Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
I swallow thickly, my mouth suddenly dry. How do I even respond to that?
Instead of trying to come up with a response, I shove the suit jacket off my shoulders and unbutton the dress shirt with trembling fingers, shrugging it off as soon as the final button is undone.
A wave of self-consciousness washes over me now that I'm naked in the glaring overhead lights. I’m tempted to wrap my arms around my middle, and use my hands to cover myself, but I don’t.
He’s already seen all of you, fucked you, I remind myself. He crosses the space, his steps predatory, but I don’t dare look away. I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing that look in his eyes—the possession, the need to claim. It’s such a far cry from the anger and annoyance that I used to get.
“Undo my pants,” he orders.
Reaching for him, I slowly loosen the belt on his dirty dress pants until they hang open to frame the bottom of his tan eight pack. I swallow my tongue as I get a closer look at his body, inspecting it like I’ve never seen it before. Yes, I’ve seen him shirtless, but I’ve never openly stared at him, drinking in every little indent and muscle twitch.
He leans in so his face is level with mine, his green eyes burning into mine. “Fuck, Ely, you’re so beautiful. I don’t think I deserve you… actually, I know I don’t deserve you, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s too late to undo what’s done.”
Something tightens in my chest at his words, like I can't breathe around the declaration.
He grips my thighs hard and spreads them, his gaze trailing down my chest, over my belly, and then lower. The grip of his fingers changes, becoming almost painful as he takes in the sight of my body. I look down to see the red on my thighs. Not from the cuts or scratches but a lot of red right at the juncture of my thighs.
It looks worse than it really is. I’m sore, yes, but not any more than I expected to be after the first time. I can almost feel his guilt building, stirring deep in his gut. I don’t want him to be sorry or feel bad. I don’t want him to regret what we shared.
“Sebastian...”
Even as he holds me with all the possession and pride, a tinge of guilt reflects in his eyes when he lifts his gaze back up to mine.
“I should’ve been gentler. Fuck. I’m sorry, Ely. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, you didn't!” His expression is tortured, and I lift a hand to soothe the rigid line of his jaw. “I'm fine, I promise. Better than fine. It's just a little blood...everyone bleeds—”
“Yeah, they might bleed, but it doesn’t need to look like a fucking bloodbath. God. What is wrong with me? Your first time should’ve been different. Instead, I took you in the woods like a fucking animal—”
“Stop, please. I loved it.” Grasping his face with both hands, I force him to meet my gaze. “I fucking loved it, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Please don’t guilt yourself into regretting what we did.”
He gives me a small smile, and my heart clenches a little in my chest. “I could never regret what we did.” Gently, he strokes the inside of my thigh. ““I can’t get over the fact that I’m your first, and I know it’s fucked up but I’m almost sad to clean you up. It feels like I’m washing away the proof that you’re mine, that I’m your first.”
Oh crap. The reminder of Tanya’s pregnancy test pops into my head, ruining the moment. I already told him it wasn’t mine, but I haven’t explained anything more.
I wince. “We haven’t really talked about it, but…”
Shaking his head, he presses a finger to my lips. “No. Stop. I don’t want to know right now. All I want is to sink as deep as I can into this moment with you. Fuck everything else. The problems will still be there tomorrow; let’s take tonight for us.”
I nod and open my mouth to tell him I’d enjoy nothing more than that, but before I can speak again, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me into the shower. His gaze gravitates back down to my thighs, like he’s trying to take a picture with his eyes. Once he has me under the hot spray, he steps out and quickly shoves off his pants and shoes. I stand there staring like a stalker.
How can a man look as beautiful as he does?
He might as well be a Greek statue, every muscle perfectly formed and sculpted like he’s cut from stone. The glaring overhead light that makes me feel boxy and short highlights every beautiful curve on his body. He’s a masterpiece. A priceless art piece.