Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Far away from anyone who can hurt her.
I pull her closer.
She rolls her hips with the beat, grinding against me, driving me mad with the perfect friction.
Why did I wear a designer suit? I should have worn a suit of armor. Or a chastity belt.
Whatever it takes to keep my slacks zipped.
She turns and melts into me again. Her ass against my pelvis, her back against my chest, her head falling into the crook of my neck.
Again, my hands disobey my command. One goes to her hips. The other wraps around her neck.
She gasps and arches into me. "Max."
This is beyond a casual dance. This is beyond an inappropriate dance.
This is completely and totally over the line.
And I don't care.
I need her warmth, her groan, her bliss.
I reach for some hit of sense, but nothing comes. My body is too tuned to hers. My brain is too tired.
All these nights, fighting with myself, trying to avoid the ugly thoughts in my head. I'm out of willpower.
I pull her closer.
She rocks against me, grinding with perfect slow circles, driving me out of my fucking mind again and again.
It's too much. It's not enough.
I need to be inside her.
I need to taste her cunt.
I need to come immediately.
"Let's talk." Finally, I find a hint of sense, but I lose it just as quickly. "Upstairs."
She turns and hooks her arms around my neck. "Upstairs?"
I nod.
She stares into my eyes. For a long moment, she stays close, her lips inches from mine, her posture screaming kiss me.
I haven't kissed her. I haven't kissed anyone new in a long time.
Hell, I haven't kissed anyone in a long time.
But I'm desperate to claim every inch of Opal.
Get a fucking grip. She's beyond off-limits.
There's no willpower left in the reservoir, nothing but a deep, endless need to touch her.
I pull back, hoping the loss of contact will allow blood to return to my brain.
It doesn't.
I press my palm into her lower back and lead her through the crowded space. The bouncer at the staircase nods with recognition and unhooks the velvet rope.
Opal's fingers trail against the railing as she moves up the stairs. Her hips sway. Her dress rides up her ass.
Pink.
She's wearing something pink under her dress.
The same shade as her shoes.
Another soft, sweet pair?
Immediately, the image forms in my mind. Opal Pierce, in only her shoes and panties, my tie around her wrists.
Fuck.
I follow her up the stairs.
She looks around curiously, noting the semi-secluded space.
A group of friends sits in the corner of the balcony, watching the action as they sip a two-hundred-dollar bottle of Belvedere.
A couple trading dirty promises on a velvet love seat.
Two people making out against the wall.
And then my seat. The couch hidden behind a sheer curtain.
"Here." I lead her past the red lace. "Do you want a drink?"
She shakes her head and takes a seat.
I slide across from her, but it's barely any distance. A foot maybe. And I have a better view of her.
The red lips, the curious eyes, the part of her thighs.
The harness covering her chest—
Instantly, my blood returns to my cock. There's no way I can have this conversation in this state.
But what the fuck can I say?
She plucks one of the bottles of water from the table, unscrews the cap, takes greedy sips. "Thanks." She offers me the other, copying my gesture from last time.
But there isn't a last time, because there isn't a this time or a next time.
I'm here to end this infatuation.
I try to find the words, some way to start, but it's all bullshit.
"You should stay hydrated." She takes another sip, caps her bottle, sets it on the low table.
"I appreciate the advice." The water is too warm. It does nothing to cool my temperature or lower my heart rate.
She looks up at me, curious and frustrated. "Are you going to tell me why you happened to be here tonight?"
"Would you believe me?"
"Would you believe I told you the name of the club on accident?"
"No."
She raises a brow no. "Then why are you here? If the night didn't matter?"
"You know why."
"Do I?"
"Opal—"
"I'm aware of my name. If you're here to feed me more bullshit, I'll go." She taps the leather couch with her bright pink nails. "I respected your wishes, every one of them. If you're so twisted over the possibility of me with someone else—"
"I can't stop thinking about you."
"How do you think I feel?"
She can't be as fixated as I am. She's young and beautiful. There are a million men who would kill for the chance to teach her.
She has her issues, sure, but she's sunshine.
She's not darkness.
Fuck. I'm doing it again. The same way I did to Raul.
She's beautiful and bright.
She still hurts.
Everyone does.
"I don't want things to be awkward," she says. "At school. But that's impossible now, isn't it?"