The Image of You Read Online Melanie Moreland

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Drama, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
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I was also blunt, outspoken, disliked them for the way they treated my girl, and I didn’t care about their opinion.

Wait until they got an eyeful of me.

We were going to hate each other, but they were going to have to get used to me.

Because I wasn’t going anywhere.

As far as I was concerned, if they walked away from Ally, her life could only get better.

And if they stayed, they were going to have to deal with me when they treated her badly. I was putting an end to that shit.

They were going to have to learn respect was a two-way street.

She needed someone to protect her.

That someone was me.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

“Stop taking my picture.”

I smirked but set down the camera on the table and picked up my coffee cup. “Stop being so fucking sexy when you sleep, then.”

She sat up, her hair a bright burst of color around her face. She glared at me drowsily, then she dragged the loose shirt back up her arm. “I highly doubt my drooling is sexy.”

“Your snoring is, though.”

“I don’t snore!” she gasped. “You’re the snorer in this relationship.”

I winked, liking the thought of being in a relationship with her. “I’ll never tell.”

“What time is it?”

“Relax. It’s barely eight. You have lots of time.”

Her shoulders loosened. “Okay.”

“I still think you should cancel.”

“No. I want to tell them today.”

“Why is it so important to do it today?”

“You might think less of me if I tell you.”

I opened my arms. “Come here, Ally.”

She scrambled out of the bed, dragging the blanket with her. When she coiled around me, she was warm and perfect. Her softness molded into my hardness, meshing perfectly. She felt right in my arms, and I wanted to be able to explore it. Explore her.

“Why today?” I asked again.

“Appearance is everything to them. We’ll be in public,” she confessed quietly.

Understanding dawned on me. “They won’t make a scene.”

“They’ll express their displeasure and let me know how much I’ve let them down, but it will all be done very civilly.” She shrugged. “Then once they’ve discussed it, they’ll summon me to let me know in private how disappointed they are in me.”

I shook my head in frustration. “They shouldn’t be disappointed. All you’re doing is what is best for you. Your life. Not theirs. I wish—” I stopped myself from finishing that statement.

“You wish what?”

“I wish they would get the fuck out of your life.”

She was resigned. “They will soon enough.”

I could make it happen faster—pay her monetary debt and help her exorcise her mental responsibility, but I held my tongue. It was too soon for that.

“Good,” I muttered instead.

“I know you don’t understand, Adam, but she’s my mother.”

I stroked her cheek, tamping down my irritation. “You’re right. I don’t understand. Because she shouldn’t treat you like this. She should support you.” I murmured. “You should never have been made to feel as though you had to do this in the first place.”

Turning her face, she kissed my palm.

“Why did you think I’d think less of you?”

“Because I’m taking the easy way out. Or at least, delaying the inevitable.”

“I think you’re brave and wonderful. I also think you’re finally getting to the point you need to do this—it’s time you live for you.” I paused. “I didn’t know Ollie, but I think he’d want that for you.”

She curled into me, her head burrowed in my chest, and I held her tight, knowing she needed my closeness and support.

She’d needed that for a long time. I’d give it to her freely and without question.

Before I drove her home, she helped me wash the sheets and make up the bed. Watching her effortlessly stuff a king-sized duvet into the cover and smooth it out without breaking a sweat was amazing. She laughed as she watched me try to imitate the way she tucked the sheets in place and fluffed the duvet on the end of the bed, standing back and admiring her handiwork. She made me move the bed twice until she was satisfied it was “in the right place.” I didn’t care; I liked her bossing me around.

I had to admit it looked good—and very inviting. So inviting, I tackled her onto the smooth sheets and kissed her passionately as we rolled around the large mattress, messing it up. When she finally escaped my clutches, her eyes were twinkling as she looked at the bed, scolding me and shaking her finger, trying to sound serious.

I propped myself up on my elbow, leering at her. “I like it better like this.”

“Why?”

I picked up a pillow and inhaled. “The sheets smell like you now. I imagine this is how the bed will look after we make love. Rumpled and messy.” I arched my eyebrow. “And smelling like us.”

Her eyes widened, and she hurried to the bathroom, leaving me laughing at her reaction.


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