Over My Dead Body (Denver Royalty #2) Read Online Sheridan Anne

Categories Genre: Biker, MC Tags Authors: Series: Denver Royalty Series by Sheridan Anne
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
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Something else is going on, something that’s eating him up, which he’s refusing to talk about. And for something to have such a profound effect on him, it’s big. Really fucking big.

Whatever it is, I just hope he’ll come to me when he’s ready.

At the end of the night, Carter takes my hand and leads me upstairs to his old bedroom. He loses his suit and lays down on the bed while I put on a show of getting out of my dress and undoing my hair. He’s always loved it when I perform for him. He’s such a physical being, and I love that about him, and tonight, he’s no different. He watches me with an intense desire in his eyes, and all I can think about are those sultry words he uttered in my ear on the dance floor, but as his eyes lift to mine, I realize they’re still clouded by something dark, something I don’t understand.

I strip out of my underwear and make my way toward him, crawling across the bed and between his legs. Perhaps he needs a release after the massive day we’ve had. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I crawl right up on top of him, straddling his waist, and Carter’s hands instantly find my hips, but it seems too robotic, as if he’s just going along with the motions. Usually, he gives a squeeze and splays his fingers to feel more skin or pulls me in tighter, but this . . . there’s nothing.

Trying not to overthink it, I lower myself to him and press a kiss to his lips. His hand slowly travels up the center of my back and comes to a stop in my hair, prompting me to deepen the kiss, but he’s not into it. Instead, he pushes me away, and I sit up with a frown as I try to work him out, heavy rejection tearing through my chest.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he murmurs, regret in his dark eyes. I don’t reply because quite frankly, I’m fucking confused. Over the past two years, he has never once turned me down, not ever. “Can we just . . . sleep?”

Sleep?

“Um . . . yeah, of course,” I say, knowing damn well he hears the hurt in my tone, though I try not to let it show. I climb off him and slide in under the sheets beside him, the same way I do every night, only this time, I’ve never felt so far away from him.

Carter pulls me into his chest, and his hand strokes up and down my arms as we lay in silence, both of us wide awake, struggling with the demons inside our heads. A single tear falls down my cheek and splashes onto his warm chest, knowing whatever is going on, it’s somehow going to tear me apart.

After hours of going through every possible scenario in my head, desperately trying to work out what’s got him acting so strange, sleep finally comes. And all I know is, come morning, I wake up to find myself lying alone in an empty, cold bed.

Chapter 3

CARTER

I sit at the breakfast bar of my parents’ estate hating myself.

Despite only crashing in the early hours of the morning, I’ve never endured such a long night in my life. I laid awake, unable to silence the demons tormenting my mind as I held Bri while she slept. What I have to do . . . it makes me sick. I fucking hate myself for having to do this. Just knowing the intense, soul-shattering heartache and pain I’m going to cause has haunted me all night, but it’s for the best.

Holding onto this for my own selfish desire is sickening, so no matter how much it’s going to destroy me, I have to do it. What other choice do I have?

Hearing someone approach from behind me, I put up all my walls, terrified it might be her, terrified this is going to come sooner than I’m ready for. And not having the strength to face what might be coming, I don’t even attempt to look up, too fucking ashamed of myself to figure out who stands behind me.

The kitchen cupboards open and close, followed by the sound of someone searching through the fridge, and from the subtle scent of lavender dancing in the air, I can tell it’s not my girl.

A glass filled with orange juice clinks against the kitchen counter in front of me. “You look like shit,” Sara says, her voice cutting through the tragic thoughts that have tormented me all night. “Spill the beans, Carter. What’s going on?”

I shrug my shoulders, not willing to voice anything just yet because the second I do, it becomes too fucking real. “Carter,” she demands, her tone low and forceful. “I’ve known you for fifteen years. I know when something’s bothering you. And you know me well enough to know I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”


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