Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
She gave it, but she had mine right back.
Jesus Christ, she had mine right back.
We were both fucking doomed, finding each other in one unholy mess of pure life carnage with no way on this earth we’d ever negotiate the fallout. Ghosts of a former life that consumed us both amongst a shitstorm of pain, and regret, and bullshit.
If only there was just a sliver of light left between us – a chance to fix that beautiful spark we’d had so strong, so long ago. But I didn’t feel one. Not from Anna. Not as that song played loud.
I spun her away from me with a grunt and wrapped my arm snug around her neck. She rested her head back against my shoulder and breathed heavy against my grip, and I moved for the both of us, rocking to the pulse of the music and sliding my fingers right down to her sacred spot.
Again.
She’d come for me again.
She shuddered and tried to buck away but I wouldn’t let her. I kissed her temple and held my mouth pressed tight.
She stumbled on trembling legs, and her hands reached back to steady herself, her weight holding itself up with mine. And as the song reached its climax, she did too.
It was pure fucking magic.
My filthy little minx lost every tiny scrap of restraint her body had left and cried out for me, her throat humming against my arm as her nails dug into my hips.
I loved her like that.
I’d always loved her like that.
I’d always loved every little scrap of her soul with every scrap of mine, I’d just been too much of a prick to ever deserve her.
She came down as the music changed, and she didn’t start up again, just moved away from me with ragged breaths and took a cigarette straight from the pack.
The song was real to her. The pain was real to her. I could see it all over her face.
I opened another prosecco and took a swig from the bottle, then turned the volume down on the stereo and waited for her to speak.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, stating the obvious.
“I shouldn’t be drinking wine from the bottle,” I replied, stating the obvious. “But I want it.”
She took a long drag and turned away from me.
“Shall we talk about it?” I asked. “Cover some damn fucking ground that’s been churned up for a decade?”
She held a hand up. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t want to talk about shit with you.”
I chanced it. I closed the distance and wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, but this time there was no quest for her clit in my motives, just the solid press of my skin to hers.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and she tensed. “I’d have said it a thousand times already, but I couldn’t.”
“Stop,” she hissed, and tried to tug away from me, but I held on tight.
“Just let me say it.”
“I don’t want you to say it,” she snapped. “I don’t want you to say anything, I just want your fucking dick.”
There was an unwarranted pang in my gut at the coldness in her voice. She wrenched herself free until her eyes were on mine, then carried on.
“Believe me, Lucas. I like your dick a hell of a lot more than I like you.”
I took a cigarette out of the pack. “Fine. Have my dick all you like, just know that I’m sorry.”
“A one off,” she said. “This is a one off, remember?”
I laughed. “This is already a two off, remember?”
She didn’t laugh along with me. “It’s a very long one off. This weekend and then it’s see you later. Farewell. Enjoy the next decade.”
I don’t think either of us truly believed that, but she wanted to. I didn’t fight her resolve, just shrugged.
“Sure thing. We’d better make the most of it then, hadn’t we?”
But she was done. Spent and bristling and fighting off whatever burst of hurt was blooming down deep. I’d no doubt there would be a lot of it.
“Take me home, please,” she asked, but I shook my head.
“Sorry, but I can’t take you home after a fuck ton of wine.”
“Call me a taxi, then,” she pushed, but I shrugged again.
“It’s expensive and pointless. I’ll take you home in the morning, I’m on my way in anyway, just rest up a few hours.”
“Ah, yes,” she said. “Some massive high flyer at GCHQ now, aren’t you? You must be there for about four a.m.”
“I’m a director of security and cryptography. Hardly some massive high flyer, and hardly four a.m.”
She stubbed her cigarette out and filled her sports flask up with water. I watched her fingers fumble with her bag from the floor and pull out a tray of tablets.
My gut struck up with another pang, and my words kept on coming.