Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I lean in and place a hand on his shoulder.
He immediately jolts up and spins on his heels to look at me, his bare, tattooed chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he takes. “Don’t.”
“But it’s not your fault,” I say, frowning.
His face contorts as though I said something heinous. “I could’ve stopped them. I could’ve gone after you, could’ve protected you.” He shoves his fingers in his hair and marches back and forth in an agitated manner. “I was too fucking late.”
I shake my head. “You were there. That’s all that matters.”
He makes a face. “No, it doesn’t. I chased you away. You ran into those woods because of me.” He points at the window, which looks out upon the forest. “You ran because of what I didn’t tell you.”
I know what he’s talking about. The sole reason for the fight at that party. “You and Ariane were a thing.”
He tilts his head, his nostrils flaring. “And now I realize she didn’t tell you for a reason.”
“She lied to me,” I say. “She didn’t even tell me this was your home.”
And boy … what a home.
There are a lot of things I didn’t know about Cole.
Like that he would be the one, out of all the people there, to come to my rescue, to protect me from three boys, one of which was his own damn band member.
And as we stare at each other for a second, I can’t help but say the words that have been floating in my head ever since he hugged me in the woods.
“Thank you.”
His face darkens and twists into shapes I’ve never seen before. “Look at me, Monica. Look at me!” he yells with pain in his eyes. I’ve never seen him that serious. “I’m a fucking monster. A player. An asshole. A bully. Don’t ever say fucking thank you.”
“You saved me,” I respond, clutching the blanket.
“Oh, and that’s enough?” he growls.
“No, but it’s a start,” I retort.
He snorts and shakes his head repeatedly before picking up a lamp and smashing it into the wall with a loud roar. I jolt up and down from the noise as the glass shatters into tiny pieces.
He stands there, watching his own destruction like a beast uncaged wanting to rip through everything he can find.
Including me.
But I won’t let him destroy the good inside his heart even though he so desperately wants to … just to prove to himself that it wasn’t all for nothing.
That he didn’t bully me for nothing.
That he didn’t make me hate him for nothing.
Because that’s what this has always been about.
Keeping me at bay.
But I’m not going to let him push me away anymore.
He knows my darkest secret now, the one thing I’ve tried to keep him from finding out.
Now it’s my turn to ask.
“Do you really want me to hate you?” I drop the blanket even though it was the only thing covering my barely dressed body.
He glances at me for a second, full of unbridled fury and untethered emotions before retreating into the bathroom. The shower is turned on. I get up from the bed and follow him inside. He’s already standing under the water, naked, the sweatpants casually discarded on the floor. For a few seconds, I watch the rivulets of water slide down his muscular back and along the crevice of his ample ass while he runs his fingers through his hair. He places one foot forward and one hand on the wall, his head lowered while he gazes at the water pooling beneath his feet. I wonder what he’s thinking about right now. If he’s still fighting the turmoil in his head.
If I can take away the pain for him like he did for me.
He couldn’t answer my question, but the truth is far closer to what I said than what he’d ever dare to admit.
Hating him is the easier option. But I don’t like easy. I never have.
So I pull off my dress and take off my panties, throwing them all into a corner before I step inside with him.
He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes flickering with that same hunger every time he sees my body. I step closer and wrap my arms around him, my hands on the thick slabs of his chest, feeling every breath he takes.
They’re constricted and labored as though he’s struggling not to react. I push myself against him, my nipples hardening against his skin.
His body grows rigid as he fights the urge. “What are you doing?”
“What I want …” I mumble, letting the heat rush over me as I finally let myself acknowledge the truth.
I want him. I want him so fucking badly. And I always have.
Even when I said he was bad for me or that he was an asshole.
I hated him for making me lust over him.