Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
I had several, each attached to an awful experience my mind had become adept at repressing.
There was a jagged, silvery line that ran down the centre of my left knee from when Jesse pushed me down the stairs of the second floor of the penthouse. He’d come home from work pissed after losing a case. I’d said something along the lines of “You can’t expect to win them all,” and a flip switched. He dragged me by the hair, spouting foul words in my face before roughly shoving me down the steps.
I’d fallen harshly, landing on my hands and knees on the tile floor, my left knee split open. I’d stitched it up myself with a first-aid kit which left the scarring much worse than if I’d gone to the hospital.
Ever since then, that same knee ached when it was cold out.
I never wore earrings because the one time I’d bought a pair of colourful, dangly ones that I’d planned to wear to work. Jesse had demanded to know who I was dressing myself up for, and when I’d repeatedly told him there was no one—which was the truth—he’d spat at me, said I was a lying bitch, and yanked one of the earrings right out of my ear. I could still hear my own scream and feel the agony he’d left me in. That time, I’d gone to the hospital, telling a fake story about the earring getting caught in the elevator door that led to my apartment. They’d believed me, but I was hours late to work that day, showing up after lunch with a small bandage where my husband had callously yanked out my earring.
If you looked closely enough, you could still see the cut.
And there were more scars, broken bones, too, more painful memories, but—
“Charli,” Rhys said, his voice dragging me from my thoughts. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry,” I whispered, not wishing to explain where my mind had ventured.
“Hey,” he whispered back. “Maybe you’re pushing yourself too far.”
I shook my head vehemently, refusing to let my trauma ruin the perfect moment. I wouldn’t let Jesse’s mark on me taint the lovely bubble I existed in when I was alone with Rhys. “I’m okay. I don’t want to stop.”
He studied me a moment then nodded. I climbed off him and stretched out next to him, caressing his cheek before requesting, “Please kiss me.”
Rhys made a deep, short grunt then closed the distance between us and brought his mouth to mine. It started out soft, just a light brushing of lips, but soon deepened into something hungrier. Before I knew it, I’d thrown my leg over his waist and was grinding myself on his thick thigh as we devoured one another with lips, teeth, and tongue. My hand went to his erection that was hard as steel in his pants.
“Do you have any condoms?” I asked between kisses, and Rhys groaned, his eyes opening briefly to shoot me a tortured look.
“Yes, but … maybe we shouldn’t.”
“I want you. I want to feel you inside me again. I’ve missed you,” I practically whined, completely lost to desire and my need to be connected to him on the most primal level.
“I don’t want you to do anything you might regret.”
I met his gaze resolutely. “Not a possibility, not with you.”
Something possessive claimed his features though he still seemed hesitant, so I blurted desperately, “I haven’t had sex in almost four years, and I want to break that dry spell with you, but if you don’t want me—”
At this, he practically growled as he dragged me beneath him and claimed my mouth in a way that made my toes curl before coming up for air. “There is no universe where I don’t want you, Charli,” he rumbled, pressing his erection firmly between my thighs and rutting against me.
The next few minutes were a blur of Rhys and I tearing each other’s clothes off. Before I knew it, I was lying beneath him on the bed, completely naked as he explored every inch of me with his mouth and skilled fingers. It was the middle of the day, and Rhys could see all of me. He didn’t miss a thing, his eyes and tender palms sweeping over every old scar. His dark brows pulled together, a flicker of a murderous expression in his eyes as several thoughts and correct suspicions filled his mind. I’d already told him about Jesse, but I knew seeing the marks of his abuse made it so much more real for Rhys. Still, I was glad when he didn’t comment on them, instead taking his time to kiss each scar as though he could erase them with his tenderness. A tightness clutched my throat, and I thought I might cry to be touched so softly, so reverently.
I just about managed to hold it together.