Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’m bare.” He rested his forehead against mine, clearly fighting for control. The condoms were upstairs.
“I’m on the pill,” I reminded him. “It’s okay.” It was a hard line for him, but in that moment, I didn’t care. I’d just given him my soul. He could break his rule for me.
“Zoe.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, you feel too good.”
“Either you trust me, or you don’t.” I would never trap him with a baby or set my career back by starting a family before I was ready with a man who clearly didn’t want one.
His eyes snapped open. “I trust you.”
“I love you.” Then I was the one kissing him to keep from answering, because the statements weren’t equal and I knew it. There was no equal footing here.
He tangled his fingers in my hair and moved, taking me hard and slow, both of us straining for the other as we came together over and over, each thrust better than the last. The kiss broke, both of us breathing heavily, sweat beading on our skin as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter.
I fought it, holding his gaze as I held his body, knowing that, in this moment, our need for the other was equal. Then his hand glided across my thigh, then between them, and he used his thumb to tease me to the edge.
My body trembled, my muscles locking tight around him.
“Yes. God, yes. You’re right there. So beautiful.” It was the look in his eyes as he said it that shoved me into bliss.
I unraveled, coming so hard I lost my grip on him, but he held me tight, finding his own release just a few thrusts later.
After we were cleaned up, he carried me to bed, then stripped my robe off and curled his body around mine, fading quickly to the deep even breaths of sleep.
The clock changed number after number before I realized we hadn’t even drunk the tea that had taken us downstairs in the first place…yet he was passed out and at peace.
The nightmares. The buzz. The constant refusal to go back to Seattle—to real life. The insatiable need with which he reached for me in the middle of the night, often pulling me from sleep with his mouth and hands…
You naïve little fool.
He’d replaced one addiction for another.
I’d become his fix.
My sleep was restless, and when I woke for what felt like the hundredth time and the sun was already up, I slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Nixon. He looked younger when he slept, peaceful in a way he never was while awake, which only seemed to make his nightmares even less fair.
I dressed in my own room, though it really wasn’t mine anymore. It was just where I kept my clothes. Nixon and I hadn’t spent a night apart since October.
How could I have been so complicit I didn’t think to press pause—to pump the brakes? I’d challenged the house, sure, but I hadn’t refused it. I’d accepted everything he’d given and thrown my heart into these last few months with the knowledge they’d come to an end.
I’d tortured myself with the question of whether Nixon wanted me. If he needed me the way I did him. I’d never asked myself if he should.
The full cups of tea were the only evidence of what had happened last night, and within a few minutes, I had them in the dishwasher, my body on autopilot while my mind raced.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Nixon said as he came up behind me and enveloped me in his arms, and like the lovesick girl I was, I pressed a kiss to his bicep, just beneath where his sleeve began.
The doorbell rang.
“What the fuck? It’s seven o’clock in the morning. I’ll get it.” He kissed the top of my head, then headed for the door.
I put my coffee mug under the Keurig and pressed brew.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nixon shouted from the entry hall.
I abandoned my coffee and raced for the door.
“I’ve got it,” he called over his shoulder at me, his back filling the majority of the doorway.
“Is that her? Maybe she can talk some sense into you!” a woman shouted.
My stomach pitched.
“You don’t get to speak to her. Not now. Not ever,” he snapped. “Get the hell off my property.”
“I’m not going to hurt her, for Christ’s sake,” the woman argued.
“Mr. Winters—” a deep voice interrupted.
“I’m not giving you a chance to hurt her. Get. Out.”
I eased to Nixon’s side, getting my first clear view of the porch. A tall, well-dressed man grimaced behind a middle-aged woman with curly blond hair.
“Tacoma,” I whispered, then looked up at Nixon.
Blatant horror stared back at me.
16
ZOE
“Zoe,” Nixon begged.
I wasn’t sure what for. Did he want me to walk away? To ignore that the very fan who’d tried her best to claw her way past Chris was now standing on our front porch in the middle of Colorado?