Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
I need Bolton. I need him. I need him. I need him. I chant it over and over in my head.
Before thinking too much about it, I grab my room key off the dresser and run out of my room, sobbing. I’m a mess. I’m wearing pajamas and forgot my shoes, but nothing matters except getting to him. I frantically press the button for the elevator to go up. There’s no one inside, thankfully. The elevator stops at several floors, but only one older man gets on.
“Are you alright, miss?” I can hear him ask, but I can’t answer him; I’m sobbing so hard. I nod, but finally, the doors open on the eighteenth floor. I run down the hallway to his room, room 1827. I pause, with my fist raised. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before tentatively knocking. I hear the deadbolt give way and almost fall down in relief.
“I said I don’t….” Even in my state, my body recognizes its need for him. “Sassy, what’s wrong?” He sounds upset; I hope I didn’t upset him; just the thought that I upset him by coming to his room makes me sob that much harder. I suck in a huge breath, hating how lost and broken I am. “Talk to me,” he demands in his hard voice. My back straightens automatically. He puts his hands on my shoulders, pulling me into his room. Just the warm weight of him touching me calms me down even further.
“I-I don’t know…I don’t know what to do.”
There, it’s out there now; hopefully he’ll put me out of my misery and help me out of this.
CHAPTER 2
BOLTON
I feel like a caged lion. Like one of those damn shifters that Lucy is always going on and on about in the breakroom. It sounds ridiculous listening to some thirty-something-year-old woman talk about fictional shit, but right now I can honestly say I feel it right now. I swear to fuck, my skin is stretching, and something inside of me is fighting to get out.
The difference is it is not a bear, or a tiger, or some shit. No, the inner me pushing against my very being, screaming to go and become who I know you are and what she needs. She being my accountant, Sassy Lahey. She is more than that, though. She is the other half of me, the missing piece to my soul, and I have known it since the moment she interviewed for the position. I am not ashamed to admit that I didn’t look at her resume once she walked in the door. I simply hired her to keep her close to me as much as possible.
Sassy is an enigma. She is this five-foot-three ball of fire. Incredibly intelligent, insightful, intuitive, and will not hesitate to put someone in their place, except me. From the beginning with me, she has been different. She is quiet and reliant, and she defers to me for everything, even shit I know she knows, and I would be a liar if I didn't admit how it feeds the animal in me. Fuck that; it gives the dominant in my gas fuel for all the things I want to do with her, teach her, share with her.
The problem is, I am also a fucking gentleman. I won’t just take her. I need to own her. To control everything in her day, including what she eats and wears. I know it sounds wrong, like I want to smother her individuality, but far from it. I want to be her warrior. I want to be the one to take care of her and stand between her and the world while she takes it by the balls and succeeds. Hell, I want to fucking own her sadness, triumphs, doubts, and successes so she never has a day of feeling alone.
I want to be her everything like she is mine; for that to happen, she must come to me. I need her to realize it and finally come to me. I want her to come to me with her problems in her hands and lay them on me. Fucking bury me in everything that is holding her back, so I break through them like the Incredible Hulk and bring the light that has been slowly diminishing in her eyes back to life. This is why I am going insane, slowly losing my mind, itching everywhere with my heart dying with each second I am not with her, inside of her, on top of her, hell, even under her.
For what feels like the hundredth time, I put the tumbler to my lips and take a minuscule sip of scotch that I can’t really taste because everything has become bland the longer I wait to claim my Taui, my prize. Hell, I have missed meetings, phone conferences, and fucked up deals because I can’t get my mind on the job right now, and that is something I can’t continue to let happen.