Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“I know that you’re protecting me.”
“And every reaction you have to me, and to us, is with the assumption that we’re crashing and burning. That we’re ending. That’s not good enough for me or for you. And that’s not me controlling you. That’s something—or someone else—controlling you because you let it. You want control? Take it, Faith. For now, and despite every fiber of my being wanting to undress you, strip you naked, and never let you leave again, I won’t. Because like I said, I still want you naked and willingly exposed. Willingly exposed, Faith. Like I am to you. I’ll call the pilot.” I turn and start for the door, the sum of my lies and her push to distance us zipping through me like a razor.
“Nick, wait.”
I don’t wait.
Because besides the fact that “wait” isn’t the response I’m looking for from her, there is a storm brewing inside me that I need to contain or she’ll end up naked. And then I’ll fuck her until this feeling goes away, which might be never, since I want to force her wall down, but my lies say that I don’t deserve to see it fall.
“Nick.”
She’s no sooner said my name again then she is in front of me, her hands on my chest, heat radiating through me, but I don’t touch her. I don’t want to drown truth in the fiction by way of fucking. “I need to say something to you,” she says, a seemingly nervous breath trembling from her lips. And I tell myself to think about those lips on my cock, that mouth sucking me deep and hard. I tell myself to strip her naked, fuck her, and send her on her way. I tell myself she’s every other damn woman in my life that meant nothing to me because that would be easier, but she’s not.
And it pisses me off.
“I’m done talking,” I say, my hands coming down on her shoulders, and I fully intended to set her aside.
But she fists my shirt and steps into me. “What part of ‘you are a drug’ do you not understand? A crazy, wicked drug that consumes me. I’m afraid of taking another hit, and another, and depending on that drug, and then it’s gone. I’ve never felt that about anything or anyone but my art. You and my art. I don’t know what to do with that. But I can’t—I won’t—let your money and power take control of me or us.”
Still I don’t touch her. “In or out, Faith?”
“What does that even mean?”
“You either decide that we are reaching for those possibilities, working through the ups and downs, not caving to them. Or you get out. But there is no in between for me. That’s not how I’m wired. So. You have the control right now. Decide how this plays out.”
Her lips tighten. “I will push back when you push too hard. And I won’t back off.”
“In or out, Faith.”
“In,” she says fiercely. “You know I’m in.”
I’m not sold yet. I don’t want a reply delivered by a cornered woman. “Maybe you need to think about it, because you aren’t talking like you were a few minutes ago.”
“Because like most addicts, we try to deny we’re addicted.”
“That’s not a good answer.” My hand is instantly under her hair and at the back of her neck, pulling her to me. “Is that what you want? To deny the addiction? Because I don’t deny mine, Faith. I am very much addicted to you. I’m obsessed. And nothing but all of you will be enough.”
“And if I want all of you, Nick?”
“You already have me, sweetheart. And you’re clearly trying to figure out what to do with me, but that’s okay. I’m here to offer suggestions.” My lips slant over hers, my tongue licking into her mouth, a deep stroke followed by another, and when she moans, only when she moans, do I pull back and add, “Suggestion number one: you have on too many clothes.” I catch the hem of her shirt and pull it upward, over her head.
Before it’s even hit the ground, my hand is back under her hair, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her lips back to mine. “Suggestion number two: it’s okay to do drugs when I’m your drug.” I kiss her again, and she does that thing she does, which I swear I want to experience again and again for the rest of my fucking life. She sighs into the kiss as if she can finally breathe—as if I’m the reason she breathes. She’s damn sure the reason I breathe and most definitely the reason my cock is so damn hard it could break glass.
At the feel of her hands under my shirt, on my skin, a heady rush of lust and adrenaline pulses through me, while my mind conjures all the places her hands could be next. Namely, the same place I want her mouth—my cock—though just about any place on my body would do just fine. But as much as I want her to touch me, as much as I want to be naked with her right now, I can’t focus on fucking. And holy hell, I want to fuck. But right now we have to have a conversation about control. And control isn’t about having no limits. It’s about controlling the ones you have, about owning them. And that means I’m keeping my clothes on, at least for now, while she is not.