Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. With her limp body perched on the counter, he slapped her face. “Wake up, sweetheart.”
Her eyes fluttered, and a scowl bent her lips.
God, how he ached for her to smile at him with those captivating eyes all lit up and dimples denting her pretty cheeks. But why?
His chest tightened. He knew why, and it surfaced a childhood pang, the old starving need to see his mother gaze upon him with the same kind of smile, just once. Just a hint that she might've loved him. But all that memory offered was a boy's squashed hope and a dead mother.
He grunted deep in his chest just to hear the masculine sound of his very adult voice. He wasn't that needy boy anymore. He didn't have to depend on his mother or look to Liv for happiness. He could take what he needed from whomever he wanted.
He shook her, and her head rolled on her shoulders.
“Stop fucking hitting me.” Her voice growled with grogginess, her hostile look lost through heavy blinks.
He supported her neck with a hand and softly traced her frowning lips. “When was the last time you smiled, Amber? A real smile?” Liv used to smile at him. When she was plotting his death.
Sitting on the counter, she glanced around the bathroom, orienting herself, as the tension in her body awakened beneath his fingers. When her startled gaze locked on the covered windows beyond the door, her shoulders relaxed, but her hands jumped to cover her tits and lap—and the dried come that coated her skin beautifully. Did she really think she could hide from him?
Gripping her wrists, he pinned them to the counter behind her and wedged his denim-clad hips between her thighs.
Strands of blond hair stuck to the tracks of dried tears on her face. Her brown eyes were so light beneath the glare of the vertical sconces they burned a golden hue. Even tinged pink from exhaustion, they radiated a blinding energy. Absolutely stunning.
Her brows pulled together as she regarded him. “My last smile?”
He nodded, and because her lips were so fucking tempting, he leaned in and kissed them. Just a tease of warm, gliding flesh.
She didn't kiss back but didn't pull away either as she spoke against his mouth. “You were on my porch and asked me if I was going to give you herpes.”
The race of his heart drummed in his ears. She'd smiled at that? He had made her smile?
She cleared her throat and put an inch between them. “I should thank you for wearing a condom, but I'm not feeling very thankful at the moment.”
Shifting her wrists to one hand and pressing them against her back, he opened the drawers beneath the vanity. “I'm clean of STDs, checked regularly. I'll show you the bloodwork later.” He leaned back and gave her a few moments to scan the contents of the drawers.
One held six shades of brown hair dye and multiple boxes of each. Her eyebrows and lashes were dark, but since her cunt was shaved and her roots didn't show, he wasn't sure which was closest to her natural color. A home STD test kit waited in the other drawer.
Fascinating how her eyes dismissed the test and instead studied the boxes of dye like they held all the mysteries of the world.
He bent his knees so their faces were level. “I'm going to release your arms. You are not to cover yourself.”
Her jerky nod didn't tear her eyes from the drawer. When he let go, her hands flew to her hair, her fingers dragging and catching on the tangled length. “You want to change the color.” Her combing fingers sped up, shaking and restless. “You don't like it blond?”
Jesus. Her question was unexpected, but he should’ve seen it coming. It was her nature to please. To please him. And fuck no, he didn't like the bleached-out look against her warm skin. He wanted it the same dark brown as Liv's. And his mother's. Which was way too fucked up to admit out loud, even for him. “You don't like it.”
Her eyes flashed to his, and her mouth formed a beautiful, gasping O. “I don't...” Her brows furrowed. Then her nostrils flared on an inhale, and her gaze hardened. “Why would you assume that?”
“You fuss with your hair like it's the bane of your existence.” He shifted forward, sharing her breaths. “What you really want is to be accepted the way you are.”
He'd pulled that last part out of his ass, but given the sharp jerk of her shoulders, he hadn't been off the mark.
“Which one is your natural color, Amber?” He tapped on the boxes.
“It'll take at least two boxes.” She pointed to the deep brown black. “That one.”
His mother's color.
He pretended his stomach didn't just drop to the floor as he gathered the packages. He didn't let her wear a towel as she bent over the sink. Didn't fluster her with questions as she silently rubbed the dye into her hair. But he couldn't stop his fingers from tracing the bumps along her arched spine and watching her skin prickle beneath his touch.