Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Anyway, it feels like a relationship, doesn’t it?
It feels like something a girlfriend would do for a boyfriend and vice-versa.
Although my previous relationship was nothing like this.
I wasn’t always glued to my phone, checking and waiting for another text to come through. I wasn’t always walking around with a heightened sense of awareness of my own body, my own breaths, my heartbeats, a desperate fucking ache in my chest.
And I definitely wasn’t into giving surprises.
Which I do, at his gym.
The same one where I found him fighting.
He doesn’t fight anymore but he does go there regularly, every day in fact, to work out after work.
And while I know nothing about working out and all, I do know that it takes a tremendous amount of energy, so I bring him this shake that I whipped up. And I have to say he looks totally surprised.
Not only by me but also by the shake.
“You made that,” he rumbles, panting, staring at the mug I’m holding out.
It’s hard to talk right now, or even think, because he’s gloriously naked. Well, half naked. At some point during the workout he must’ve torn off his gym t-shirt, which is now lying discarded on the floor where he was bench pressing horrible-looking weights when I’d walked in.
So for a few seconds, all I can do is watch his tightened muscles, rippling and twitching with his rapid breaths.
Oh, and sweat.
So much of it, dripping down, pooling everywhere.
Then, gathering myself, “Uh, yes.”
“For me,” he says, his voice even more rumbly and his eyes more intense than before.
“Yes.” I swallow, still holding it out.
In response, he simply stares at me, his mouth parted, his body still feeling the aftereffects of his workout but slowly coming down from it.
I bring the mug to my chest and hug it, blushing.
Maybe I overdid it.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.
Maybe he thinks I’m stupid and too dramatic and girly.
“My mom, as you know, is a cook, right? And you also know that she teaches me things. And I saw this really amazing recipe for a dark chocolate peppermint protein shake on Pinterest. Because I know you work out a lot. And I know you’ve never said if you like chocolate or peppermint but I thought who doesn’t like chocolate or peppermint and so I made you some. Because you need it. For, uh, energy and to be able to bench press whatever it is you’re bench pressing and —”
He steps forward then, stopping me.
Thank God.
He also takes the shake from me, opens the lid and gulps it all down in one go. Like, really in one go. He also keeps watching me while he does it, his Adam’s apple going up and down and when he’s done, he caps the lid, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and comes at me.
He presses a kiss on my mouth. “Two sixty-five.”
I blink my eyes open. “W-what?”
“That’s what I bench press.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh wow. That’s —”
He comes for another kiss. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making the most delicious thing that I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh… I…” I swallow. “You’re welcome. It’s —”
He doesn’t give me the time to say my next words because he grabs my hand and begins to drag me somewhere. I have to speed-walk to be able to keep up with him, my sandals clacking on the concrete floor, the only feminine noise I realize, in this very male-dominated space. With grunts and growls and weights hitting the floor.
Soon, he’s pushing through an iron door to reveal a room with bunk beds and lockers and more benches. The same one from the night of the fight.
“Out,” he growls at someone who I didn’t even notice was lounging in one of the beds. “Now.”
Maybe it’s Reign’s voice or the sight of me all breathless that makes it happen but the guy — also shirtless and oh my God with so many bruises that I cringe — shuffles out and then it’s just me and him.
“Who was that?” I ask Reign, who’s in the process of putting the mug aside and picking me up.
He sits me down, not on the table like he did before, but on one of the benches, and kneels between my thighs. “Just a guy.”
I put my hands on his sweaty shoulders. “W-what was wrong with him?”
“He fights.” Then, licking his lips, “And apparently he doesn’t have a pink little drama queen to blackmail him into stopping.”
“Oh, I…” He pushes my dress up my thighs and I put my hand on his. “What are you doing?”
“Eating the other most delicious thing you make for me.” Then, “Well, your pussy makes that but I’m not about to discriminate.”
“Oh.”
His lips twitch and he claims my mouth in a short kiss, ending it with a lick.
“What’s this one called?” he murmurs, tipping his chin at my lips.