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)
And I’m getting him his best friend back.
“I’m going to tell Lucas that it was me. I made the first move. And if he wants to be mad about that then he can be mad about that. But he can’t just forgive me and not you. He has to forgive us both. He has to take both of us back, not just me. It’s not fair to you. It’s not fair after everything that you’ve been through and after everything that you’ve done for him.”
I know that a kiss is a kiss, and that Reign did kiss me back after his initial non-participation.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I was the one who started it.
And while I’ve kept it a secret all this time, I think I need to let it out. I decided it right after his phone call. Exactly the moment when I decided that I’m not giving up Reign; although there was no decision involved there, but still.
Lucas needs to know everything and he needs to forgive his best friend. And again, if that makes me a bad girlfriend then so be it. I’ll find other ways to be good.
“You did, didn’t you?” he says in a low voice.
My nod is jerky, ashamed. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“What?”
In response, he puts his hands on me.
On my waist and holds on. Like he did when he carried me over like spoils of war. And I’m not going to lie, I love it. I also love how he’s shifting between my spread thighs, adjusting our positions so we’re even more locked together.
Good.
I wind my arms around his neck too, even more firmly and tightly, and hold on.
I don’t want him going anywhere.
He can’t go anywhere.
“Why did you make the first move?”
His softly rasped question makes me come out of my happy daze and blink. “What, what do you mean?”
Keeping his eyes intent and steady, he says, “You hated me back then, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So then,” he licks his split lip, “why did you come on to me?”
I swallow. “I… It was… It was a mistake.”
His fingers on my waist tighten for a few seconds, almost fisting my dress. “Was it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Y-you know that already. I made a mistake. We both did.”
Hasn’t that been established already?
A mistake. We both made it.
So I don’t know why we’re talking about this now.
But apparently we are because he continues, now with his hands moving up and down my waist, “Interesting mistake though, isn’t it? Kissing your boyfriend’s best friend.”
His large, warm hands go from my ribs down to my waist, spanning my entire torso, his thumbs meeting in the middle of my tight tummy.
It’s distracting.
It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying, what he’s asking me when he’s stroking my entire belly like this.
So intimately.
More intimately than I can bear.
So I try to get away from him.
I try to unlock my ankles from his back and slide my arms away from his neck. But he doesn’t let me. He gathers me close, with both his hands going down to my thighs and hiking them up along his sleek waist.
Before leaning over me again and murmuring, “A mistake is something like forgetting an anniversary, for example. Or forgetting your boyfriend’s birthday. Getting your girlfriend a rose instead of a fucking daisy, which happens to be her favorite flower. That’s a mistake.”
“It was,” I tell him, my fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “I told you a million times that it was. I made a mistake. I don’t know why we’re talking about this. I don’t know —”
“We’re talking about this,” he squeezes my waist, making me arch my spine, “because kissing your boyfriend’s best friend isn’t a mistake.”
“That’s —”
“Kissing your boyfriend’s best friend is a secret forbidden wish.”
I shake my head. “N-not for me.”
His reddish-brown eyes are penetrating, knowing. “No?”
While mine are frantic and wide. “No. I never thought about you in that way. I never thought… I didn’t even want anything to do with you. I don’t want anything to do with you, not like that.”
Oh God.
Oh my God.
I’m panicking. I’m panicking.
Because his dark eyes look predatory.
Animalistic.
That glint. That smirk.
Why is he smirking?
Why is he roving his eyes all over my face, my parted and trembling mouth?
Before moving down to my body. And I do too.
I can’t resist it.
I can’t resist staring at what he’s staring at.
And it arrests my breaths, my thoughts for a few seconds, how we are.
How my dress is all hiked up, baring more of my thighs than I usually do. And whatever is bared is hugging his sleek, sweaty waist.
And how intimate we look like this.
How our bodies are so in contrast with each other.
I’m so pale and creamy. And he’s so summery and olive-toned.
How my thighs are all fleshy and soft. And how there are freaking cuts on his obliques, a ladder in his abs. That V going down to his boxing shorts.