Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
She nods, her eyes wary. “I know. I thought maybe that’s why…”
A hot wave of anger rolls over me. “If you’re implying I let Sal get to you. That I would put you in danger as what…some kind of punishment for not being ready to have sex with me, then you better keep your fucking mouth shut. I would rather rip off my own arm than put you in danger.”
She swallows loud enough for me to be able to hear it. “It’s ridiculous. I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
I grab her chin and force her eyes to mine. “Is this you trying to fulfill our deal to ensure what happened tonight never happens again? Is that the only reason you’re begging me to touch you? Some kind of payment?”
And just like that, the knife in my gut is back. Except this time, she’s twisting it with her own bloodstained hands.
Fuck. I shove off her before I vent my rage on her fragile body. Instead of shouting, I pace around the room, trying to give myself time to process. If all of this is a lie to her, then where does that leave me? I never once pretended she wasn’t my end goal. I’m not sure how long I pace. I only stop when a soft hand on my shoulder stills me.
When I turn to face her, tears are streaming down her cheeks again. Fucking hell, I hate when she cries. It tears things inside me I didn’t even know I could feel anymore.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ve been nothing but kind and gentle with me. I shouldn’t even have hinted you would let me get hurt. Your men aren’t to blame either because I asked them to give me a minute. They were trying to be polite.”
I turn away, intending to pace some more. Maybe walk back and forth across the hardwood until some of this rage burns out of me.
“Please, come back to bed.”
I shrug her hand off me. “Why? What’s the fucking point if I’m just some monster hell-bent on using you for your body in exchange for your protection?”
She clutches at me again and then turns me to face her. “Come back to bed, please. I want you to make love to me.”
26
Valentina
Saying it doesn’t lessen my fear. He tips my chin up as if he can see right through me to the marrow. One look and I’m spread wide for his inspection, and somehow, he doesn’t shy away from what he sees.
“How about a shower first, Angel? You’re shaking.”
I stare down at my hands, gripping his arm tightly, and my fingers are trembling. Strange that I didn’t notice. Well, now I do, and the fact that my knees are knocking together.
Now that a shower is on the table, I realize how much I want one. Hot and steamy to get every trace of Sal off my skin. Scrubbed and clean like he never touched me at all. If only it were that easy. If only the years of enduring his touch weren’t branded on my body.
He picks me up easily, slinging me into his arms. I wrap my hands around his neck automatically. Not because I fear he’ll drop me but because I want to bury my face against him and draw that clean, masculine scent into my lungs.
He starts the shower with one hand and gently eases me onto my feet under the warm spray. It’s hot and takes me a moment to adjust. Before I can start on my hair, he spins me, his front to mine, and he backs me under the direct spray and goes to work on my hair himself. How can a man with such a ruthless reputation be so gentle to me? I lean my head into him so he can reach the back of my hair. Once he finishes washing, he adds conditioner and teases a comb through my curls like I showed him before. It melts my heart, and tears mix with the water as he silently works.
After the hair, he rubs a soap bar through his palms and then uses his bare hands to wash my body. He takes his time, easing his fingers over every inch of me and saving my pussy for last. Meeting my eyes, he sets his mouth in a firm line, then he slides his slick fingers between my legs and massages the soap everywhere. When his fingers graze my clit, I don’t bother biting back the moan that rises in me. But he doesn’t continue there, only kneels in the shower and washes my thighs, my calves, and my feet. He props one of my feet onto his thigh and gently eases the ache caused by the high heels I wore.
“Feel better?” he asks, still kneeling.
I delve my fingers into his wet hair, mussing it. “Let me wash you now.”