Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Oh, and Eliza’s.
My sister is beyond supportive, and we have adjusted without a hitch. I think it’s because she knows how much I love him. So many times, I’ve wanted to tell him, especially after each game when he comes home. He always looks so proud, so excited to see me. And when I tell him how fully he impresses me, he has his mouth on me, inside me, and owns me just the way I want. He has me in a state of constant bliss, and all I want to do is scream how utterly in love with him I am. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t yet. There have been so many opportunities, so many hidden moments when I could have just whispered my feelings, but it’s not like he has said those words to me.
I feel loved. I do. It’s little things. Like how he holds my spot in my book for me when I forget my bookmark in the shop. Or when he brings me wine for my bath. Or how he holds me at night, his nose nuzzled into my neck before he drifts off. Eliza says we’re boring, that we never go out and do things, but why do we need to? We have everything we need when we’re home. Food, books, and each other.
It’s easy—God, it’s so easy—but surely that means that something is bound to happen. I don’t know what it could be since he completely cut off his ex and my peepaw is actually keeping his word and not trying to ruin Ciaran. He isn’t trying to be Ciaran’s friend, but he isn’t being a dick, which is always a win. We are good, Ciaran and I. Really good.
I can’t help but assume the thing that will mess this up between us is the fact that I haven’t told him about my ex. I know I should, but I don’t want to. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. I never loved Peter, and we weren’t even really married. Only bound by the cult, which means absolutely nothing to me.
But Eliza’s words still haunt me, He seems like the kind of guy who wants to know anything and everything.
I probably should let him know about that part of my life since doing so would be truly closing the door on all that, but I hate the idea of giving the cult any more of my time. They got enough; I want to enjoy the life I fought for. I want to enjoy being with Ciaran. I want to tell him that I love him. That I’m proud of him. That I love being his. He is the one I chose because he makes me feel something I’ve never felt in my life.
Alive.
When I hear the front doorknob jiggle before the door opens, I look over my shoulder from my place on the ladder, which I have climbed to fix a shelf, to find him coming in. He looks up from the door, and when his eyes settle on me, heat spreads in my belly at how his eyes darken. I’m wearing only his jersey, though I know he can’t tell that. I take a step down the ladder so I can meet him halfway to congratulate him on his win, but he shakes his head and I pause.
“Don’t move.”
He shuts the door behind himself, dropping his bag to the side before leaning into the door. He has on his game-day suit, dark gray with a light-orange shirt under it, and a gray tie. “Louisa.”
I swallow hard as I turn on the ladder, sitting on one of the rungs and crossing my legs to tease him. “Ciaran.”
My lips curve, and his eyes are hooded as he drinks me in. “Tell me you’re not wearing a goddamn thing under that jersey.”
I lick my lip then trap my tongue. “Ciaran, I’m not wearing a goddamn thing under your jersey.”
He presses his hand into his chest as he lets out a long breath, rubbing the spot above his heart. “Have I told you you’re beautiful today?”
I shake my head. “Not even once.”
“I’m an asshole,” he announces, pushing off the door as he pulls at his tie. “I should have told you no fewer than a hundred times today.”
I uncross my legs and come down a step so I’m closer to eye level. “A hundred?”
He throws his tie to the side then undoes his cuff links, his beautiful blue eyes never leaving mine. He steps up to the bottom of the ladder, and I look down at him as he grips the ladder behind me. “Truly, a hundred. That’s how many times I thought it.”
Heat creeps up my chest, and I take another step down, finally meeting his eyes. They narrow as he leans in. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”