiling.
I bury my fingers in Zoe’s soft hair. I can’t remember the last time I touched her hair. Have I ever touched her hair? Why have I not made a hobby out of touching her hair? It’s incredible. Smooth, silky, and luscious.