Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
When I’m inside my bedroom, I lock the door and hurry for the bathroom. I take a long, hot shower, hoping to rid myself of any trace of Draco. I don’t want to remember what just happened. I can’t even imagine how Francesca feels—being forced to do that to another woman.
I can’t imagine myself doing it. It’s not something I’m accustomed to. I love cock, but I can’t deny how amazing it felt to have her there between my legs.
Damn it.
Stop.
Don’t think about it.
Just forget it ever happened.
Chapter Twelve
Day 10 (Continued)
There’s a window in my bathroom that I didn’t notice until now. I didn’t notice it because it’s a small, rectangular window that is high up on the wall, way above the toilet.
A toddler wouldn’t even be able to fit his head through it.
I stand on the tank of the commode, my feet hanging off the edge. My fingers grip the windowsill and as I peer out, I see nothing but shimmering, sapphire water.
A never-ending, vast body of blue.
I look to the right and that’s when I see the brown shed they have Ronaldo in. There aren’t any men outside of it today, which makes me question if Ronaldo’s still alive.
I watch the brown shed for a long time, hoping to see someone walk in or come out, but there is no movement. The sun is setting behind it. I remember knowing when the sun was setting in there, from the small window in that cell.
I hated the sunset then because it meant nightfall was coming soon. There were no lights in that cell. I could hardly see Ronaldo when it became dark—not unless the moon decided to burn bright.
Sighing, I step down from the commode. I plant my feet on top of the toilet seat and crouch a bit, but as I spin around, I spot a large body standing between the frames of the door. I clutch my chest, panting rapidly.
“What the hell?!” I blurt out.
My eyes meet heavy, brown ones, along with furrowed eyebrows.
“I put you in this room for a reason,” Draco murmurs. “The windows can’t be unlocked in here.” He takes a slow step forward. “You can’t run away. And even if you could, why would you want to?”
“I wasn’t thinking about running away.” Though it would be nice to escape.
“So what were you thinking about up there?” He gestures towards the window with a bob of his head.
I look away, unsure if I should ask. I don’t think I should. He shouldn’t know that Ronaldo and I were buddies in that cell. If he suspects it, he might break him even more. He’ll make assumptions and I can’t have that.
So I lie. “I was wondering if I could go to the beach sometime.”
He cocks his head with thin lips. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me.
The air is thick around us, and I notice how he looks from my cleavage to my legs.
“Get down,” he orders. And I step down, folding my fingers in front of me. I run one finger over the diamond ring. “You think you deserve to go to the beach, niñita?” His fingers tilt my chin and I’m forced to meet his eyes.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
He pulls his hand away. “I don’t think so. You haven’t been behaving very well.”
“How can you expect me to behave after what you did to Toni?” I spit out.
He narrows his eyes and then points his gaze down to my hands. I don’t realize that I’m twisting the ring around my finger, a nervous habit. With strict, chiseled features, he grabs my wrist and brings my hand up to view it.
Then, before I know it, his fingers are tugging at the ring, prying it off.
I yank away in an instant. “No! Stop! You can’t take it!”
He stops tugging, his angry eyes meeting mine. “Are you telling me what to do?”
“No.” I shake my head rapidly and my hair slaps my cheeks. “I’m not. I swear.” My eyes burn. “It’s all I have left of him. You can’t take it. Please,” I beg.
He holds onto my wrist, unblinking. His jaw pulses as he squeezes my wrist tighter, his fingers running over my skittering pulse.
“Fine.” He steps back, dropping my arm. So much relief floods through me. I almost want to thank him, but in an instant my relief vanishes when he says, “Since you won’t let me take it off, you take it off and hand it to me.”
I stare up at him with an expression full of horror. Is he serious?
I don’t even know why I wonder. I know he is. He doesn’t joke around. He means this.
I hold my hand against my chest, as if I’m protecting a baby. “Why are you doing this?” My voice breaks.
“Because I fucking can. Now take it off.” His voice is filled with so much rage that it confuses me to hear.