Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Since I was found, I’d been wearing sweats and Colby’s tees.
On the rare occasion I did go out, I wore jeans and one of Colby’s tees.
The designer clothes, the silks, the lace, were spoils of a job that almost got me killed.
Yet another reason why I’d needed the liquid courage … not only for what I was planning on doing but to be able to don the clothes I was wearing while I did it.
I’d decided on simple. A black dress. Silk. Calvin Klein. It used to skim over my considerable curves, clinging in all the right places. My appetite had all but gone since my attack, though everyone around me was not so subtly presenting me with all kinds of delicious food.
I humored them as much as I could, acting like the food was delicious and not turning to ash in my mouth.
Because of this, the simple slip dress hung loosely on me, though luckily, my cleavage was still ample enough to fill out the top.
I’d curled my hair in beachy waves, put on my sultry makeup look—smokey eyes, blush high on the cheeks and a subtle pink lip gloss.
I’d left my feet bare because what was the point?
Underneath the dress was my nicest La Perla set. A black corset, tiny panties and matching garters.
I’d vomited while putting it on, after seeing myself in the mirror. But at least it covered up my scars. My mouth tasted like mint and tequila now.
The door opened, and Colby stopped in his tracks when he saw me standing there.
His eyes slid up and down my body. There was definitely hunger in his gaze, but it was gone so quickly, I could almost convince myself I’d imagined it.
Colby closed the door, acting as if I was wearing sweats and no makeup.
“What do you want tonight? Mexican? Or we could go to Violet’s?” he asked casually. Or what looked to be casual. The last offer, to go to Kate’s restaurant, was meant to sound offhand but was really part of a larger plan to A: get me out of the apartment and doing normal things and B: start the process of gently wooing me.
The biker, the one not six months prior, who had promised he’d do me against the wall to ‘fuck some sense into me’ was now suggesting a fucking date at a tasteful restaurant. Like we were thirty-year-old accountants or some shit.
“I need you to fuck me,” I said.
Jumping right in was the best I could do. I knew I’d probably lose my nerve otherwise.
All tenderness fled from his face as his expression turned carefully blank. “Sariah…” His tone was a warning.
I sighed heavily, knowing this was coming, knowing he wasn’t going to hop to it like me would’ve before this happened.
Before you were ruined. Sullied.
I stole myself against that cold and evil whisper, against the pain of that truth.
“Before you try to be the good guy,” I pushed a loose hair behind my ear. “Remember, you’re a biker. You’re wearing that patch in order to make sure you don’t have to be the good guy.”
“You have no fuckin’ idea why I wear this patch,” he snarled, the previously blank expression replaced with palpable anger.
Fury.
Instead of shrinking away from it, I grinned. He’d been so fucking careful with me, it was nauseating. I needed this. Needed him to stop treating me like I was broken. Reminding me I was in tatters.
“Whatever.” I waved my hand in dismissal. “We’re not talking about your reasons for patching in. In fact, I don’t want to talk at all … unless I’m saying harder, deeper or don’t stop.”
Colby’s eyes blazed with naked desire before he shut them.
At least he was still interested.
“If you refuse me, like I see you’re about to,” I continued. “If you tell me it’s too soon, I need to heal or whatever the fuck, I’ll leave.” I pointed to the door. “I will drive my ass to the clubhouse and find the first man willing to fuck me.” The air in the room felt heavy with the danger radiating off of him, and I relished in that.
“You are not leaving this fuckin’ apartment,” Colby seethed. “And no way in fuck is any other man touching you if he wants to keep his hands.”
He leaned as if he were about to surge forward, as if he were about to grab a hold of me tight enough to leave bruises.
I tensed in anticipation, but he held back at the last minute.
He was holding on to control. Tenuously, mind you, but still holding.
“I won’t leave this apartment,” I agreed. “Unless you refuse to fuck me.” I took a quick breath. “I understand that I don’t look the same as I did before. That I—”
I was willing to list the things that had changed about me, both on the outside and the inside.